Skip to main content

Full text of "Fraser's magazine"

See other formats 


This  is  a  digital  copy  of  a  book  that  was  preserved  for  generations  on  library  shelves  before  it  was  carefully  scanned  by  Google  as  part  of  a  project 
to  make  the  world's  books  discoverable  online. 

It  has  survived  long  enough  for  the  copyright  to  expire  and  the  book  to  enter  the  public  domain.  A  public  domain  book  is  one  that  was  never  subject 
to  copyright  or  whose  legal  copyright  term  has  expired.  Whether  a  book  is  in  the  public  domain  may  vary  country  to  country.  Public  domain  books 
are  our  gateways  to  the  past,  representing  a  wealth  of  history,  culture  and  knowledge  that's  often  difficult  to  discover. 

Marks,  notations  and  other  marginalia  present  in  the  original  volume  will  appear  in  this  file  -  a  reminder  of  this  book's  long  journey  from  the 
publisher  to  a  library  and  finally  to  you. 

Usage  guidelines 

Google  is  proud  to  partner  with  libraries  to  digitize  public  domain  materials  and  make  them  widely  accessible.  Public  domain  books  belong  to  the 
public  and  we  are  merely  their  custodians.  Nevertheless,  this  work  is  expensive,  so  in  order  to  keep  providing  this  resource,  we  have  taken  steps  to 
prevent  abuse  by  commercial  parties,  including  placing  technical  restrictions  on  automated  querying. 

We  also  ask  that  you: 

+  Make  non-commercial  use  of  the  files  We  designed  Google  Book  Search  for  use  by  individuals,  and  we  request  that  you  use  these  files  for 
personal,  non-commercial  purposes. 

+  Refrain  from  automated  querying  Do  not  send  automated  queries  of  any  sort  to  Google's  system:  If  you  are  conducting  research  on  machine 
translation,  optical  character  recognition  or  other  areas  where  access  to  a  large  amount  of  text  is  helpful,  please  contact  us.  We  encourage  the 
use  of  public  domain  materials  for  these  purposes  and  may  be  able  to  help. 

+  Maintain  attribution  The  Google  "watermark"  you  see  on  each  file  is  essential  for  informing  people  about  this  project  and  helping  them  find 
additional  materials  through  Google  Book  Search.  Please  do  not  remove  it. 

+  Keep  it  legal  Whatever  your  use,  remember  that  you  are  responsible  for  ensuring  that  what  you  are  doing  is  legal.  Do  not  assume  that  just 
because  we  believe  a  book  is  in  the  public  domain  for  users  in  the  United  States,  that  the  work  is  also  in  the  public  domain  for  users  in  other 
countries.  Whether  a  book  is  still  in  copyright  varies  from  country  to  country,  and  we  can't  offer  guidance  on  whether  any  specific  use  of 
any  specific  book  is  allowed.  Please  do  not  assume  that  a  book's  appearance  in  Google  Book  Search  means  it  can  be  used  in  any  manner 
anywhere  in  the  world.  Copyright  infringement  liability  can  be  quite  severe. 

About  Google  Book  Search 

Google's  mission  is  to  organize  the  world's  information  and  to  make  it  universally  accessible  and  useful.  Google  Book  Search  helps  readers 
discover  the  world's  books  while  helping  authors  and  publishers  reach  new  audiences.  You  can  search  through  the  full  text  of  this  book  on  the  web 


at|http  :  //books  .  google  .  com/ 


■?\%^A 


iciMi,,/s7^. 


ERASER'S     MAGAZINE 


NEW  SEBIES.     VOL.   VIL 


L05DOXt    PRnmCD    BT 

STOTTISWOOUB    AXO    00.,    KKW-8Ttt«KT   fiQUABB 

AXD    rAnLIAXB5T    BTttJeSX 


FEASER'S   MAGAZINE 


EDITED   BY 


JAMES  ANTHONY  FROUDE,  MA. 


NEW  8ERIE8.    VOL   VII. 


JANUARY      TO      JUNE     1873 


/ 

I 

I 


—  LONDON 
LONGMANS,    GEEEN,    AND    CO. 

PATEBNOSTEE    ROW 
in>coci.»(in 


"?\%«^.\ 


FRASER'S      MAGAZINE 


KDITSD  BT 


JAMES  ANTHONY  FROUDE,  M.A. 


New  Skmes.  JANUARY  1873.  Vol,  VII.— No.  XXXVII. 


CONTENTS. 

PAOB 

ADDRESS  DELIVERED  ON  NOVEMBER  30,  IN  THE  ASSOCIATION 

HALL,  NEW  YORK.— Bt  J.  A.  Froudb 1 

NEW  EDITION  OF  THE  PASTON  LETTERS.— Bt  L.  Toulmik  Smith...  22 

A  VlJSrr  TO  SHAMYL'S  country  in  the  autumn  of  1870.— By 

Edwss  RAifsoM,  F.R.G.S 27 

SOICE  curiosities  of  criticism , 43 

THORWALDSEN  IN  COPENHAGEN  AND  IN  ROME,— By  J.  B.  Aranwow  62 

OF  ALIENATION.— By  A.  K.  H.  B 67 

BTtAlfRT.T!BERRrRa 74 

SHAFTESBURi^S  CHABACTi:RISTIC8.---Bii  Lbslib  Stkphmn --94 

A  SKETCH  OF  M.  THIERS  "76^ 

ON  PRISONS.— By  thb  Right  Hon.  Sib  Walter  Ceofton,  C.B 101 

DULWICH  COLLEGE  109 

HEREDITARY  IMPROVEMENT.— By  FfiANas  Galton,  F.R.S 116 


LONDON: 

LONGMANS,    GREEN,    AND  CO. 

1873. 


FRASER'S  MAGAZINE  for  DECEMBER  1872 


CONTAINS 

EMPIRE  OR  NO  EMPIRE  ?— By  a  Colonist. 

WITHOUT  A  GUIDE. 

DEMONOLOGY.— III.  IV.— By  M.  D.  Contvay. 

SIX  WEEKS  IN  NORTH  AND  SOUTH  TYROL.    (With  a  Map.)— By  Wiluam 
Longman,  F.G.S. 

THE  IRISH  BRIGADE  IN  THE  SERVICE  OF  FRANCE  (1698-1791). 
BRAMBLEBERRIES. 

THE  TRUE  SCHOOL  FOR  ARCHITECTS. 

POSSIBILITIES  OF  FREE  RELIGIOUS  THOUGHT  IN  SCOTLAND. 
CONCERNING  THE  DISADVANTAGES  OF   LIVING  IN  A  SMALL   COM- 
MUNITY.—By  A.  K.  H.  B. 
DOMESTIC  SANITARY  ARRANGEMENTS.— By  Robert  Rawltnson,  C.E.  O.B. 
BEHIND  THE  SCENES  AT  THE  COMMUNE.— By  Genihal  Cltoehet. 


NOTICE  TO  CORRESPONDENTS. 

Correspondents  are  desired  to  observe  that  all  Communications  must  he 
addressed  direct  to  the  Editor. 

Bejecied  Conirtbutiom  carmot  he  returned. 


FRASER'S    MAGAZINE, 


JANUAKY   1873. 


ADDRESS  BY  J.  A.  FROUDE, 
DELlVEilED  NOVEMBER  30,  IN. THE  ASSOCIATION  HALL,  NEW  YORK. 


LADIES  AND  Gentlemen  :  If  my 
object  in  coming  to  this  conntrj 
was  to  draw  attention  to  the  Irish 
snbject,  I  may  so  far  be  said  to  have 
succeeded.  I  have  sncceeded  also, 
beyond  my  expectation,  in  eliciting 
a  counter-statement  containing  the 
opinions  of  the  Irish  people  them- 
selves on  their  past  history,  the 
most  complete,  the  most  symmetri- 
cal, tbe  most  thoroughgoing  which 
has  yet  been  given  to  the  world. 

The  successive  positions  taken  by 
Father  Burke  have  been  long  fami- 
liar to  me,  some  in  one  book  and 
some  in  another.  But  nowhere 
have  so  many  of  them  been  com- 
bined so  artistically,  and  not  till 
DOW  have  they  been  presented  in 
what  may  be  called  an  authorita- 
tive form.  Father  Burke  regrets 
that  I  shonld  have  obliged  him  to 
reopen  wounds  which  he  would 
have  preferred  to  have  left  closed. 
I  conceive,  on  the  other  hand,  that 
a  wound  is  never  healed  so  long  as 
there  is  misunderstanding.  Eng- 
land  and  Ireland  can  approach  each 
other  only  on  the  basis  of  truth,  and 
so  long  as  Irish  children  are  fed 
^ith  the  story  which  Father  Burke 
has  80  eloquently  told,  so  long  they 
mast  regard  England  with  eyes  of 
utter  detestation,  until  full  atone- 
ment be  made  for  past  wrongs.  If 
Father  Burke's  account  is  true,  let 
England  know  it,  look  it  in  the  face, 
and  acknowledge  it.  If  it  be  an 
illusion,  or  tissue  of  illusions,  then 

TOL.  VII. — NO.  XXXVII.    NEV;  SERIE3. 


it  is  equally  desirable  that  the  Irish 
should  know  it,  and  a  bridge  of 
solid  fact  be  laid  across  the  gulf 
that  divides  us. 

A  subject  of  this  kind  can  only 
usefully  be  treated  from  the  plat- 
form if  the  audience  will  bear  their 
share  of  the  burden,  if  they  will 
test  by  reference  what  they  hear, 
compare  evidence,  and  analyse  it. 
You  will  learn  more  from  the  books 
to  which  I  shall  refer  you  than  you 
can  learn  from  me  in  the  time  for 
which  I  shall  address  you.  I  shall 
myself  venture  to  indicate  the  par- 
ticulars where  Father  Burke's  nar- 
ration specially  needs  examination, 
and  refer  you  to  authorities.  That 
an  Irishman's  view  should  be  dif- 
ferent from  an  Englishman's  view 
is  natural  and  inevitable ;  but  the 
difference  must  be  limited  by  facts, 
which  are  easily  ascertainable. 
When  they  are  not  ascertainable 
elsewhere,  as,  for  instance,  when 
Father  Burke  attributes  words  to 
me  which  I  never  uttered,  I  shall 
venture  to  speak  with  authority. 

I  must  throw  off*  with  a  point  of 
this  kind.  The  Father  says  I  have 
come  to  America  to  ask  for  the 
extraordinary  verdict  that  England 
has  been  right  in  the  manner  in 
which  she  has  treated  Ireland  for 
700  years.  Considering  that  I  have 
drawn  a  heavier  indictment  against 
England  in  the  course  of  my  lec- 
tures than  she  will  probably  thank 
me   for,   considering  that   I  have 

B  2 


Address  in  Answer  to  Father  Burke, 


[January 


described  the  history  of  her  con- 
nection with  Ireland  from  the  be- 
ginning as  a  scandal  and  reproach 
to  her,  I  mnst  meet  this  assertion 
with  a  simple  denial. 

No  one  who  knows  Ireland  now 
can  be  satisfied  with  its  present 
condition.  There  is  an  agitation 
for  a  separate  Irish  Parliament, 
which  it  was  supposed  that  public 
sentiment  in  America  generally  ap- 
proved. I  think,  for  myself,  that 
there  are  certain  definite  measures 
for  Ireland's  good  which  she  could 
obtain  more  easily  from  the  United 
Parliament  than  she  bould  obtain 
them  from  her  own.  I  wished  to 
show  that  s]ie  had  less  cause  than 
she  supposed  for  the  animosity 
which  she  entertained  against  Eng- 
land, ill  as  England  had  behaved  to 
her ;  and  I  have  said  what  I  had  to 
say  here  in  the  form  of  lectures, 
beicause  it  was  the  most  likely  way 
to  attract  attention. 

Father  Burke  goes  on  to  suggest 
that  England  is  a  decaying  empire, 
that  her  power  is  broken,  her  arm 
grown  feeble,  the  days  of  Ma- 
caulay's  *New  Zealander'  not  far 
off,  that  England  is  afraid  of  the 
growing  strength  of  the  Irish  in 
the  United  States,  the  eight  millions 
of  them  who  have  come  from  the 
old  country,  and  the  fourteen  mil- 
lions of  Irish  descent.  It  is  scarcely 
becoming  for  two  British  subjects 
to  be  discussing  in  this  country 
whether  Great  Britain  is  in  a  state 
of  decadence.  England  is  afraid, 
however,  and  deeply  afraid.  She 
is  afraid  of  being  even  driven  to  use 
again  those   measures  of  coercion 


against  Ireland,  which  have  been 
the  shame  of  her  history.  Bat 
Father  Burke's  figures,  I  confess, 
startled  me.  Of  the  forty- two  mil- 
lions of  American  citizens,  twenty- 
two  millions  were  either  Irish  bom 
or  of  Irish  descent.  Was  this  pos- 
sible ?  I  referred  to  the  census  of 
1870,  and  I  was  still  more  con- 
founded. The  entire  number  of 
immig^nt  foreigners,  who  were 
then  in  the  United  States,  amounted 
to  5,556,566.  Of  these,  under  two 
millions  were  Irish.  The  entire 
number  of  children  bom  of  Irish 
parents  was  under  two  millions  also. 

Add  half  a  milhon  for  children 
of  the  second  generation,  and  from 
these  figures  it  follows,  if  Father 
Burke  is  correct,  that  in  the  two 
last  years  there  must  have  come 
from  Ireland  no  less  than  6,000,000 
persons,  or  more  than  the  entire 
population  of  the  island,  and  that 
in  the  same  two  years  the  Irish 
mothers  mnst  have  produced  not 
fewer  than  11,500,000  infants.  I 
knew  that  their  fertility  was  re- 
markable, but  I  was  not  prepared 
for  such  an  astounding  illustration 
ofit.» 

Still  speculating  on  my  motives. 
Father  Burke  inclines  on  the  whole 
to  give  me  credit  for  patriotism. 
He  thinks  I  have  come  to  speak 
for  my  own  country,  and  he  is  good 
enough  to  praise  me  for  doing  so. 
I  am  grateful  for  the  compliment, 
but  I  cannot  accept  it.  I  have 
come  not  to  speak  for  my  country, 
but  for  his.  I  believe  that  the 
present  agitation  there  is  likely  to 
avert  indefinitely  the   progress  of 


*  Father  Barke  probably  meant  that  there  were  14  millions  of  Irish  altogether  in  the 
United  States.  Even  so,  his  estimate  is  wildly  exaggerated ;  I  assume  that  he  was  not 
speaking  of  the  Anglo-Irish  or  Scotch-Irish,  but  of  the  Irish  proper.  Of  these  there 
were  in  America  in  1870,  of  natives  of  Ireland,  1,855,779,  of  children  of  Irish  parents 
bom  in  America,  1,389,433. 

The  children  of  mixed  marriages  are  not  properly  Irish,  nor  are  mixed  marriages 
common  among  the  Irish  ;  but  construing  the  phrase  Irish  descent  widely,  and  allowing 
the  same  proportion  to  them  as  to  other  foreigners,  there  were  in  1870  of  children,  one 
of  whose  parents  was  Irish,  385,723. 

Thus  of  natives  of  Ireland  and  of  children  in  the  first  generation,  there  were  in  all 
3)630,935.     It  is  difficult  to  arrive  at  the  number  of  Irish  children  of  the  second  gene- 


1873] 


Address  mi  Answer  to  Father  Burke. 


improrementy  that  the  best  chance 
for  iJie  Irish  people  is  to  stand  by 
the  English  people  and  demand  an 
alteration  of  the  land  laws.  I  wish 
to  see  them  tnm  their  energies 
from  the  specnlative  to  the  prac- 
tical. 

But  Father  Burke  considers  me 
unfit  to  speak  npon  this  subject, 
aod  for  three  reasons : 

First,  because  I  despise  the  Irish 
people.  I  despise  them,  do  I  ? 
Then  why  have  I  made  Ireland  mj 
second  home  ?  Why  am  I  here 
now?  Am  I  finding  my  under- 
taking such  a  pleasant  one  ?  I  say 
that  for  yaiious  reasons  I  have  a 
peculiar  and  exceptional  respect 
and  esteem  for  the  Irish  people  ;  I 
mean  for  the  worthy  part  of  them, 
the  peasantry,  and  according  to  my 
lights  I  am  endeavouring  to  serve 
them.  I  say,  the  peasantry.  For 
Irish  demagoprues  and  political  agi- 
tators,— well,  for  them,  yes,  I  confess 
I  do  feel  contempt  from  the  bottom 
of  my  soul.  I  rejoice  that  Father 
Borke  has  disclaimed  all  connection 
with  them.  Of  all  the  curses  which 
have  afflicted  Ireland,  the  dema- 
gogues have  been  the  greatest. 

Bat  I  am  unfit  for  another  reason. 
I  have  been  convicted,  by  a  citizen 
of  Brooklyn,  of  inserting  words  of 
my  own  in  letters  and  docaments 
of  State.  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  I 
have  not  been  convicted  by  the 
citizen  of  Brooklyn,  but  I  have 
given  the  citizen  of  Brooklyn  an 
opportunity  of  convicting  me  if  I 
am  guilty.  He  has  not  been  pleased 
to  avail  himself  of  it.  He  calls  my 
proposal,  I  know   not  why,  falla- 


cious.   He  enquires  why  I  will  not 
reply  directly  to  his  own  allegations. 
I  answer  first,  that  I  cannot,  for  I 
am  on  one  side  of  the  Atlantic  and 
my  books  and  papers  are  on  the 
other.     I  answer  secondly,  that  if  I 
reply  to  him  I  must  reply  to  fifty 
others.      I  answer  thirdly,  that  I 
have  found  by  experience  that  con- 
troversies between  parties  interested 
in  such  disputes,  lead  to  no  conclu- 
sion.    At  this  moment  I  am  sup- 
posed to  be  calumniating  the  Irish 
Catholics.     Two  or  three  years  ago 
I  was  in  trouble  in  England  on  pre 
cisely  opposite  ground.     I  had  dis 
covered  a  document  which  I  con- 
ceived to  reKeve  the  Catholic  hier- 
archy of  Ireland   of  a  charge   of 
subserviency  to  Queen  Elizabeth, 
which  had  long  attached  to  them. 
I   had    discovered    another,    from 
which  I  published  extracts,  expos- 
ing an  act  of  extreme  cruelty  per- 
petrated in  the  North  of  Ireland  by- 
one  of  Elizabeth's  oflBcers.     Both 
these  papers  I  had  reason  to  know 
were    extremely  welcome    to    the 
Irish  Catholic  Prelates.     They  were 
no  less  unwelcome  to  Protestants. 
I  was   violently   attacked,  and   I 
replied.       The     documents     were 
looked  into,  up  and  down,  but  with- 
out producing  conviction  on  either 
side.     I,  after  the  most  careful  con- 
sideration, was  unable  to  withdraw 
what   I  had  written.     The    Tory 
journals    continued,    and   perhaps 
continue,  to  charge  me  with  mis- 
representation, and  speak  of  me  as 
a  person  whose  good  faith  is  not  to 
be  depended  on. 

I  determined  that  from  that  time 


lation  born  id  the  United  States.  They  must  be  the  descendants  of  those  who  have 
be«n  saffidently  long  here  to  allow  their  children  to  be  bom,  to  grow  to  maturity  and 
become  parents.  None  of  the  immigrants  arriving  since  1850  can  be  included  in  this 
c^;  the  arrival  of  the  native  Irish  was  inconsiderable  before  1S47,  ^^^  ^^  ^^S^  ^o 
entile  number  of  Irish  who  had  arrived  in  the  United  States  amounted  only  to  908,945. 
'Hie  modality  among  the  Irish,  whether  as  children  or  adults,  is  in  advance  of  any  other 
put  of  the  population. 

The  most  extravagant  conjecture  will  not  venture,  therefore,  to  add  more  than 
^,000  for  the  number  of  Irish  children  whose  parents  were  bom  in  this  country. 
Thoee  who  have  best  means  of  judging,  estimate  the  entire  Irish  race  now  in  America  at 
hetween  four  and  five  millions. 


Address  in  Answer  to  Father  Burke, 


[January 


I  would  never  place  myself  in  such 
a  position  again. 

'Tih  dangerous,  when  the  baser  nature  falls 
Between  the  pass  and  fell  incensM  points 
Of  mighty  opposites. 

I  hope  I  am  not,  strictly  speak- 
ing, the  baser  nature.  But  it  has 
been  my  fortune  ever  since  I  began 
to  write  on  these  subjects  to  feel 
the  pricks  of  the  opposing  lances, 
and  I  shall  continue  to  feel  them  as 
long  as  I  toll  the  truth.  My  History 
ofEnglajul  has  been  composed  from, 
perhaps,  two  hundred  thousand 
documents,  nine- tenths  of  them  in 
difficult  MS.,  and  in  half-a-dozen 
languages.  I  have  been  unable  to 
trust  printed  copies,  for  the  MSS. 
often  tell  stories  which  the  printed 
versions  leave  concealed.  I  have 
been  unable  to  trust  copyists ;  I  have 
read  everything  myself.  I  have 
made  my  own  extracts  from  papers 
whichi  might  never  see  a  second  t.  me. 
I  have  had  to  condense  pages  into 
single  sentences,  to  translate,  and 
to  analyse ;  and  have  had  after- 
wards to  depend  entirely  on  my 
own  transcripts.  Under  such  con- 
ditions it  is  impossible  for  me  to 
affirm  that  no  reference  has  been 
misplaced,  and  no  inverted  commas 
fallen  to  the  wrong  words.  I  have 
done  my  best  to  be  exact,  and  no 
writer  can  undertake  more.  In 
passing  from  my  notes  to  my 
written  composition,  from  my  com- 
position to  print,  from  one  edition 
to  another,  the  utmost  care  will  not 
prevent  mistakes.  It  often  happens 
that  half  a  letter  is  in  one  collection 
and  half  in  another.  There  will  be 
two  letters  from  the  same  person, 
and  the  same  place,  on  the  same 
subject  and  on  the  same  day.  One 
may  be  among  the  State  Papers, 
another  in  the  British  Museum.  I 
will  not  say  that  passages  from  two 
such  letters  may  not  at  times  ap- 
pear in  my  text  as  if  they  were  one. 
A  critic  looks  at  the  reference,  finds 
part  of  what  I  have  said  and  not 
the  other,  and  jumps  to  the  conclu- 


sion that  I  have  invented  it.  Of 
course  I  don't  complain  of  faults 
of  this  kind  being  pointed  out.  I 
am  obliged  to  anyone  who  wiU  take 
the  trouble.  I  do  complain,  that 
when  I  am  doing  my  utmost  to  tell 
the  truth  I  should  be  charged  so 
hastily  with  fraud.  I  referred  and 
I  refer  all  such  accusers  to  a  com- 
petent tribunal  of  impartial  persons, 
accustomed  to  deal  with  historical 
documents,  who  understand  the 
conditions  under  which  a  work  like 
mine  can  be  composed,  and  will 
know,  when  a  passage  seems  to  be 
unsupported,  where  to  look  for  the 
evidence,  and  where  to  find  it. 
More  than  this  I  will  never  conde- 
scend to  say  on  the  subject  of  my 
historical  veracity.  It  is  my  last 
word.  But  I  will  not  allow  that  I 
have  been  convicted,  as  Father 
Burke  calls  it,  till  I  have  been  pro- 
perly tried. 

Once  more.  Father  Burke  says  I 
■  am  unfit  to  speak  of  Ireland,  be- 
cause I  hate  the  Catholic  Church. 
I  show  my  hatred,  it  appears,  by 
holding  the  Church  answerable  for 
the  cruelties  of  the  Duke  of  Alva  in 
the  Netherlands,  and  for  the  mas- 
sacre of  St.  Bartholomew's  Day  in 
France. 

Here  is  what  the  Father  says  on 
the  first  of  these  matters:  *  Alva 
fought  in  the  Netherlands  against 
an  uprising  against  the  authority  of 
the  State.  If  the  rebels  happened 
to  be  Protestants,  there  is  no  reason 
to  father  their  blood  upon  the  Ca- 
tholics.' 

I  beg  you  to  attend  to  this  pas- 
sage. This  is  the  way  in  w^hich 
modem  Catholic  history  is  com- 
posed; and  you  may  see  from  it 
what  kind  of  lessons  children  will 
be  taught  in  the  national  schools  if 
Catholics  have  the  control  of  the 
text  books.  Father  Burke  himself, 
perhaps,  only  repeats  what  he  has 
been  taught.  I  suppose  he  never 
heard  of  the  Edicts  of  Charles  the 
Fifth.  By  those  Edicts,  which 
were  issued  at  the  opening  of  the 


1S73] 


Address  in  Afiswer  to  Failier  Bm-he. 


RefoiToation,  every  man  convicted 
of  holding  heretical  opinions  was  to 
lose  his  head.  K  he  was  obstinate 
and  refused  to  recant,  he  was  to  be 
burned.  Women  were  to  be  buried 
alive.  Those  who  concealed  here- 
tics were  liable  to  the  same  penal- 
ti^  as  the  heretics  themselves.  The 
execution  of  the  Edicts  was  com- 
mitted to  the  Episcopal  Inquisition, 
and  under  them,  in  that  one  reign, 
the  Prince  of  Orange,  who  was 
alive  at  the  time,  and  the  great 
Grotius,  whose  name  alone  is  a 
gaarantee  against  a  suspicion  of 
exaggeration,  declares  that  not  less 
thaa  fifty  thousand  persons  were 
put  to  death  in  cold  blood.  I  have 
myself  expressed  a  doubt  whether 
these  numbers  could  have  been 
really  so  large  ;  but  a  better  judge 
than  I  am,  a  man  totally  untrou- 
bled with  theological  preposses- 
sions, the  historian  Gibbon,  consi- 
ders the  lai^st  estimate  to  be 
the  nearest  to  the  truth.  I  don't 
ask  you  to  believe  me.  Ladies  and 
Gentlemen — ^read  Grotius;  read  the 
Prince  of  Orange's  apology;  read 
the  pages  of  your  own  Mr.  Motley. 

And  then  because  the  Nether- 
lands, unable  to  endure  those  atro- 
cities, rose  in  arms  to  drive  the 
Spaniards  out  of  the  country,  the 
Duke  of  Alva  may  massacre  twenty 
thousand  more  of  them;  they  are 
only  rebels.  The  Church  is  inno- 
cent of  their  blood. 

Father  Burke,  in  like  manner, 
dechires  the  Church  to  be  blameless 
for  the  destruction  of  the  French 
Protestants.  *  The  Te  Deums  that 
were  gnng  at  Rome,  when  the  news 
came,  he  says,  were  for  the  safety 
of  the  King,  and  not  for  the  mas- 
sacre of  the  Huguenots.  Indeed  ! 
Then  why  did  the  infallible  Pope 
iftsne  a  medal,  on  which  was  stamp- 
ed, Hu^ono^orum  strages,  slaughter 
of  ihB  Huguenots  ?  Why  was  the 
design  ou  the  reverse  of  the  medal 
an  angel  with  a  sword,  smiting  the 
Hydra  of  heresy  ?  Does  Father 
Burke  know — I  suppose  not— that 


the  murders  in  Paris  were  but  the 
beginning  of  a  scene  of  havoc, 
which  overspread  France,  and  lasted 
for  nearly  two  months  ?  Eighteen 
or  nineteen  thousand  persons  wero 
killed  in  Paris  on  the  24th  of 
August.  By  the  end  of  September, 
the  list  was  swollen  to  seventy 
thousand.  Strangely  incautious, 
infallible  Pope,  if  he  was  only  grate- 
ful for  the  safety  of  Charles  the 
Ninth  !  For  what  must  have  been 
the  effect  of  the  news  of  the  Pope's 
approval  on  the  zeal  of  the  ortho- 
dox executioners  ? 

Ladies  and  Gentlemen : — I  do  not 
hate  the  Catholic  religion.  Some 
of  the  best  and  holiest  men  I  have 
ever  heard  of  have  lived  and  died  in 
the  Catholic  faith.  But  I  do  hate 
the  spirit  which  the  Church  dis- 
played in  the  sixteenth  and  seven- 
teenth centuries,  and  I  hate  the 
spirit  which  would  throw  a  veil  of 
sophistry  over  those  atrocities  in  the 
nineteenth.  The  history  of  the  il- 
lustrious men  who  fought  and  bled 
in  that  long  desperate  battle  for 
liberty  of  conscience,  that  very  li- 
berty to  which  Catholics  now  ap- 
peal, is  a  sacred  treasure  left  in 
charge  to  all  succeeding  generations. 
If  we  allow  a  legend  like  this  of 
Father  Burke's  to  overspread  and 
cloud  that  glorious  record,  we  shall 
be  false  to  our  trust,  and  through 
our  imbecility  and  cowardice  we 
may  bequeath  to  future  ages  the 
legacy  of  another  struggle. 

Father  Burke  himself  is  for  tole- 
ration— ^the  freest  and  the  widest. 
I  am  heartily  glad  of  it.  I  wish  I 
could  feel  that  he  was  speaking  for 
his  Church  as  well  as  himself. 
But  my  mind  misgives  me  when  I 
read  the  Syllabus.  In  the  same 
number  of  the  New  York  Tablet 
from  which  I  take  his  speech,  I  find 
an  article  condemning  the  admis- 
sion of  the  Jews  to  the  rights  of 
citizens.  When  I  was  last  in  Spain 
there  was  no  Protestant  church 
allowed  in  the  Peninsula.  I  used 
to  feel  that  if  I  had  the  fortune  to 


Address  in  Answer  to  Father  Burke. 


[January 


die  there,  I  should  be  buried  in  a 
field  like  a  dog.  If  all  that  is  now 
ended,  it  was  not  ended  by  the  Pope 
and  the  Bishops.  It  was  ended  by 
the  Revolution. 

Nor  is  it  very  hard  to  be  tolerant 
on  Father  Burke's  terms.  In  his 
reading  of  history  the  Protestants 
were  the  chief  criminals.  The  Ca- 
tholics were  innocent  victims.  If 
on  those  terms  he  is  willing  to  for- 
give and  forget,  I  for  one  am  not. 
Father  Burke  knows  the  connection 
between  confession  and. absolution. 
The  first  is  the  condition  of  the 
second.  When  the  Catholic  Church 
admits  frankly  her  past  faults,  the 
world  will  as  frankly  forgive  them. 
If  she  takes  refuge  in  evasion  ;  if 
she  persists  in  throwing  the  blame 
on  others  who  were  guilty  of  no- 
thing except  resistance  to  her  ty- 
ranny, the  innocent  blood  that  she 
shed  remains  upon  her  hands,  and 
all  the  perfumes  of  Arabia  will  not 
sweeten  them. 

I  will  assume,  then,  that  I  am  fit 
to  speak  on  this  Irish  subject,  and 
I  will  at  once  pass  to  it.  I  must  be 
brief.  I  shall  pass  from  point  to 
point,  and  leave  irrelevant  matter 
on  one  side. 

I  said  that  Ireland  was  in  a  state 
of  anarchy  before  the  Norman  Con- 
quest. In  other  countries  I  said 
there  were  wars,  but  order  was 
coming  out  of  them.  In  Ireland  I 
said  no  such  tendency  was  visible. 
Father  Burke  answers  that  the 
Danes  had  caused  the  trouble,  that 
the  Irish  had  at  last  driven  the 
Danes  out  and  were  settling  down 
to  peace  and  good  government. 
He  alludes  to  the  Wars  of  the  Roses, 
which  he  says  left  England  utterly 
demoralised  for  half  a  century.  Is 
he  serious  ?  Is  he  speaking  of  the 
Englandwhich  Erasmus  came  to  visit 
— which  the  Governments  of  Spain 
and  France  courted  persistently  as 
the  arbiter  of  Europe,  of  the  country 
which  could  adopt  for  its  motto. 
Cut  adhereo  Prceest — I  hold  in  my 
hand  the  balance  of  the  European 


community  ?  Archbishop  Anselm, 
it  seems,  wrote  to  congratulate  a 
king  of  Munster  on  the  quiet  of  the 
country.  I  beg  any  of  you  to  turn 
over  the  leaves  of  the  A7in(ils  of 
the  Four  Masters,  the  most  authori- 
tative record  of  Irish  history.  I 
read  in  my  lectures  the  entry  for 
the  year  i  i6o,  fourteen  years  before 
the  conquest,  when,  according  to 
the  Father,  all  things  were  going  so 
well.  In  that  one  year  three  kings 
were  killed,  besides  an  infinite 
slaughter  of  other  people.  Look 
for  yourselves.  See  whether  that 
year  was  exceptionally  bad.  If 
there  was  a  few  months'  breathing 
time  in  such  a  state  of  things  an 
Archbishop  might  well  write  to 
congratulate. 

Giraldus,  the  Welshman,  wLo 
came  over  soon  after  to  see  what  Ire- 
land was  like,  confirms  substantially 
the  account  of  the  Annals,  Father 
Burke  calls  him  fteely  a  liar,  though 
he  quotes  him  approvingly  when  he 
mentions  the  Irish  virtues.  If 
Giraldus  is  to  be  believed  when  he 
says  the  Irish  were  loyal  to  their 
chief,  I  do  not  know  why  he  is  not 
to  be  believed  when  he  says  they 
were  fierce,  licentious,  treacherous, 
false,  and  cruel.  Gii*aldus  tells 
some  absurd  stories.  The  Irish 
books  of  the  age  are  full  of  stories 
much  more  absurd.  In  the  twelfth 
century  there  were  extant  sixty-six 
Lives  of  St.  Patrick.  Mr.  Gibbon 
says  of  them  that  they  must  have 
contained  at  least  as  many  thousand 
lies.  That  is  a  large  estimate.  Of 
those  which  survive,  the  earliest, 
which  is  very  beautifal,  contains 
few  lies,  or,  perhaps,  none.  The 
latest,  that  by  Jocelyn  of  Ferns, 
Avhich  has  been  adopted  by  the 
Bollandists,  contains  probably  many 
more  than  a  thousand  lies.  It  is 
one  of  the  most  ridiculous  books  I 
ever  looked  into.  By  the  side  of 
Jocelyn,  Giraldus  is  a  rationalist. 
I  wish  you  would  read  Giraldus' 
account  of  Ireland.  It  is  trans- 
lated ;  it  is  short,  and  carries  about 


1873] 


Address  in  Answer  to  Father  BurJce, 


it,  in  my  opinion,  a  siamp  of  con- 
ceited Teracitj. 

I  go  to  the  Norman  Conquest 
itself,  and  Pope  Adrian's  Bnll, 
which  Father  Bnrke  still  declares 
to  be  a  forgery.  I  need  hardly  say 
that  I  attach  no  consequence  to  the 
Bull  itself.  I  suppose  the  Popes  of 
Rome  have  no  more  right  over  Ire- 
land than  I  have  over  Cuba.  The 
Popes,  howcTcr,  did  at  that  time 
represent  the  general  conscience. 
What  a  Pope  sanctioned  was  usu- 
allj  what  the  intelligent  part  of 
mankind  held  to  be'  right.  If  the 
Normans  foiled  such  a  sanction  to 
colonr  their  conquest,  they  commit- 
ted a  crime  which  ought  to  be  ex- 
posed. The  naked  facts  are  these  : — 
King  Henry,  when  he  conquered 
Ireland,  produced  as  his  authority 
a  Bull  said  to  have  been  granted 
twenty  years  before  by  Pope  Adrian. 
It  is  matter  of  history  that  from 
the  date  of  the  conquest  Peter's 
Pence  was  paid  regularly  to  Rome 
hy  Ireland.  Ecclesiastical  suits 
were  referred  to  Rome.  Continual 
application  was  made  to  Romo  for 
dispensations  to  marry  within  the 
forbidden  degrees.  There  was  close 
and  constant  communication  from 
that  time  forward  between  the 
Irish  people  and  clergy  and  the 
Roman  Court.  Is  it  conceivable 
that,  in  the  course  of  all  this  com- 
munication, the  Irish  should  never 
have  mcntioT^ed  this  forged  Bull  at 
Borne,  or  that  if  they  did  mention 
it,  there  should  have  been  no  en- 
quiry and  exposure  ?  To  me  such 
a  supposition  is  utterly  incon- 
ceivable. 

But  the  Bull,  says  Father  Burke, 
is  a  forgery,  on  the  face  of  it.  The 
date  upon  it  is  T154.  Adrian  was 
elected  Pope  on  December  3,  1154. 
John  of  Salisbury,  by  whom  the 
Bull  was  procured,  did  not  arrive 
in  Rome  to  ask  for  it  till  1 155. 
What  clearer  proof  could  there  be  ? 
Very  pkmsible.  But  forgers  would 
scarcely  have  committed  a  blunder 
60  simple.     Father  Burke's  criti- 


cism comes  from  handling  tools  he 
is  imperfectly  acquainted  with.  He 
is  evidently  ignorant  that  the  Eng- 
lish official  year  began  on  March  25. 
A  paper  dated  February,  1154,  was 
in  reality  written  in  February, 
1155.  The  Popes  did  not  use  this 
style,  but  Englishmen  did,  and  a 
confusion  of  this  kind  is  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world  in  the 
publication  of  a  document  by  which 
England  was  specially  affected. 

But  we  are  only  at  the  beginning 
of  the  difficulty  in  which  we  are 
involved  by  the  hypothesis  of  for- 
gery. I  advised  Father  Burke  to 
look  at  a  letter  from  a  subsequent 
Pope  to  King  Henry  III.,  published 
by  Dr.  Theiner  from  the  Vatican 
Archives. 

I  have  not  Dr.  Theiner's  book  by 
me  to  refer  to ;  I  must  therefore 
describe  the  letter  from  memory, 
but  I  have  no  doubt  that  I  remem- 
ber it  substantially.  The  Irish  had 
represented  at  Rome  that  the  Nor- 
mans had  treated  them  with  harsh- 
ness and  cruelty.  They  had  ap- 
pealed to  the  Pope.  They  had  been 
brought  under  the  Norman  yoke, 
they  said,  by  an  act  of  his  prede- 
cessor, and  they  begged  him  to  in- 
terpose. What  does  the  Pope  an- 
swer ?  Does  he  say  that  he  has 
looked  into  the  Archives  and  can 
find  no  recoi*d  of  any  such  act  of 
his  predecessor,  that  it  was  a  mis- 
take or  a  fraud  !  He  does  nothing 
of  the  kind.  He  writes  to  the  King 
of  England,  laying  the  complaints 
of  the  Irish  before  him.  He  re- 
minds him  gently  of  the  tenour  of 
the  commission  by  which  Adrian 
had  sanctioned  the  conquest,  and 
begs  him  to  restrain  the  violence  of 
his  Norman  subjects. 

Once  more  we  have  a  letter  from 
Donald  O'Neill,  calling  himself 
King  of  Ulster,  to  the  Pope,  speak- 
ing of  the  Normans  much  as  Father 
Burke  speaks  of  the  English  now  ; 
complaining  specially  of  Pope 
Adrian  for  having,  as  an  English- 
man,    sacrificed     Ireland     to    his 


AddrenH  in  Ansti-er  to  Father  Bvrke, 


[January 


CountrymeD.  The  idea  that  the 
grant  was  fictitious  had  never  oc- 
curred to  him.  As  little  was  the 
faintest  suspicion  entertained  at 
Rome.  The  Pope,  and  the  victims 
who  had  been  sacrificed,  were 
equally  the  dupes  of  Norman  cun- 
ning and  audacity.  Wonderful 
Normans !  Wonderful  infallible 
Pope  ! 

I  must  hurry  on.  I  have  no  oc- 
casion to  defend  the  Norman  rule 
in  Ireland.  It  was  an  attempt  to 
plant  the  feudal  system  on  a  soil 
which  did  not  agree  with  it,  and 
the  feudal  system  failed  as  com- 
pletely as  did  all  our  other  institu- 
tions which  we  have  attempted  to 
naturalise  there.  There  is,  how- 
ever, one  stereotyped  illustration  of 
Norman  tyranny  on  which  patriot 
oi*ators  are  never  weary  of  dilating, 
that  I  mast  for  a  moment  pause  to 
notice.  Of  course  Father  Burke 
C9uld  not  miss  it.  So  atrocious 
were  the  Norman  laws,  he  tells  us, 
that  the  Irish  were  denied  the 
privileges  of  human  beings.  It 
was  declared  not  to  be  felony  to  kill 
them.  So  stands  the  law ;  not  to 
be  denied  or  got  over  ;  yet  there  is 
something  more  to  be  said  on  that 
subject.  I  am  not  surprised  that 
it  did  not'  occur  to  Father  Burke  ; 
yet,  after  all,  it  was  not  the  inhuman 
barbarism  which  it  appears  to  be  at 
the  first  blush. 

As  the  Normans  found  they  could 
not  conquer  the  entire  island,  the 
counties  round  Dublin,  the  seaports 
and  municipal  towns  with  the 
adjoining  districts,  came  to  be 
known  as  the  English  Pale  :  within 
the  Pale  they  established  the  Eng- 
lish common  law ;  outside  the  Pale, 
in  the  territories  of  the  chiefs,  there 
remained  the  Brehon  or  Irish  law. 
Now  felony  was  a  word  of  English 
law  entirely.  Under  English  law, 
homicide  was  felony,  and  was  pun- 
ished by  death.  Under  the  Brehon 
law  homicide  was  not  felony :  it  was 
an  injury  for  which  compensation 
was  to  be  made  by  the  slayer  to  the 


family  of  the  slain.  Every  Irish- 
man living  inside  the  Pale  was  as 
much  protected  by  the  law  as  any- 
one else.  To  kill  him  was  as  much 
felony  as  to  kill  an  Englishman. 
But  English  law  could  not  protect 
those  who  refused  to  live  under  it. 
Questions  often  rose,  what  was  to 
be  done  when  hfe  was  lost  in  a 
border  scuffle  or  quarrel;  and  the 
Norman  Parliament  declined  to 
attach  more  importance  to  the  life 
of  an  outside  Irishman  than  his  own 
law  attached  to  it.  Father  Burke 
quotes  a  case  triumphantly  of  an 
Englishman  who  had  killed  an 
Irishman  pleading  the  Statute,  but 
oflfering  in  court  to  make  compen- 
sation according  to  Brehon  custom, 
and  being  in  consequence  acquitted. 
This  exactly  illustrates  what  I  have 
been  saying.  I  admit,  however,  and 
I  insisted  in  my  own  lectures,  that 
the  Norman  failure  had  been  com- 
plete— that  the  result  of  the  con- 
quest was  to  leave  the  country, 
after  three  hundred  yeai-s*  experi- 
ence, worse  than  before. 

I  pass  to  the  modern  period. 
Father  Burke  opens  with  an  elo- 
quent denunciation  of  Henry  VIII., 
and  as  I  have  a  great  deal  to  say  on 
points  of  more  consequence,  I  leave 
Henry  to  his  mercies.  I  will  only 
pause  out  of  curiosity  to  ask  for 
more  information  about  three  Car- 
thusian abbots,  whom  a  jury  re- 
fused to  find  guilty  under  the  Su- 
premacy Act,  till  Henry  threatened, 
if  they  did  not  comply,  to  prosecute 
them  for  treason.  I  thought  I  knew 
the  history  of  all  the  treason  trials 
of  that  reign.  I  know  of  several 
abbots  being  tried  and  executed. 
I  remember  the  story  of  the  prior 
and  monks  of  the  Charterhouse,  and 
touohingly  beautiful  it  is.  But  I 
cannot  tit  on  Father  Burke's  story 
to  any  of  them.  If,  as  I  suppose, 
he  does  -mean  the  prior  *nd  monks 
of  the  Charterhouse,  the  records 
of  the  trial  prove  conclusively  that 
the  story  about  the  jury  cannot  be 
true. 


1873] 


Address  in  Anstcer  to  Father  Burke, 


9 


As  to  Ireland  at  this  period,  I 
cannot  make  out-  Father  Burke's 
position.  He  possesses  odd  little 
pieces  of  real  knowledge  set  in  a 
framework — since  I  cannot  accnse 
him  of  misrepresentation — set  in  a 
framework  of  snch  singular  unac- 
quaintance  with  the  general  com- 
plexion of  the  times,  that  I  have 
speculated  much  how  he  came  b^ 
these  bits  of  knowledge.  He  quotes 
from  the  State  Papers.  Let  me 
tell  you  generally  what  these  State 
Papers  are.  "When  there  were  no 
newspapers,  ministers  depended  for 
their  information  on  their  corre- 
spondents, and  you  find  in  these 
collections  letters  and  reports  of  all 
kinds  from  all  sorts  of  people,  con- 
veying the  same  kind  of  infonnation 
which  yon  would  gajjier  out  of  a 
newspaper  to-day — with  the  same 
conflict  of  opinions.  Those  relating 
to  Ireland  during  the  reign  of 
Henry  VIII.  have  been  printed,  and 
fill  two  large  thick  quarto  volumes 
of  800  or  900  pages  each.  There 
are  also  four  volumes  of  Calendars, 
or  abstracts  of  papers  of  the  reign 
of  Elizabeth,  known  by  the  name  of 
tlie  Carew  Collection  of  MSS.,  with 
long  and  most  interesting  extracts. 
If  any  of  you  will  read  these 
volumes,  and  will  read  at  the  same 
time  the  Beview  of  the  State  of  Ire- 
land by  the  poet  Spenser,  Baron 
Finglas's  Breviate  of  Ireland^  and 
Sir  Henry  Sidney's  Correapoiidencey 
you  will  not  require  either  me  or 
Father  Burke  to  tell  you  what  was 
the  real  condition  of  the  country 
vfc  are  both  talking  about. 

Meanwhile  I  must  say  a  word  or 
two.  Father  Burke  talks  with  great 
vehemence  about  spoliation  of  lands 
and  the  expulsion  of  Irishmen  from 
the  homes  of  their  fathers.  There  is 
a  document,  the  opening  document 
of  the  *  King  Henry  series,*  which 
he  does  not  seem  to  have  '  studied, 
but  which  I  wish  you  would  study, 
for  it  gives  a  complete  key  to 'the 
real  dS^culties  of  Ireland,  and  to  all 
the  po]i<^  of  the  succeeding  reigns. 


This  document  is  dated  1515,  and 
is  called  a  '  Report  on  the  State  of 
Ireland,  with  a  Plan  for  its  Refor- 
naation . '  Father  Burke  admits  that 
there  was  disorder  at  this  time,  but 
he  says  it  was  caused  by  the  Anglo- 
Normans.  Now  this  report  explains 
that  the  real  cause  was  that  the 
Normans  had  ceased  to  be  Normans, 
and  had  become  Irish.  They  spoke 
Irish,  dressed  hke  Irish,  adopted 
Irish  habits,  and  laws,  and  customs. 
Father  Burke  cannot  be  ignorant 
that  to  the  Geraldines  in  Munster 
and  Loinster,  to  the  Butlers  in  Kil- 
kenny, to  his  own  ancestors,  the  De 
Burghs,  or  Burkes,  in  the  west,  the 
Irish  clans  looked  up  with  a  feeUng 
of  loyal  allegiance.  As  far  as  there 
was  any  order  at  all  in  the  country, 
it  was  in  the  homage  paid  by  the 
native  race  to  these  four  fami- 
lies. They,  and  the  smaller  Nor- 
man barons  who  held  under  them, 
are  spoken  of  in  the  State  Papers  as 
English  in  contrast  to  Irish.  They 
wore  as  much  English  as  you 
Americans  are  English,  or  as  Grat- 
tan  and  Wolf  Tone  were  English ; 
yet  Father  Burke  thinks  that  ho 
makes  a  point  when  he  quotes  a 
passage  saying  that  some  of  these 
people  were  more  troublesome  than 
the  Irish.  Of  course  they  were.  Did 
he  never  hear  the  old  phrase :  Ipsis 
Hihemis  Ilihemiores  —  more  Irish 
than  the  Msh  themselves  ? 

I  want  you  to  understand  the 
social  state  of  the  country  as  this 
report  delineates  it.  There  were  at 
this  time  sixty  great  Irish  chiefis 
and  thirty  great  Norman  chiefs — 
each  independent,  each  ruling  by 
his  own  sword,  each  making  war  at 
his  pleasure,  and  all  living  in  pre- 
cisely the  'same  manner.  Between 
them  they  kept  in  idleness,"  to  do 
nothing  but  fight,  about  6oyOoo 
armed  men,  foot  and  horse — the  en- 
tire population  being  about  half  a 
million.  The  chiefs  of  this  enor- 
mous body  of  vagabonds  were  main- 
tained by  an  Irish  custom  called 
coyn  and  livery.       Father  Burke 


10 


Address  in  Answer  to  Father  Burke. 


[January 


boasts  tHat  there  was  no  slavery  in 
Ireland.  No,  but  there  was  worse, 
for  the  wretched  peasantry  were 
obliged  to  supply  idl  these  people 
with  meat,  clothes,  and  lodging  for 
man  and  horse.  Coyn  and  livery 
meant  not  only  that  the  chiefs* 
castles  were  to  be  kept  supplied, 
but  that  all  their  fighting-people, 
themselves  and  their  horses,  were 
to  live  at  free  quarters  in  the  pea- 
sants' homes. 

It  was  this  fighting  contingent 
that  was  the  cause  of  all  the  trouble. 
While  they  were  allowed  to  plunder 
the  people  at  pleasure,  industry  was 
impossible.  Peace  was  equally  im- 
possible while  there  were  so  many 
men  who  had  no  occupation  but 
war. 

The  problem  of  the  English 
Government  throughout  the  six- 
teenth century  was  to  break  the 
system  down,  to  protect  the  peasant 
who  was  cultivating  the  soil,  and, 
by  stopping  their  enforced  supplies, 
compel  the  fighting  banditti  to  take 
to  some  other  employment.  Here 
lies  the  explanation  of  Father 
Burke's  mistakes.  When  he  talks 
of  confiscation  and  spoliation,  it  was 
confiscation  simply  of  the  rights  of 
robbers  to  plunder  the  poor.  All 
sorts  of  plans  were  thought  of,  and 
ultimately  tried :  sometimes  to  use 
downright  force,  to  send  an  English 
army  and  conquer  them  ;  sometimes 
to  arm  the  peasantry,  and  make 
them  protect  themselves  ;  some- 
times to  plant  English  and  Scotch 
colonies  ;  sometimes,  where  the  case 
seemed  hopeless,  to  send  the  entire 
race  over  the  Shannon  into  Con- 
naught,  where,  in  closer  quarters, 
they  would  be  unable  to  find  the 
means  of  supporting  the  fighting 
battalions. 

I  cannot  go  into  ary  details  here. 
I  ask  you  only  to  satisfy  yourselves, 
by  a  perusal  of  the  report,  that  this 
was  the  real  condition  to  which  the 
country  was  reduced.  You  will 
then  see  how  arduous  the  problem 
was,  and  be  better  able  to  form  a 


just  opinion  on  the  conduct  which 
England  pursued.  Father  Burke 
says  nothing  of  it.  I  can  hardly 
suppose  he  knew  anything  about  it. 
Yet  anyone  who  will  look  to  the 
index  of  the  State  Papers  and  the 
Carew  Papers,  and  will  refer  to  the 
words  *  Coyn  and  Livery,'  will  see 
that  this  Insh  custom  with  its  con- 
sequences was  the  one  central  enor- 
mity against  which  English  effort 
was,  however  ineffectually,  directed. 

The  Reformation  of  course  com- 
plicated matters  worse,  but  the 
social  problem  then  as  now  was  the 
real  one.  When  I  spoke  of  King 
Henry's  appointment  of  the  Earl  of 
Kildare  to  the  viceroyalty  as  an 
experiment  of  Home  Rule,  Father 
Burke  asks  me  why  Henry  did  not 
call  a  Parliaijient  of  the  Irish  chiefs. 
This,  I  admit,  would  have  been  a 
worse  form  of  Home  Rule.  The 
peasant  grievances  would  have  had 
even  less  chance  of  a  hearing  then 
than  they  would  have  from  a  sepa- 
rate Irish  Parliament  if  it  were 
called  to-day. 

I  am  laying  down  broad  outlines. 
I  must  reserve  my  particular  criti- 
cisms for  a  more  pressing  part  of 
the  story. 

I  notice,  however,  firsts  what 
Father  Burke  says  of  the  Norman 
Irish,  the  Earl  of  Kildare,  and  the 
insurrection  of  Lord  Thomas  Fitat- 
gerald.  He  says  Kildare  was  an 
Englishman.  He  was  as  much  an 
Englishman  as  Lord  Edward  Fitz- 
gerald, his  descendant,  or  Dr. 
McNevin.  That  is  to  say,  he  was 
the  most  Irish  nobleman — ^with  the 
exception,  perhaps,  of  his  kinsman , 
the  Earl  of  Desmond — that  was  to 
be  found  in  the  country.  Father 
Burke  says  the  insurrection  was  an 
English  insurrection ;  the  parties  to 
it,  with  one  or  two  exceptions,  all 
English;  that  it  was  an  English 
business  altogether,  and  that  the 
Irish  were  only  sufferers.  It  was 
English  in  the  sense  that  the  asso- 
ciations of  the  United  Irishmen 
were  English,  neither  less  nor  more. 


1873] 


Address  in  Answer  to  Father  Burlce. 


11 


I  suppose  that  his  words  were  no 
more  than  a  rhetorical  flourish  to 
gain  an  immediate  point.  If  not, 
and  if  he  really  indicates  the  pre- 
sent views  of  the  Celtic  race  on 
their  history  and  their  misfortunes, 
it  is  a  new  and  extremely  significant 
feature  in  the  progress  of  the  ques- 
tion. Till  this  time  the  Geraldines 
baye  heen  the  idols  of  the  national 
tradition.  O'Connell  used  to  say 
that  the  Duke  of  Leinster,  Kildare's 
representative,  was  the  natural 
King  of  Ireland.  Lord  Thomas 
has  been  one  of  the  most  popular 
Irish  heroes.  K  all  this  is  now  to  be 
thrown  aside,  I  will  only  say  here, 
that  it  is  a  bad  return  for  the  blood 
which  the  Geraldines  and  the 
Barons  of  the  Pale  risked  and  lost 
in  the  cause  of  Ireland  and  the 
Catholic  Church.  I  trust,  for  the 
honour  of  Irish  patriotism,  that 
Father  Bnrke  is  not  in  this  instance 
a  representative  of  the  feelings  of 
his  people. 

As  to  the  Kildare  rebellion  itself, 
Father  Burke,  as  usual,  exaggerates. 
He  says  it  desolated  the  whole  of 
Munster  and  a  great  part  of  Lein- 
ster, and  ruined  half  the  Irish  peo- 
ple. It  scarcely  touched  Munster 
at  all.  It  affected  severely  only  half 
leinster.  The  chief  sufferers  were 
the  inhabitants  of  the  Pale,  and 
among  them  chiefly  such  of  the  in- 
habitants as  were  loyal  to  English 
rule.  But  I  conclude  that  Father 
Bnrke  is  not  distinguishing  between 
Ae  rebellion  of  the  Kildares  under 
Henry  Vlll.  and  the  rebellion  of 
the  Desmonds  under  Elizabeth,  and 
lumps  them  both  together  as  a  con- 
fused unity. 

I  will  not  follow  him  through 
the  Reformation  History.  But  he 
asks  a  question  which  I  will  an- 
swer. I  said  in  my  lectures  that 
the  private  Kves  of  some  of  the  Ca- 
tbohc  bishops,  before  the  Reforma- 
tion, were  not  perfectly  regular. 
I  made  Hght  of  it,  and  I  make 
light  of  it  now.  But,  when  he  caUs 
it  *a  wild  and  unsupported  asser- 


tion,' I  must  show  him  that  I  was 
not  speaking  without  book..  I  was 
thinking  at  the  moment  of  Arch- 
bishop Bodkin,  of  Tuam,  from  whom 
the  Galway  Bodkins,  whom  Father 
Burke  must  know  about,  are  de- 
scended. If  he  requires  another 
instance  I  must  send  him  back  to 
Dr.  Theiner.  ♦!  wish  he  would  read 
his  Theiner.  He  need  not  be  afraid ; 
there  is  no  heresy  in  it.  It  comes 
from  Home,  from  the  very  fountain 
of  infallibility.  If  he  will  look 
there,  he  wiU  find  an  account  of  a 
most  reverend  gentleman,  which  I 
need  not  stop  to  particularise.  It  will 
satisfy  him,  I  think,  that  my  asser- 
tion was  less  wild  than  he  supposes. 
Again,  about  the  bishops  and  the 
oath  of  supremacy  to  King  Henry. 
He  admits  eight  bishops  and  an 
archbishop ;  when  I  get  home  I  will 
give  him  the  names  of  two  or  three 
more.  But  it  is  of  no  importance. 
He  cannot  show  that  those  who  did 
not  swear  made  any  active  or  pro- 
longed opposition.  Nor  does  he 
deny  that  the  greatest  of  the  Celtic 
chiefs  accepted  peerages  fromHenry, 
voted  him  King  of  Ireland,  helped 
him  to  suppress  the  abbeys,  and 
accepted  the  abbey-lands  for  them- 
selves. But  so  great,  it  appears, 
was  the  orthodoxy  of  the  Catholic 
people  of  Ireland  that,  although 
they  never  before  rebelled  against 
their  chiefs,  on  this  occasion  they 
did  rise  and  deposed  them.  Let  us 
take  the  most  important  instance. 
Con  O'Neill,  the  great  O'Neill,  the 
descendant  of  the  Irish  kings,  was 
made  by  Henry,  Earl  of  Tyrone. 
This  O'Neill,  Father  Bnrke  says, 
was  taken  by  his  son  and  clapped 
into  gaol,  where  he  died.  A  very 
pious  son,  no  doubt,  and  moved  en- 
tirely by  his  zeal  for  holy  Church. 
The  son  in  question  was  the  cele- 
brated Shan,  a  bastard  son  of  Con, 
but  *  a  broth  of  a  boy,'  as  they  say 
over  there,  and  the  darling  of  the 
tribe.  By  tanistry,  or  the  Irish 
method  of  election,  Shan  would 
have  succeeded  to  the  chieftainship, 


12 


Address  in  Aiiswer  to  Father  Burke. 


[January 


but  by  the  patent  of  the  earldom 
the  successor  was  not  to  be  Shan, 
but  his  legitimate  brother.  The  old 
Con  also  preferred  the  legitimate 
son.  Shan  had  a  certain  respect 
for  his  father.  In  one  of  his  letters, 
of  which  I  have  read  many,  he  says, 
alluding  to  his  own  parentage,  that 
his  father,  like  a  gentleman  as  he 
was,  never  denied  any  child  that 
was  sworn  to  him,  but  Shan  was 
not  going  to  lose  his  inheritance  on 
that  account.  He  conspired  against 
Con,  and,  as  Father  Burke  trulysays, 
shut  him  up  till  he  died.  The 
legitimate  brother  was  murdered 
or  made  away  with,  and  Shan  by 
these  means  became  the  O'Neill. 
A  very  natural  piece  of  business, 
but  I  should  not  have  described  it 
myself  as  arising  from  devotion  to 
the  Catholic  faith. 

Once  more  (Father  Burke  drags 
it  in  here  out  of  its  natural  place, 
but  I  will  follow  his  own  arrange- 
ment), he  insists  on  the  religious 
toleration  which  was  always  dis- 
played by  the  Irish  Catholics. 
There  were  no  heresy  prosecutions 
in  Ireland.  These  heresy  prosecu- 
tions were  judicial  processes,  and 
the  Irish  preferred  more  rough  and 
ready  ways.  I  have  no  room  to  go 
into  this.  But  Father  Burke  pro- 
duces as  a  proof  an  act  of  the  Celtic 
Catholic  Irish  Parliament,  which 
met  in  the  time  of  James  the 
Second,  on  which  I  must  make  a 
short  remark. 

What,  said  the  Father,  was  the 
first  law  which  tliis  Catholic  Irish 
Parliament  passed  ?  '  We  hereby 
decree  that  it  is  the  law  of  this  land 
of  Ireland  that  neither  now,  nor  ever 
again,  shall  any  man  be  prosecuted 
for  his  religion.'  *  Was  not  this 
magnificent  ?  '  he  asked,  and  ho  was 
answered  by  *  tremendous  cheers.' 

I  am  very  glad  that  he  and  his 
hearers  are  such  complete  converts 
to  toleration.  But  his  mind  is  not 
yet  in  the  perfectly  equitable  state 
which  I  could  desire.  The  value 
of  the  Act  is  diminished  when  we 


remember  that  it  was  accompanied 
by  two  other  Acts  which  deprived 
almost  every  Protestant  in  Ireland 
of  every  acre  of  land  which  he  pos- 
sessed. Let  me  remind  you,  ladies 
and  gentlemen,  of  one  or  two  points 
in  the  history  of  James  II.  He 
was  meditating  the  restoration  of 
Popery  in  England,  and  ho  took  np 
with  toleration  that  he  might  intro- 
duce Catholics,  under  cover  of  it, 
into  high  offices  of  State,  and  bribe 
the  Protestant  Nonconformists  to 
support  him.  The  Nonconformists 
knew  too  well  what  he  was  about, 
and  wore  not  to  be  so  taken  in.  In 
like  manner  the  Irish  Parliament 
was  throwing  out  a  bait  to  the 
Presbyterian  farmers  and  artisans, 
who  had  been  persecuted  by  the 
Bishops  of  the  Establishment.  They 
also  were  too  wary  to  be  tempted. 
They  knew  what  could  happen 
when  the  Pope  was  in  his  saddle 
again.  They  held  no  land,  and  the 
Confiscation  Acts  did  not  touch 
them.  But  instead  of  joining  Tyr- 
conuell  they  closed  the  gates  of 
Dcrry  in  his  face,  and  built  for 
themselves  an  immortal  monument 
in  tlie  gallery  of  Protestant  heroes. 
About  Elizabeth's  conduct  in  Ire- 
land there  is  not  much  difference  of 
opinion  between  Father  Burke  and 
me.  He  quotes  a  passage  of  mine, 
some  rhetorical  nonsense,  as  I  dare 
say  it  was,  about  the  Star  of 
Libei-ty,  which  he  calls  extremely 
eloquent,  and  then  proceeds  to  cut 
in  pieces.  Before  praising  my  style 
in  that  way  I  wish  he  would  quote 
my  words  accurately.  He  has  lopped 
and  chopped  the  poor  little  sen- 
tence, altered  words,  spoilt  ca- 
dences, marred  the  whole  effect, 
and  then  given  it  to  the  world  as 
my  idea  of  fine  wnting.  I  am 
obliged  to  him  for  the  compliment, 
but  in  the  plucked  and  wretched 
state  in  which  ho  exhibits  me,  I 
could  well  have  dispensed  with  it. 
The  fact,  however,  to  which  the 
passage  refers,  is  of  real  import- 
ance.     Elizabeth  had   to  fight  at 


1873] 


Address  i»  Answer  to  Father  Burke, 


13 


last  with  the  great  Catholic  powers 
of  Enn>pe  in  defence  of  the  Refor- 
mation. She  was  very  unwilling 
to  do  it,  but  at  last  she  was  forced 
to  do  it,  and  she  won  the  battle. 
Father  Burke  thinks  he  answers  me 
by  pointing  to  the  Act  of  Uniform- 
ity passed  in  Ireland  in  the  second 
rear  of  her  reign.  I  had  myself 
mentioned  this  Act  and  explained 
why  it  was  passed.  I  regretted  it 
and  called  it  unwise,  but  I  added 
that  it  was  not  executed,  and  I  am 
ohliged  to  insist  to  Father  Burke 
that  this  is  true  and  that  the 
smallest  accurate  acquaintance 
with  the  time  will .  show  anyone 
thftt  it  is  true.  The  whole  coun- 
try was  a  prey  to  anarchy.  The 
churches  like  all  else  went  to  ruin. 
But  among  other  causes  of  this  the 
roost  important  was  perhaps  Eliza- 
beth's determination  that  the  Act 
of  Uniformity  should  not  be  en- 
forced. I  speak  of  what  I  know. 
I  have  studied  her  correspondence 
with  the  viceroys.  One  of  them, 
Lord  Grey,  being  a  strong  Puritan, 
pressed  to  be  allowed  to  make  what 
he  called  a  Mahometan  conquest, 
to  offer  the  people  the  Reformation 
or  the  sword — his  complaint  was 
that  she  forbade  him  to  do  it,  for- 
hade  him  strictly  to  meddle  with 
anyone  for  religion  who  was  not  in 
rebellion  against  the  crown. 

I  said  and  I  repeat  that  Elizabeth 
meant  well  to  the  poor  country, 
though  never  was  the  proverb 
better  illustrated,  that  the  road  to 
the  wrong  place  is  paved  with  good 
intentions. 

I  come  now  to  the  part  of  the 
business  which  ib  of  present  prac- 
tical consequence. 

I  begin  with  the  Ulster  settle- 
ment, tibe  Protestant  colonisation  of 
the  North  of  Ireland  under  James  I. 
Father  Burke  says,  James  I. 
promised  that  the  Irish  should  be 
lefl  in  possession  of  their  lands, 
that  he  kept  his  promise  for  four 
jears  and  then  broke  it.  The  Earls 
of  Tyrconnell  and  Tyrone  fled  from 


Ireland  to  escape  imprisonment; 
James  then  took  the  whole  province 
of  Ulster  from  the  original  proprie- 
tor and  handed  it  over  to  settlers 
from  England  and  Scotland.  Pro- 
mises are,  I  suppose,  conditional  on 
good  behaviour.  Many  an  oath 
had  Tyrone  sworn  to  be  a  loyal 
subject,  and  many  an  oath  had  ho 
broken.  Was  he  to  be  allowed  to 
conspire  for  ever  and  remain  un- 
punished !  He  fled  to  escape  im- 
prisonment. But  why  was  he  to 
be  imprisoned  ?  Because  he  was 
planning  another  rebellion,  and  he 
dared  not  remain  to  meet  the  proofs 
which  were  to  be  brought  against 
him.  The  English  took  the  whole 
province  of  Ulster  from  the  Irish, 
so  says  Father  Burke,  and  then 
stops.  He  should  have  gone  on  to 
say,  but  he  docs  not  say  it,  that  of 
the  two  million  acres  of  w^hich  the 
six  confiscated  counties  of  Ulster 
consist,  a  million  and  a  half  were 
given  back  to  the  Irish,  and  half  a 
million  only  of  the  acres  most  fit  for 
cultivation,  but  which  the  Insh  left 
uncultivated,  were  retained  for  the 
colonists.  It  has  been  half  a  million 
acres  forthe  last  two  centuries.  The 
acres  multiply  like  Falstaff^s  men 
in  buckram  as  the  myth  develops. 

They  brought  over  Scotch  and 
English  Protestants,  says  Father 
Burke,  and  made  them  swear  as 
they  did  so,  that  they  would  not 
employ  one  single  Irishman  or  one 
single  Catholic,  nor  let  them  come 
near  them.  Has  not  Father  Burke 
omitted  one  small  but  important 
expression  ?  Was  it  true  that  they 
were  not  to  employ  one  single  Irish- 
man ?  Or  an  Irishman  who  refused 
to  take  the  oath  of  allegiance  ?  I 
have  not  examined  the  Charters  in 
detail  under  which  the  separate 
grants  were  held.  I  will  not  affirm 
that  there  was  no  corporation  which 
was  intended  to  be  exclusively 
Scotch  or  English.  But  I  do  know 
that  the  oath  of  allegiance  was  the 

feneral  condition.      Let  me  remind 
'ather  Burke  of  an  Act  of  Parlia- 


14 


Address  in  Answento  Father  Burhe. 


[January 


ment  passed  at  this  very  time  by 
the  very  men  whom  he  accuses  of 
this  bitter  enmity  to  the  Irish.  It 
repeals  simply  and  for  ever  every 
law  which  had  made  a  distinction 
between  the  English  and  Irish  in- 
habitants of  the  country.  It  de- 
clares them  aU  citizens  of  a  common 
empire,  enjoying  equal  laws  and 
equal  protection.  It  expresses  a 
hope  that  thenceforward  they  would 
grow  into  one  nation  in  perfect 
agreement,  with  utter  oblivion  of 
all  former  differences.  If  you 
doubt  me,  gentlemen,  look  into  the 
Irish  Statute  Book  for  the  reign  of 
James  the  First  and  satisfy  your- 


As  a  matter  of  fact  it  can  be 
proved  distinctly  that  from  the  date 
of  the  settlement  the  English  and 
Irish  did  live  together  on  these  half 
million  acres,  and  cultivated  their 
land  together.  Their  houses  and 
fields  lay  side  by  side,  they  helped 
each  other,  employed  each  other, 
grew  into  useful  social  and  kindly 
relations  with  one  another.  It  was 
this  close  intimacy,  this  seeming 
friendliness,  this  adoption  by  so 
many  of  the  Irish  of  the  laws  and 
customs  of  the  settlers,  which  con- 
stituted the  most  painful  features  in 
the  rebellion  of  164 1. 

I  pass  on  to  that  rebellion.  It  is 
by  far  the  gravest  matter  with 
which  I  have  to  deal.  It  is  the 
hinge  on  which  later  history  re- 
volves. If  Father  Burke's  version 
of  it  is  true,  then  we  English  robbed 
the  Irish  of  their  lands,  tried  to  rob 
them  of  their  religion,  massacred 
them  when  they  resisted,  slandered 
them  as  guilty  of  a  crime  which  was 
in  reality  our  own,  and  took  away 
from  them  as  a  punishment  all  the 
lands  and  liberties  which  they 
retained.  If  this  be  so,  we  owe 
them  an  instant  confession  of  our 
complicated  crimes  and  an  instant 
reparation,  such  reparation  as  we 
are  able  to  make.  If  it  be  not  true, 
then  this  cause  of  heartburning 
ought  to  be  taken  away.     I  cannot 


regret  with  Father  Burke  that  this 
wound  has  been  re-opened.  Bather 
let  it  be  probed  to  the  bottom.  Let 
the  last  drop  of  secreted  falsehood 
be  detected  and  purged  out  of  the 
history.  Again  I  must  divide  in 
two  what  I  have  to  say.  I  must 
notice  first,  what  he  says  of  the  ac- 
count given  by  me  of  these  things; 
and  next,  what  he  says  himself 
about  the  facts. 

For  my  part  of  the  business  I 
am  obliged  to  say  that  he  has 
studied  my  lectures  imaginatively. 
He  has  seen  there  what  he  wished 
to  see,  or  thought  he  saw.  Unin- 
tentionally, I  am  well  aware,  but 
under  the  influence  of  vehement 
and  natural  emotions,  he  has  mis- 
understood me  in  three  most  im- 
portant particulars. 

He  charges  me  with  defending 
the   Irish    Administration  of    the 
Earl  of  Strafford — as  having  come 
to  America  to  ask  a  great,   free 
people  to  endorse  Strafford's  des- 
potism as  just  government.    Unless 
words  be    taken,  not  to    express 
thoughts,  but  to  conceal  them,  I 
said  that  Strafford's  policy  in  L»- 
land   was    t3rrannous,    cruel,    and 
dangerous.     He  speaks  as  if    the 
Puritan    party     in    England    and 
Scotland  were  bent  on  destroying 
the    Catholics    in    Ireland.      The 
commission  which  went  from   the 
Irish   Parliament    to    London,    to 
complain  of    Strafford,   was  com- 
posed jointly  of  Protestants    and 
Catholics.      The    arraignment     of 
Strafford  was    conducted    by   the 
great  Puritan  statesman,  Pym,  and 
I  pointed  out  in  my  lectures  that 
his  administration  of  Ireland  formed 
one  of  the  most  serious  counts  on 
which  he  was   condemned.     Does 
this  look  as  if  the  complaints  of  Ire- 
land could  receive  no  attention  from 
the  Long  Parliament  ?     Does  this 
bear  out  Father  Burke  in  charging 
me  with  defending  Strafford,  and 
calling  his  conduct  just  ? 

Again,  Father  Burke  accuses  me 
of  having  said  that  the   rebellion 


1873] 


Address  m  Answer  to  Father-  Burke, 


15 


began  with  massacre,  as  if  it  was  a 
preconceived  intention.  In  a  sam- 
maiy  of  the  events  of  the  ten  years, 
I  said  generally  that  it  commenced 
with  massacre,  and  «o  it  did,  when 
the  period  is  reviewed  as  a  whole  ; 
but  in  my  account  of  what  actually 
passed,  I  said  expressly,  and  in  the 
plainest  words,  that  so  far  as  I 
conld  make  out  from  the  contra- 
dictory evidence,!  thought  the  Irish 
bad  not  intended  that  there  should 
be  bloodshed  at  all. 

Lastly,  he  accuses  me  of  having 
called  the  Irish  cowards,  and  he 
desires  me  to  take  the  word  back. 
I  cannot  take  back  what  I  never 
gave.  Father  Burke  says  that  such 
words  cause  bad  blood,  and  that  I 
may  one  day  have  cause  to  remem- 
ber them.  That  they  cause  bad 
blood  I  have  reason  to  know  al- 
ready ;  but  the  words  are  not  mine 
but  bis,  and  he  and  not  I  must 
recall  them. 

Not  once,  but  again  and  again, 
with  the  loadest  emphasis  I  have 
spoken  of  the  notorious  and  splen- 
did courage  of  Irishmen.  What  I 
said  was  this,  and  I  will  say  it  over 
again.  I  was  asking  how  it  was 
that  a  race  whose  courage  was 
above  suspicion  made  so  poor  a 
hand  of  rebellion,  and  I  answered 
mj  question  thus;  that  the  Irish 
would  fight  only  for  a  cause  in 
which  they  really  believed,  and 
that  they  were  too  shrewd  to  be 
duped  by  illusions  with  which  thev 
allowed  themselves  to  play.  I  will 
add  that  five  hundred  of  the  present 
Irish  police,  Celts  and  Catholics, 
all  or  most  of  them,  enlisted  in  the 
cause  of  order  and  good  govern- 
ment, would  walk  up  to  and  walk 
through  the  largest  mob  which  the 
so-called  patriots  could  collect  from 
the  four  Provinces  of  Ireland.  If 
it  be  to  call  men  cowards  that  under 
the  severest  trials  the  Irish  display 
the  noblest  qualities  which  do 
honour  to  hnmanity  when  they  are 
on  the  right  side,  then,  and  only 

veil.  Vn. — HO.  XXXVII.    NEW  SERIES. 


then,  have  I  questioned  the  courage 
of  Irishmen. 

So  much  for  myself — now  for  the 
facts  of  the  rebellion.  We  are 
agreed  that  on  the  23rd  of  October, 
1 64 1,  there  was  a  universal  rising 
of  the  Irish  race,  and  an  attempt 
to  expel  the  Protestant  colonists 
from  the  country.  Father  Burke  says 
the  Puritan  Lords  Justices  in  Dub- 
lin knew  that  the  rising  was  immi- 
nent, and  deliberately  allowed  it  to 
break  out.  I  must  meet  him  at  once 
with  a  distinct  denial  of  this.  The 
secret  correspondence  of  the  Lords 
Justices,  before  and  after  the  out- 
break, has  been  happily  preserved, 
and  anything  more  unlQie  the  state 
of  their  minds  than  the  idea  which 
Father  Burke  assigns  to  them  can- 
not be  imagined.  They  had  no 
troops  that  they  could  rely  upon. 
The  country  was  patrolled  by  the 
fragments  of  the  Catholic  army 
which  had  been  raised  by  Strafford 
and  afterwards  disbanded  ;  and  the 
Lords  Justices  were  in  the  utmost 
terror  of  them.  Situated  as  they 
were  they  would  have  been  simply 
mad  had  they  foreseen  what  was 
to  happen,  and  purposely  permitted 
it. 

The  Irish,  Father  Burke  says,  had 
good  reason  to  rise.  Who  denies 
it?  Certainly  not  I.  My  own 
words  were  that  it  was  the  natural 
penalty  for  past  cruelties.  But 
the  Father  will  not  have  it  to  have 
been  a  rebellion — because  he  says 
Charles  the  First  approved  of  it, 
or  would  have  approved  of  it  had 
he  been  in  a  position  to  express  an 
opinion ;  and  that  Sir  Phelim 
O'Neil,  who  headed  the  movement, 
issued  a  proclamation  that  he  was 
acting  in  the  king's  name.  That 
Charles  had  been  encouraging  some 
movement  in  Ireland  is  perfectly 
true,  but  not  that  of  Sir  Phelim 
O'Neil. — Sir  Phelim  produced  a 
commission  purporting  to  have 
been  given  to  him  by  Charles  and 
signed  with  the  Great  Seal — ^but 


16 


Address  m  Answer  to  FcUher  Burke, 


[January 


Sir  Phelim  confessed  afterwords 
that  the  commission  was  forged, 
and  that  he  had  taken  the  Seal 
from  a  private  deed  which  lay 
among  his  muniments.  Of  this 
Father  Barke  says  nothing. 

The  Irish,  Father  Burke  acknow- 
ledges, stripped  the  Protestant  set- 
tlers  of  their   cattle,   horses,   and 
property.     Under  property,  I  sup- 
pose, he  includes  their  houses  and 
their  clothes,  for  they  were  turned 
out  of   doora,   men,   women,   and 
children,  literally  naked.     So  far, 
he  thinks  the  Irish  did  nothing  but 
what  they  had  a  right  to  do.     The 
property  of  the  setters  belonged  to 
the  Irish,  and   they  were  simply 
taking    l»ck    their    own.     When 
wild  races  who  do  not  cultivate  the 
soil  come  in  collision  with  other 
races  who  do  cultivate  it,  disputes 
ofthis  kind  continually  arise.  When 
the  native  finds  his  land,  of  which 
he  made  no  use,  taken  from  him 
under  pretexts  which  he   considers 
unjust,  his  eagerness  to  recover  it 
grows  greater  as  he  sees  it  increase 
in  value  by  the  intruder's  industry. 
From  this  point  of  view  it  is  natu- 
ral that  he  should  consider  not  the 
land  only,  but  everything  that  has 
been  raised  upon  it,  to  belong  to 
himself.     But  I  never  before  heard 
an  educated  man  maintain  such  a 
proposition  in  cool  blood.     Who- 
ever may  have  had  a  right  to  the 
land,  it  had  been  bought,  occupied, 
and  tilled  for  thirty-six  years  by 
the  settlers  without  a  word  of  ques- 
tion on  their  titles.      I  should  have 
thought  any  Irishman  who  has  had 
experience  in  later  years  of  land- 
lord evictions  would  have  recog- 
nised that  the  right  to  the  property 
raised  on  the  soil  belonged  to  those 
who  had  raised  it.    It  appears,  in 
the  Father's  opinion,  that  the  set- 
tlers and  their  families  ought  to 
have  accepted  their  fate  and  gone 
&way  without  resistance. 

Father  Burke  says  the  first  Uood 
•was  shed  by  the  Protestants.  I 
should  not  be  surprised  if  it  was  so. 


Men  assailed  by  mobs,  who  mean  to 
turn  them  naked  out  of  their  homes, 
are  apt  at  times  to  resist.  But  this 
is  not  what  Father  Burke  means. 
Tte  origin  of  all  the  after  horrors, 
he  says,  was  an  atrocity  committed 
by  the  Protestant  garrison  at  Car- 
rickfergus,  who,  before  any  lives 
had  been  taken  by  the  Catholics, 
sallied  out  and  destroyed  three 
thousand  Catholic  Irish  who  had 
crowded  together  in  a  place  called 
Island  Maghee.  This  story  has 
been  examined  into,  and  bears  ex- 
amination as  ill  as  other  parts  of 
the  popular  version  of  the  massacre 
— ^but  apparently  to  no  purpose. 
Out  it  comes,  round,  confident,  and 
unblushing  as  ever.  Father  Burke 
quotes  it  from  the  Protestant  his- 
torian, Leland;  therefore  he  as- 
sumes it  to  be  true.  He  pays  a 
compliment  to  Protestant  veracity ; 
but  Protestants  are  veracious  only 
when  they  speak  on  the  Catholic 
side.  Dr.  Reid,  the  author  of  the 
History  of  the  Presbyterians  in  Ire* 
lamdf  the  very  best  book,  in  my 
opinion,  which  has  ever  been  writ- 
ten on  these  matters,  shows  how 
little  Leland  knew  about  it ;  yet 
Dr.  Reid  is  not  worth  the  Father's 
notice. 

The  legend,  for  such  it  is,  is  due 
to  a  misteJce  or  a  misprint  in  a  single 
short  sentence  of  Lord  Clarendon's. 
The  evidence  that  Clarendon  had 
before  him  is  now  in  Dublin,  and 
every  fibre  of  this  Island  Maghee 
story  can  be  traced.  First,  the 
number  of  the  killed  is  multiplied 
by  a  hundred.  In  revenge  for  some 
atrocious  murders  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, the  Carrickfergus  garrison 
did  attack  Island  Maghee,  and  did 
kill  there,  not  three  thousand  per- 
sons, but  thirty  persons.  Again, 
the  date  is  wrong,  and  the  date  is 
all  in  all.  1*0  fit  with  the  theory 
that  it  was  the  beginning  of  the 
mischief,  it  is  thrown  back  to  the 
beginning  of  November  1 64 1 .  The 
real  date  was  the  beginning  of 
January  1642,  and  in  January,  and 


1S7S] 


Address  in  Answer  to  FatJier  Burke, 


17 


long  before,  the  cotmtry  was  in 
flames  from  end  to  end.  I  wish  you 
who  are  dissatisfied  will  at  least  look 
at  what  Dr.  Reid  says  on  this  mat- 
ter; yon  will  find  yonrselves  in 
good  hands.  Colonel  AndleyMer- 
vyn,  who  was  in  Ireland  at  the 
time,  says  that,  in  his  own  county  of 
Fermanagh,  which  ho  calls  one  of  the 
best  planted  counties  with  English: 
in  the  whole  island,  by  January 
almost  all  of  them  had  been  killed. 
He  made  close  enquiry,  and  found 
that  not  one  in  twenty  had  escaped. 

Father  Burke,  following  the 
usual  Irish  Catholic  tradition,  in- 
sists on  a  commission  issued  in 
December  by  the  Dublin  Council, 
to  enquire  into  the  losses  of  the 
Scotch  and  English  settlers  by 
plunder.  Because  it  says  nothing 
of  massacres,  he  infers,  more  Hiber- 
iiicOf  that  it  denies  that  there  had 
been  any  massacre. 

Unfortunately  for  this  theory, 
there  is  a  letter,  dated  the  first  of 
December,  from  the  same  Council 
to  the  Long  Parliament,  declaring 
that  at  the  time  when  they  were 
writing,  there  were  40,000  rebels  in 
the  field,  who  were  putting  to  the 
svord  men,  women,  and  children 
that  were  Protestants,  ill-using  th^ 
women,  dashing  out  the  brains  of 
the  children  before  their  parents' 
faces.  I  avoided  before,  and  I  shall 
avoid  now,  all  details  of  this  dreadful 
subject.  If  a  tenth  part  of  the 
sworn  eyidence  be  true,  the  Irish 
acted  more  like  fiends  than  human 
beings.  I  will  q^ote  only  a  single 
page  firom  Sir  John  Temple,  a  daa- 
ttnguished  lawyer,  who  was  in  Dub- 
lin all  the  time,  and  describes  what 
be  saw  with  his  own  eyes.  Father 
Burke  insists  on  the  cruelties  of 
Sir  Charles  Gootey  in  Wicklow.  Sir 
John  Temple  will  show  you  Sir 
Charles  Coote*B  provocation.  There 
is  no  dispute,  I  must  remind  you, 
about  the  expulsion  of  the  Pro- 
testant families  from  their  homes. 
They  were  tamed  out  literally 
naked  in  the  wild  October  weftther, 


with  wisps  of  straw  or  rags,  to 
cover  them,  to  find  their  way  to  the 
sea. 

Idsten  to  Sir  John  Temple. 

*  That  which  made  the  condition 
more  formidable  was  the  daily  re- 
pair of  multitudes  of  English  that 
came  up  in  troops  miserably  des- 
poiled out  of  the  North,  many  of 
good  rank  and  quality,  covered 
with  old  rags,  and  some  without 
any  covering  but  twisted  straw; 
wives  came  lamenting  the  murder 
of  their  husbands ;  mothers  of  their 
children  barbarously  destroyed  be- 
fore their  eyes;  some  sosnrbatedas 
they  came  creeping  on  their  knees, 
others  fix)zen  with  cold,  ready  to 
give  up  the  ghost  in  the  streets ; 
others  distracted  with  their  losses, 
lost  also  their  senses.  Thus  was 
the  town,  within  a  few  days  after 
the  breaking  out  of  the  rebellion, 
filled  with  these  lamentable  spec- 
tacles of  sorrow,  having  no  place  to 
lay  their  heads,  no  clothing  to  cover 
their  nakedness,  no  food  to  stay 
their  hunger.  To  add  to  their 
miseries,  the  popish  inhabitants 
revised  to  minister  the  least  com- 
fort to  them.  Many  lay  in  the 
open  streets,  and  others  under 
stacks,  and  there  miserably  perish- 
ed. Those  of  better  quality,  who- 
could  not  frame  themselves  to  be 
common  beggars,  crept  into  private 
places,  and  wasted  silently  away, 
and  died  without  noise.  I  have 
known  some  that  lay  naked,  and 
having  clothes  sent,  laid  them  by, 
refusing  to  put  them  on:  others 
would  not  stir  to  fetch  themselves 
food,  though  they  knew  where  it 
stood  ready  for  them ;  and  so,  worn 
with  misery  and  cruel  usage,  their 
spirit  spent,  their  senses  failing,  the 
greatest  part  of  the  women  and 
children  thus  barbarously  expelled 
from  their  habitations,  perished  in 
the  city  of  Dublin,  leaving  their 
bodies  as  monuments  of  the  most 
inhuman  cnielties  used  towards 
them.' 

Do     you    suppose,    ladies    and 
G  2 


18 


Address  in  Aiiswer  to  Father  Burke, 


[January 


gentlemen,  that  the  friends  and 
countrymen  of  these  poor  women 
would  have  been  in  a  very  amiable 
humour  with  such  sqpnes  before 
them  ?  Do  you  suppose  that  when 
they  knew  other  English  families 
within  reach  of  the  city  were  ex- 
posed to  the  same  treatment,  they 
ought  to  have  sat  still  and  allowed 
the  Irish  to  repeat  in  Leinster  the 
atrocities  which  they  had  perpe- 
trated in  the  North?  Coote  col- 
lected a  body  of  horse  out  of  the 
fugitive  men  who  had  crowded  into 
Dublin.  The  Irish  were  beginning 
the  same  work  in  an  adjoining 
county.  Coote  rode  into  the 
Wicklow  hills  and  gave  them  a 
lesson  that  two  parties  could  play 
at  murder.  I  do  not  excuse  him. 
But  the  question  of  questions  is, 
who  began  all  those  horrors  ?  and 
what  was  the  true  extent  of  them  ? 
Father  Burke  thinks  everything, 
short  of  murder,  which  the  Irish 
did  to  have  been  perfectly  justifi- 
.  able.  I  do  not  agree  with  him — 
but  let  that  pass.  He  says  a  Pro- 
testant has  proved  that  the  Catholics 
killed  only  2,100  people,  and  there- 
fore it  must  be  true.  Again  a  com- 
pliment to  a  Protestant — but  it  is 
a  matter  on  which  I  will  not  accept 
the  mere  opinion  of  any  one  man, 
even  if  ho  do  call  himself  Protestant. 
I  am  sorry  to  say  I  have  known 
many  Protestants  entirely  unable  to 
distinguish  truth  from  falsehood. 
rBir  William  Petty,  a  very  able, 
.cool-headed,  sceptical  sort  of  man, 
examined  all  the  evidence,  went 
himself,  within  ten  years  of  the 
events,  over  the  scene  of  the  mas- 
sacre, and  concluded,  after  careful 
consideration,  that  the  number  of 
Protestants  killed  in  the  first  six 
months  of  the  rebellion,  amounted 
to  38,000.  Clarendon  and  Coote 
give  nearly  the  same  numbers. 
Yotj,  who  would  form  an  indepen- 
dent opinion  on  the  matter,  I  would 
fidvise  to  read  (whatever  else  you 
read)  Sir  John  Temple's  history  of 
the  Rebellion,  and  Dr.   Borlase^ 


history  of  it.  Temple  was,  as  I 
said,  an  eye-witness.  Borlase's  book 
contains  in  the  appendix  large  selec- 
tions from  the  evidence  taken  on  oath 
before  Commissioners  at  Dublin. 

I  shall  stiU  be  met  with  the 
*  thundering  English  lie  '  argument ; 
and  so  &r  you  have  but  my  asser- 
tion against  Father  Burke's.  In 
my  opinion  he  treats  the  Irish 
massacre  precisely  as  he  treats  the 
Alva  massacre  and  the  St.  Bar- 
tholomew's massacre.  The  wolf 
lays  the  blame  on  the  lamb.  But 
that,  you  may  fairly  say,  is  only 
my  view  of  the  question.  Very 
well,  I  have  a  proposal  to  make, 
which  I  hope  you  wfll  indorse ;  and 
if  we  work  together,  and  if  Father 
Burke  will  help,  we  may  arrive  at 
the  truth  yet. 

Ireland  and  England  will  never 
understand  each  other  till  this  story 
is  cleared  up.  Now,  I  am  fond  of 
referring  disputed  questions  to  in- 
different tribunals.  An  enormous 
body  of  evidence  lies  still  half  ex- 
amined in  Dublin.  I  should  like  a 
competent  commission  to  be  ap- 
pointed to  look  over  the  whole 
matter  and  report  a  conclusion.  It 
should  con^st  of  men  whose  busi- 
ness is  to  deal  with  evidence — i.e. 
of  lawyers.  I  would  have  no  clergy, 
Catholic  or  Protestant.  Clergy  are 
generally  blind  of  one  eye.  I  would 
not  have  men  of  letters  or  historians 
like  myself  and  Father  Burke ;  we 
partake  of  the  clerical  infirmities  of 
disposition.  By-the-bye,  I  must 
beg  Father  Burke's  pardon.  As  a 
priest  I  have  put  him  out  of  court 
already.  I  say  I  would  have  a 
commission  of  experienced  lawyers, 
men  of  weight,  and  responsible  to 
public  opinion.  Four  Irish  judges, 
for  instaiice,  might  be  appointed — 
two  Catholic  and  two  Protestant; 
and  to  give  the  Catholics  all  advan- 
tage, let  Lord  O'Hagan,  the  Catho- 
lic Irish  Chancellor,  be  chairman. 
Let  these  five  go  through  all  the 
survivingmemorials  of  the  Rebellion 
of  1 64 1,  and  tell  us  what  it  really 


1873]- 


Address  in  Atiswer  to  Father  Burke, 


19 


ma.  We  sluJl  then  have  sound 
groiind  under  na,  and  we  shall 
know  what  are  and  what  are  not 
the  thnndering  lies,  of  which  indis- 
pntahlj,  on  one  side  or  the  other, 
an  enormons  nnmher  are  now 
afloat.  I  can  conceive  nothing 
which  woold  hotter  promote  a 
reconciliation  of  England  and  Ire- 
land than  the  report  which  such  a 
commission  wonld  send  in.  If  the 
heads  of  the  Catholic  Church  in 
Ireland  wonld  combine  to  ask  for 
it,  I  conceive  that  it  could  not  be 
refused. 

For  myself  I  have  but  touched 
one  point  in  twenty  relating  to  this 
business  where  my  evidence  contra- 
dicts Father  Burke.      But  I  will 
pursue  it  no  further.     A  few  words 
will  exhaust  what  I  have  to  say 
about    Cromwell.      About    him    I 
cannot  hope  to  bring  Father  Burke 
to  any  approach  to  an  agreement 
with  me.     There  are  a  few  matters 
of  fact,  however,  which  admit  of 
being  established.     Father  Burke 
Bays  that  Cromwell  meant  to  exter- 
minate  the    Irish.      I   distinguish 
again  between  the  industrious  Irish 
and  the  idle,  fighting  Irish.     He 
showed  his  intentions  towards  the 
peasantry  a  few  days  after  his  land- 
ing, for  he  hung  two  of  his  own 
troopers  for  stealing  a  hen  from  an 
old  woman.      Cromwell,   says  the 
Father,  wound  up  the  war  by  tak- 
ing 80,000  men  and  shipping  them 
to  the  sugar  plantations  in  Barba- 
does.    In  six  years,  such  was  the 
cruelty,  that  not  twenty  of  them 
were  left.      80,000    men.    Father 
Burke !  and  in  six  years  not  twenty 
left.     I   have   read    the    Thurloe 
Papers,  where  the  account  will  be 
found  of  these  shipments  to  Bar- 
badoes.    I  can  find  nothing  about 
80,000  men  there.      When    were 
tbey  Bent  out,  and  how,  and  in 
what  ships  ?    You  got  these  num- 
bers where  you  got  the  millions  of 
Dative   Irish    in  America.      Your 
figures  expand  and  contract  like  the 
tent  in  the  fairy  tale,  which  would 


either  shrink  into  a  walnut-shell  or 
cover  10,000  men  as  the  owner  of 
it  liked.  Father  Burke  says  that 
all  the  Irish  Catholic  landowners 
were  sent  into  Connaught.  Lord 
Clarendon  says  that  no  one  was 
sent  to  Connaught  who  had  not 
forfeited  his  life  by  rebellion ;  and 
next,  that  to  send  them  there  was 
the  only  way  to  save  them  from 
being  killed,  for  they  would  not 
live  in  peace.  If  an  Englishman 
strayed  a  mile  from  his  door  he  was 
murdered,  and  there  was  such  ex-  • 
asperation  with  these  fighting  Irish 
that  if  they  had  been  left  at  home 
the  soldiers  would  have  destroyed 
them  all. 

Ireland  was  made  a  wilderness, 
says  Father  Burke,  and  that  is  true 
— but  who  made  it  so  ?  The  nine 
years  of  civil  war  made  it  so— and 
it  could  not  revive  in  a  day  or  in  a 
year.  If  three  or  four  thousand 
Irish  boys  and  girls  were  sent  as 
apprentices  to  the  plantations,  it 
was  a  kindness  to  send  them  there 
in  the  condition  to  which  Ireland 
had  been  reduced;  but  when  I 
said  that  fifteen  years  of  industry 
brought  the  country  to  a  higher 
state  of  prosperity  than  it  had 
ever  attained  before,  I  am  not  an- 
swered when  I  am  told  that  it 
was  miserable  when  the  settlers  had 
been  at  work  only  for  four  years. 
I  will  refer  Father  Burke,  and  I 
will  refer  you,  to  the  Life  of  Claren- 
don, if  you  wish  to  see  what  the 
Cromwellian  settlement  made  of 
Ireland.  Clarendon  hated  Crom- 
well and  would  allow  nothing  in  his 
favour  that  he  could  help.  Bead 
it  then  and  see  which  is  right — 
Father  Burke  or  I. 

Never  before  had  Ireland  paid 
the  expenses  of  its  government.  It 
was  now  able  to  settle  a  permanent 
revenue  on  Charles  II.  In  1665, 
when  many  estates  were  restored 
to  Catholic  owners,  the  difficulty 
was  in  apportioning  the  increased 
value  which  Puritan  industry  had 
given  to  those  estates. 


20 


Address  in  Answer  to  Father  Burke. 


[January- 


It  is  true  that  the  priests  were 
ordered  by  Cromwell  to  leave  the 
coimtry.  Father  Burke  says  that 
a  fine  was  set  on  the  heads  of 
those  that  remained.  In  a  sense 
that  too  is  true ;  but  in  what  sense  P 
A  thousand  went  away  to  Spain — 
of  those  that  remained  and  refused 
to  go— of  those  who  passively  stayed, 
and  did  not  conceal  themselves,  and 
allowed  the  Government  to  know 
where  they  were — some  were  ar- 
rested and  sent  to  Barbadoes — some 
were  sent  to  the  Irish  Islands  on 
the  west  coast,  and  a  sum  of  money 
was  allowed  them  for  maintenance. 
Harsh  measures.  But  Father  Burke 
should  be  exact  in  his  a<;count. 
Those  who  went  into  the  moun- 
tains and  lived  with  the ,  outlaws 
shared  the  outlaws'  fate.  They  were 
making  themselves  the  companions 
of  what  Bnglishmen  call  banditti — 
what  the  Irish  call  patriots.  I  don't 
think  any  way  they  were  a  good 
kind  of  patriots.  It  is  true  that  a 
price  was  set  on  the  heads  of  those 
who  absolutely  refused  to  submit. 
It  was  found  too  &tally  successful 
a  mode  of  ending  with  them .  Father 
Burke  quotes  a  passage  from  Major 
Morgan,  I  will  quote  another: — 
*  The  Irish,'  he  said,  *  bring  in  their 
comrades'  heads.  Brothers  and 
cousins  cut  each  other's  throats.' 

Mr.  Prendergast,  the  latest  and 
most  accomplished  historian  of  those 
times,  a  man  of  most  generous  dis- 
position and  passionately  Irish  in 
his  sentiments,  alluding  to  these 
words  of  Major  Morgan,  makes  a 
comment  on  them,  which  tempts 
me  to  abandon  in  despair  the  hope 
of  understanding  the  Irish  cha« 
racter. 

'  No  wonder  they  betrayed  each 
other,'  he  says,  '  because  they  had 
no  longer  any  public  cause  to  main- 
tain.' 

I  shall  notice  but  one  point  more. 

In  speaking  of  the  American  re- 
volution, I  said  that  a  more  active 
sympathy  was  felt  at  that  time  for 
the  American  cause  by  the  Pro- 


testants of  the  North  of  Ireland  than 
by  the  Catholics,  and  that  more 
active  service  was  done  in  America 
by  the  Anglo-Scotch  Irish,  who 
emigrated  thither  in  the  eighteenllL 
century,  than  by  the  representatives 
of  the  old  race.  Do  not  think  that 
I  grudge  any  Irishman  of  any  per- 
suasion the  honour  of  having  struck 
a  blow  at  their  common  oppressors 
when  the  opportunity  offered.  I 
was  mentioning,  however,  what 
was  matter  of  fact,  and  I  wished  to 
remind  Americans  that  there  is  a 
Protestant  Ireland  as  well  as  a 
Catholic — ^with  which  at  one  time 
they  had  intimate  relations. 

There  is  distinct  proof  that  dar- 
ing a  great  part  of  the  last  century 
there  was  a  continual  Protestant 
emigration  from  Ireland  to  this 
country.  Archbishop  Boulter  speaks 
earnestly  about  it  in  his  letters,  and 
states  positively  that  it  was  an 
emigration  of  Protestants  only — 
that  it  did  not  affect  the  Catholics. 
So  grave  a  matter  it  was  that  it 
formed  the  subject  of  long  and 
serious  debates  in  the  Irish  Parlia- 
ment. The  Catholic  emigration 
meanwhile  was  to  France.  A  few 
CathoHc  peasants  may  have  come 
to  America  after  the  Whiteboy 
risings  in  1760,  but  I  have  seen  no 
notice  of  it.  Likely  enough  Catholic 
soldiers  deserted  from  the  regiments 
sent  out  from  Ireland.  Likely 
enough  gallant  Irish  Catholic  gentle- 
men from  the  French  and  Spanish 
armies  may  have  gone  over  and 
taken  service  wikh  you.  I  admire 
them  all  the  more  if  they  did.  But 
after  allowing  all  this,  out  of  every 
ten  Irishmen  in  America  at  the 
time  of  the  Revolution  there  must 
have  been  nine  Protestants.  While 
as  to  the  Catholics  in  Ireland  (I 
would  say  no  more  on  this  subject 
if  Father  Burke  had  not  called  on 
me  for  an  explanation),  I  can  only 
say  that  while  the  correspondence 
of  the  viceroy  expresses  the  deepest 
anxiety  at  the  attitude  of  the 
Presbyterians,  no  hint  is  dropped 


1873] 


Address  in  Answer  to  Father  Burke, 


21 


of  any  fear  from  the  rest  of  the 
popoIatioB.  Father  Burke  qaes- 
tions  my  knowledge  of  the  facts, 
and  quotes  &om  McNeven  that  there 
were  16,000  Irish  in  the  American 
ranks.  I  shonld  have  thought  that 
there  had  been  more — ^but  Father 
Burke  in  claiming  them  for  the 
Catholics  is  playing  with  the  name 
of  Irishman. 

I  quoted  a  loyal  address  to 
George  III.  signed  in  the  name  of 
the  whole  body  by  the  leading  Irish 
Caihohcs.  Father  Burke  says  that, 
though  fulsome  in  its  tone,  it  con- 
tains no  words  about  America. 
As  he  meets  me  with  a  contradic- 
tion, I  can  but  insist  that  I  copied 
the  words  which  I  read  to  you  from 
the  original  in  the  State  Paper 
Office,  and  I  will  read  one  or  two 
sentences  of  it  again.  The  address 
declares  that  the  Catholics  of  Tre- 
laod  abhorred  the  unnatural  rebel- 
lion against  hie  Majesty  which  had 
broken  out  among  his  American 
subjects,  that  they  laid  at  his  feet 
two  milhon  loyal,  faithful,  and 
affectionate  hearts  and  hands,  ready 
to  exert  themselves  against  his 
Majesty's  enemies  in  any  part  of 
the  world,  that  their  loyalty  had 
been  always  as  the  dial  to  the  sun, 
trae  though  not  shone  upon. 

Father  Burke  is  hasty  in  telling 
me  that  I  am  speaking  of  a  matter 
of  which  I  am  ignorant,  but  I  will 
pursue  it  no  further,  nor  but  for  his 
challenge  would  I  have  returned 
to  it.  Both  he  and  I  are  now  in 
the  rather  ridiculous  position  of 
contending  which  of  our  respec- 
tive friends  were  most  disloysd  to 
our  own  Government. 

Here  I  must  leave  him.  I  leave 
untouched  a  large  number  of  blots 
which  I  had  marked  for  criticism, 
but  if  I  have  not  done  enough  to 
him  already,  I  shall  waste  my 
wordg  with  trying  to    do  more; 


and  for  the  future  as  long  as  I  re- 
main in  America,  neither  he,  if  he 
returns  to  the  charge,  nor  any  other 
assailant  must  look  for  further 
answer  from  me. 

His  own  knowledge  of  his  sub- 
ject is  wide  and  varied ;  but  I  can 
compare  his  workmanship  to  no* 
thing  so  well  as  to  one  of  the  lives 
of  his  own  Irish  Saints,  in  which 
legend  and  reality  are  so  strangely 
blended  that  the  true  aspects  of 
things  and  characters  can  no  longer 
be  discerned. 

I  believe  that  I  have  shown  that 
this  is  the  true  state  of  the  case, 
though  from  the  state  of  Father 
Burke's  ndnd  upon  the  subject,  he 
may  be  unaware  precisely  of  what 
has  happened  to  him. 

Any  way  I  hope  that  we  may 
now  part  in  good  humour ;  we  may 
differ  about  the  past;  about  the 
present,  and  for  practical  objects,  I 
believe  we  are  agreed.  He  loves 
the  Irish  peasant,  and  so  do  I.  I 
have  been  accused  of  having  no- 
thing practical  to  propose  for  Ire- 
land. I  have  something  extremely 
practical ;  I  want  to  see  the  peasants 
taken  from  under  the  power  of  their 
landlords,  and  made  answerable  to 
no  authority  but  the  law.  It  would 
not  be  difficult  to  define  for  what 
offence  a  tenant  might  legally  be 
deprived  of  his  holding.  He  ought 
not  to  be  dependent  on  the  caprice 
of  any  individual  man.  If  Father 
Burke  and  his  friends  vnll  help  in 
that  way,  instead  of  agitating  for  a 
separation  from  Engknd,  I  would 
sooner  find  myself  working  with 
him  than  against  him.  If  he  will 
forget  my  supposed  hatred  to  his 
religion,  and  will  accept  the  hand 
which  I  hold  out  to  bun,  I  can  as- 
sure him  that  the  hatred  of  which 
he  speaks,  like  some  other  things, 
has  no  existence  except  in  his  own 
imagination. 


22 


[January 


NEW  EDITION  OF  THE  PASTON  LETTERS.* 


AMONG  the  many  services  ren- 
dered' to  English  literature 
by  Mr.  Arber  in  prodacing  his 
series  of  English  Reprints,  not  the 
least  is  his  issue  of  the  Paston  Letters, 
under  the  able  editorship  of  Mr. 
James  Grairdner.  The  literary  his- 
tory of  this  famous  collection  is 
itself  a  curiosity.  Valuable  alike 
to  the  antiquary,  the  student  of 
social  manners,  and  to  the  historian 
of  a  period  of  which  there  are  but 
few  memorials,  these  Letters,  after 
having  lain  almost  unheeded  for 
three  centuries,  excited  so  great  an 
interest  on  their  first  appearance  to 
the  world  in  1787,  that  the  whole 
edition  of  the  first  portion  pub- 
lished was  sold  within  a  week. 
Horace  Walpole  was  delighted  with 
them;  and  the  King  having  ex- 
pressed a  desire  to  see  the  originals, 
the  editor,  Mr.  Fenn,  generously 
presented  them  to  his  Majesty  in 
three  volumes  (being  part  only  of 
the  whole),  for  which  he  received  the 
honour  of  knighthood.  Unfortunate 
gift!  for  these  three  MS.  volumes 
are  not  now  to  be  found  among  the 
Library  of  Greorge  III.  in  its  home 
in  the  British  Museum,  but  have 
disappeared,  the  tradition  being 
that  '  they  were  last  seen  in  the 
hands  of  Queen  Charlotte,  who  it  is 
supposed  must  have  lent  them  to 
one  of  her  ladies  in  attendance.' 
It  is  to  be  hoped,  for  the  honour  of 
womanly  curiosity,  that  this  suppo- 
sition may  one  day  be  cleared  up. 

Fenn  published  in  all  four  vo- 
lumes, two  in  1787  and  two  in  1789; 
and  left,  on  his  death  in  1 794,  a  fifth 
volume  ready  for  the  press,  which 
was  not,  however,  printed  till  1823, 
by hisnephew Mr.  Serjeant Frere.  By 
that  time  all  the  originals,  strangely 
enough,  were  missing,  even  those 
of  the  fifth  volume.  But  Fenn  had 
(as  has  been  lately  shown)  done 


his  work  of  transcribing  and  pre- 
paration throughout  with  suck  mi- 
nute and  painstaking  care,  that  the 
want  of  the  originals  does  not  seem 
to  have  been  felt,  and  historian  afler 
historian  has  made  unquestioning 
use  of  the  materials  thus  thrown 
open,  resting  on  the  good  faith  of 
the  upright  editor.  And  it  does 
not  seem  that  this  confidence  has 
been  misplaced.  In  the  ForttiigJitly 
Review  for  September  i,  1865,  Mr. 
Herman  Merivale  for  the  first  time 
cast  doubts  upon  the  authenticity 
of  the  Fasten  Letters,  questioning 
whether  they  are  *  entirely  genuine, 
without  adulteration  by  modern 
^ands,'  and  making  various  objec- 
tions to  their  value  and  truth.  This 
not  only  produced  in  the  following 
month  a  reply  from  Mr.  Gairdner, 
who  had  made  the  Letters  his  spe- 
cial study,  convincingly  meeting 
doubts  and  objections,  and  explain- 
ing difficulties  from  the  volumes  as 
they  stood,  but  led  to  the  discovery 
shortly  afterwards,  in  Mr.  Frere's 
house,  of  the  originals  of  Volume  V. 
As  the  late  Mr.  J.  Bruce  describes, 
'inclosed  in  a  little  paper  case, 
which  somehow  or  other  Mr.  Ser- 
jeant overlooked,  there  were  in 
his  possession  these  hundred  and 
twelve  papers,  ail  arranged  in  per- 
fect order,  prepared  with  the  g^reat- 
est  care,  and  marked  by  Sir  J.  Fenn 
with  neat  pencil  memoranda.  They 
were  found  in  a  box  of  Sir  J.  Fenn's/ 
together  with  about  two  hundred 
and  seventy  other  papers.  The  im- 
portance  of  setting  at  rest  all  doubts 
being  evident,  these  papers  now 
underwent  a  strict  examination  at 
the  hands  of  a  Committee  composed 
of  eminent  members  of  the  Society  of 
Antiquaries,  and  a  close  comparison 
with  Fenn's  print  of  them :  the  re- 
sults of  which  were,  on  the  count 
of  their  being  really  genuine,  the 


>  7%e  Paston  Letters.     A  New  Edition.    Edited  by  James  Gaiidner,  of  the  Public 
Becoid  Office.    VoL  I.  Henry  VI.  1422-61.    Arber's  Keprinta,  London,  1872. 


1873] 


New  Edition  of  the  Paston  Letters. 


23 


strong  testimony  that  'a  minute 
inspectioii  of  eveiy  one  of  the  mann- 
Bcripte,  without  the  discoTerjr  of  any 
single  circnmstance  which  could 
create  a  doubt,  has  produced  in  the 
minds  of  the  members  of  the  Com- 
mittee the  most  unhesitating  cer- 
tainty upon  this  point;'  and  as 
regards  Fenn's  work,  *that  the 
errors  are  very  few,  and  for  the 
most  part  trivial;'  while  the  charge 
of  interpolation  or  garbling  was  in- 
dignantly repelled  by  Mr.  Bruce. 
WLen  so  much  can  be  proved  of 
the  posthumous  volume,  which  had 
not  the  benefit  of  correction  by  the 
practised  eye  of  its  editor,  the  in- 
ference is  that  the  earlier  volumes 
will  be  certainly  not  less  trust- 
worthy. On  the  whole,  the  weight 
of  evidence  and  argument  before  the 
finding  of  Mr.  Frere's  manuscripts 
was  in  favour  of  the  authenticity  of 
the  Paston  Letters;  it  amounted 
after  that  discovery  to  a  certainty, 
which  no  one  at  all  familiar  with 
the  methods  of  handwriting,  Ian- 
goage,  and  forms  of  composition  of 
older  English  manuscripts  can  with- 
stand.' 

The  story  does  not  end  here.  The 
separation  of  the  members  of  this 
precbus  collection  of  manuscripts 
has  been  so  cruel  that  they,  are 
fonnd  in  different  places;  twenty 
letters  are  at  the  Bodleian  Library 
in  the  Douoe  collection,  two  rough 
Tolomes  of  Fastolf  and  Paston  ma- 
nnscripts  are  in  the  great  reposi- 
tory of  the  late  Sir  T.  Phillipps 
(now  belonging  to  his  daughter), 
*  single  letters,  which  once  formed 
part  of  it,  occasionally  turn  up  at 
aactions,  and  some  have  been  sold 
to  foreign  purchasers,'  while  the 
large  number  found  by  Mr.  Frere 
^  1865,  including  the  hundred 
and  twelve  originals  of  Volume  V., 
are  now  safely  deposited  in   the 


British  Museum.  It  is  much  to  be 
wished  that  the  whole  of  the  known 
relics  of  the  Paston  Letters,  as  well 
as  others  that  may  hereafter  be  dis- 
covered, may  sooner  or  later  find 
their  fitting  home  in  the  National 
Library. 

The  difficulties,  then,  in  the  way 
of  a  conscientious  editor,  anxious  to 
glean  all  assistance  from  a  reference 
to  the  minutisd  of  his  originals,  were 
great.  A  careful  and  comprehen- 
sive study  of  the  whole  of  the 
Letters,  together  with  a  rare  know- 
ledge of  the  politics  and  the  course 
of  history  of  the  fifteenth  century, 
had  long  ago  made  it  apparent  that, 
while  individually  &ithful  to  tihe 
manuscripts,  Fenn  had  in  many  in- 
stances made  errors  as  to  their 
chronology,  while  the  whole  of  his 
collection  was  wanting  in  unity  and 
harmony  of  arrangement.  The 
reason  of  this  seems  to  be,  as  Mr. 
Bruce  explains,  that  Fenn  selected 
some  letters  from  each  chronolo- 
gical parcel  for  his  first  experimental 
publication;  that  for  the  second,  he 
also  made  a  further  selection ;  and  that 
finding  still  some  papers  of  interest 
remaining  in  each  parcel,  he  chose 
out  one  hundred  and  twelve  of  these 
for  a  last  and  fifth  volume.  Thus 
it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  if  the  re- 
lations of  one  to  another  are  not 
always  correct.  The  discovery  of 
the  box  of  letters  at  Mr.  Frere's 
house  seemed  to  present  a  good  oc- 
casion for  recasting  the  whole  in  a 
new  edition,  in  which  errors  of  date 
should  be  rectified,  broken  links 
joined,  and  to  which  large  additions 
could  be  made,  with  the  benefit  of 
the  increased  facilities  now  at  com- 
mand for  the  accurate  study  of 
ancient  documents. 

The  first  volume  now  brought 
out  accordingly  contains  nearly  two 
hundred  new  letters    and  papers 


'  Those  curious  in  the  details  of  the  histoiy  here  slightly  sketched  are  referred  to  the 
FoHwghtly  Esview,  Rrst  Series— Nos.  viii.  and  xi. ;  Mr.  Brace's  excellent  paper,  and 
the  Report  of  the  Committee  of  the  Society  of  Antiquaries,  both  printed  in  Archaclogia, 
^]'  xiL,  toeether  with  the  collateral  testimony  borne  by  Mr.  K.  Almack  in  a  letter 
pnnted  in  the  same  volume. 


21 


New  Edition  of  tlie  Paston  Letters. 


[Januarys 


given  either  in  extenso  or  in  short  ab- 
stract, and  dovetailed  in  with  those 
reprinted  from  Fenn;  the  whole, 
amounting  to  nearly  fonr  hundred, 
belong  to  the  reign  of  Henry  VI., 
A.D.  1422  to  1 46 1.  Besides  bring- 
ing his  exact  histoncal  knowledge 
to  bear  upon  the  text  and  chrono- 
logy, the  editor  has  prefixed  a  valu- 
ble  Introduction,  in  which  he  gives 
particulars  as  to  the  Paston  family, 
and  what  he  modestly  calls  'a 
political  survey'  of  the  reign  of 
Henry  VI.  from  his  marriage  to  the 
disastrous  end. 

In  the  story  of  the  Fastens  we 
see  one  of  those  which  show  that  in 
former  times,  as  well  as  in  modern 
days,  a  family  could  rise  from 
small  beginnings,  and  attain  by  the 
industry,  individual  genius,  or  force 
of  character  of  some  of  its  members, 
to  wealth,  honour,  and  position. 
Known  as  small  gentry  before  the 
days  of  Henry  VI.,  the  Pastons 
soon  became  of  importance  in  their 
county,  Norfolk,  and  later,  in  the 
service  of  their  coimtry,  till  having 
reached  the  peerage  their  line  ended 
in  1732,  in  the  person  of  the  second 
Earl  of  Yarmouth.  And  among  the 
family  none  seems  to  have  con- 
tributed so  much  to  build  up  their 
fortunes  as  the  *  Good  Judge,*  Wil- 
liam Paston,  of  the  days  of  Henry 
VI.,  who  (though  we  are  now 
taught  to  call  him  by  his  plain  title 
of  esquire,  instead  of  that  of  knight, 
to  which  he  appears  to  have  had  no 
claim)  stood  high  in  trust  and  in 
his  profession;  he  bought  much 
property  in  the  county,  part  of 
which,  Oxnead,  in  course  of  time 
became  the  principal  seat  of  the 
family.  It  adds  an  interest  to  his 
name  to  find  it  connected  with  that 
of  Thomas  Chaucer,  the  son  of  the 
poet,  from  whom  he  purchased  the 
manor  of  Gresham.  Speculation 
may  curiously  wonder  whether  it 
was.  in  his  country  house  here  that 
the  chief  butler  to  Henry  V.  turned 
over  those  papers  and  relics  of  his 
immortal  father  out  of  which  the 
Cook's  Tale  is   supposed  to  have 


come  forth.  Another  Paston,  Cle— 
ment,  was  an  eminent  naval  com* 
mander  and  soldier  in  the  time  orT 
Henry  VIII.  and  Mary.  But  to  go 
back  to  the  times  of  the  Letters, 
the  Judge's  wife  Agnes,  who  wrote 
to  him  the  *good  tidings  of  tho 
coming  and  the  bringing  home  o£ 
the  gentlewoman'  who  was  to  be 
his  daughter-in-law,  and  who  begged 
him  to  bring  for  the  young  lady  *  a 
gown  of  a  goodly  blue,  or  else  of  a. 
bright  sanguine,'  to  add  to  hex- 
mother's  gift  of  a  goodly  fur ;  that 
daughter-in-law  herself,  Marg^et, 
the  brave  and  devoted  wife  of  John 
Paston  for  six-and-twenty  years  ; 
John,  the  trusted  adviser  of  Sir 
John  Fastolf,  with  his  own  troubles 
in  the  possession  of  his  rights  ;  his 
sister  Elizabeth,  anxious  to  get 
married  to  escape  the  hard  disci- 
pline of  her  mother;  the  able  bat 
thrifty  Fastolf;  all,  though  old 
friends,  stand  in  these  pages  with 
fresh  life  and  colour  in  the  linea- 
ments of  portraits  somewhat  ob- 
scured by  the  mists  of  time. 

But  it  is  in  their  connection  with 
English  history,  notwithstanding 
tho  assertion  that  'no  additions 
whatever  to  our  knowledge  of  the 
politics  of  that  most  obscure  age 
has  been  made  through  '  them,  that 
tho  letters  and  papers  of  the  Pastons 
and  their  numerous  correspondents 
possess  an  importance  which  in- 
creases in  interest  as  they  are 
studied.  It  is  true  that  we  gain 
some  highly  interesting  glimpses 
into  the  side- walks  of  the  history  of 
this  period  from  one  or  two  other 
collections  of  letters,  such  as  the 
Stonor  Papers  ;  the  ShiUingford 
correspondence  in  1447-8,  where 
the  shrewd  and  energetic  Mayor  of 
Exeter  shows  us  how  an  important 
suit  should  be  conduoted  in  high 
quarters,  and  admits  us  to  the 
*  ynner  chamber '  of  the  Lord  Chan- 
cellor at  Lambeth  if  we  put  our- 
selves *yn  presse'  with  hiim;  and 
the  domestic  correspondence  of  the 
Plumpton  family,  of  Yorkshire,  from 
1460  to  1 551,  for  which,  however, 


1873] 


New  Edition  of  the  Paston  Letters. 


25 


tbe  editor  only  claims  that  they 
*  contain  much  that  is  of  interest 
to  the  general  I'eader,  as  leading 
him  to  an  exact  knowledge  of  the 
social  condition  of  the  English 
gentry ;  '  bnt  these  groups  of 
p^rs  do  not  approach  the  Paston 
Letters  in  variety  and  extent,  and 
are  confined  in  their  range  of  view. 
To  appreciate  the  bearings  of  these 
on  EbigHsh  history  the  general 
reader  needs  a  sketch  of  the  political 
events  of  the  middle  of  the  fifteenth 
centaiy,  into  which  shall  be  wrought, 
together  with  the  great  leading  cha- 
racters then  Buccessively  treading 
the  stage,  and  the  great  events 
bronght  about  by  their  actions,  the 
state  of  feeling  among  the  people, 
and  the  influence  which  this,  com- 
bined with  local  jealousies,  had  upon 
the  fortunes  of  a  private  family  like 
the  P&stons.  Such  a  sketch  Mr. 
Gairdner  provides,  nor  does  he  for- 
get now  and  then  to  point  out  the 
constitutional  aspects  of  questions 
that  have  forced  themselves  on  his 
notice. 

The  loss  of  the  English  possessions 
in  Normandy,  the  consequent  un- 
popularity of  the  Duke  of  Suffolk, 
and  his  subsequent  murder  (for  the 
account  of  which  history  is  indebted 
to  John  Paston's  friend  Lomner), 
heavy  taxation  and  general  injustice, 
a^  placed  in  the  sequence  of  the 
caoBes  which  led  up  to  the  rebellion 
of  Jack  Cade,  '  a  movement  which 
we  must  not  permit  ourselves  to 
look  upon  as  a  vulgar  outbreak  of  the 
rabble,'  and  which  is  proved  to  have 
been  conntenanced  by  many  of  good 
position.  The  story  of  this  move- 
ment and  <rf  its  *  Captain  of  Kent,' 
tod  of  two  successive  *  Captains ' 
^i^herto  unnoticed  by  historians, 
with  evidence  of  risings  in  different 
pwta  of  the  country,  indicate  the 
tronbloos  times  in  which  two  at 
Ifisst  of  the  letter  writers  were 
seriously  engaged. 
We  have  it  put  before  us  in  a 

connected  narrative  how  the  weak- 


ness of  the  Government  and  the  ill- 
management  of  the  revenues — which 
ended  in  the  almost  total  loss  in 
1451  of  the  French  possessions,  and 
brought  back  from  Ireland,  to  be 
ready  to  take  his  stand  at  the  helm 
of  afiaird,  the  able  and  moderate 
Duke  of  York,  the  only  man  at  this 
time  who  seems  to  have  been  fit  to 
govern — ^were  the  cause  of  much 
miscarriage  of  justice  in  the  country, 
as  exemplified  in  the  contest  of  John 
Paston  with  Lord  Moleynes  and  his 
advisers,  Tuddenham  and  Heydon. 
The  riotous  proceedings  of  Charles 
Nowell  and  his  gang  in  Norfolk, 
too,  were  then  possible,  *  outrages ' 
which  we  are  told  'were  not  the 
works  of  lawless  brigands,'  but 
*  were  merely  the  effects  of  party 
spirit.*  The  controversy  between 
York  and  Somerset — ^hated  for  his 
maladministration  in  Normandy — 
in  which,  though  York  exhibited 
his  detailed  articles  of  accusation  ^ 
against  his  opponent,  Somerset 
gained  the  upper  hand  for  a  time, 
immediately  precedes  the  extra- 
ordinary blank  in  our  knowledge 
of  internal  affairs  in  1452-3.  But 
the  royal  progress  which  it  is  known 
the  Kmg  made  in  that  year  seems  to 
have  finished  with  a  visit  to  the 
Duke  of  York  at  Ludlow ;  and  Sir 
John  Fastolf,  to  whom  William  Wor- 
cester, alias  Botoner,  was  secretary, 
is  found  soon  after  lending  money 
to  York  upon  the  security  of  some 
of  his  jewellery. 

Then  in  August  1453  came  the 
sad  illness  of  the  King,  and  later 
those  two  scenes  which  stand  out 
from  the  old  records  with  such 
pathetic  interest,  of  the  Queen  pre- 
senting his  first-bom  babe  to  the 
unconscious  King,  and  of  the  grave 
deputation  from  the  Lords  in  their 
anxious  but  vain  endeavour  to  ob- 
tain recognition :  '  they  could  have 
no  answer,  word  ne  sign,  and  there- 
fore, with  sorrowful  hearts,  came 
their  way;'  scenes  only  equalled 
by  the  touching  interviews  recorded 


*  Now  first  printed,  £roia  the  Cottonian  MSS. 


26 


New  Edition  of  the  Paston  Letters. 


[Janaarj 


by  Paston's  friend  Clere,  when  at 
CbristanaB  1454  the  King  recovered 
his  faculties.  The'  constitutional 
difficulties  created  bj  the  imbecility 
of  the  head  of  the  State  were  great, 
but  the  appointment  of  York  as 
Protector  in  April  1454  brought 
something  like  order  into  the  state 
of  affairs,  and  a  vigour  unknown 
for  years.  It  was  soon  after  this 
that  William  Paston,  writing  to  his 
brother  in  Norfolk  of  the  intended 
visit  of  Fastolf,  tells  him  that  *  the 
Duke  of  Somerset  is  still  in  prison, 
in  worse  case  than  he  was ; '  whence 
he  was  set  free  on  the  King's  re- 
storation to  health,  to  be  slain  in 
the  collision  at  St.  Alban's,  May 

22,  1455- 

We  must  not  linger  over  the 
events  of  this  unhappy  period, 
which  are  worked  out  with  care 
and  minuteness,  and  upon  several 
obscure  points  of  which  fresh  light 
is  thrown  by  the  aid  of  new  mate- 
rials. The  whole  aspect  of  the  civil 
war  comes  before  us  in  the  remarks 
on  the  claim  of  York  to  the  throne. 
*  Though  the  step  was  undoubtedly 
a  bold  one,  never  perhaps  was  a 
high  course  of  action  more  strongly 
suggested  by  the  results  of  past 
experience.  After  ten  miserable 
years  of  fluctuating  policy,  the 
attainted  Yorkists  were  now  for 
the  fourth  time  in  possession  of 
power;  but  who  could  tell  that 
they  would  not  be  a  fourth  time 
set  aside  and  proclaimed  as  trai- 
tors ?  For  yet  a  fourth  time  since 
the  fall  of  Suffolk,  England  might 
be  subjected  to  the  odious  rule  of 
favourites  under  a  well-intentioned 
king,  whoso  word  was  not  to  be 
relied  on.'  Through  the  alterna- 
tions of  health  and  sickness  of  the 
King,  the  dissensions  between  the 
great  Lords  and  the  Queen,  the  mis- 
government  of  the  country  at  home 


and  abroad,  the  wretched  days  of 
Ludlow,  Bloreheath,  and  North- 
ampton, the  story  winds  its  way^ 
telling  as  it  goes  along  the  hopes 
and  fears  of  the  Pastons  and  their 
connections.  Friar  Brackley  writes 
how  my  Lord  of  York  has  been 
written  to,  *to  ask  grace  for  a 
sheriff  the  next  year.'  Master 
William  Worcester  studies  French 
and  grumbles  at  his  master's  stin- 
giness, every  now  and  then  giving 
a  sly  hit  at  political  affairs,  while 
old  Sir  John  Fastolf  is  preparing  to 
make  his  peace  with  Heaven  by  the 
foundation  of  a  religious  college  at 
Caister  after  his  death.  With  that 
event,  which  took  place  on  the  5th  of 
November,  1459,  this  volume  closes, 
leaving  the  hope  that  the  tale  may 
be  taken  up  in  like  manner  with  the 
remaining  letters. 

We  have  but  space  to  refer  to 
one  constitutional  problem  touched 
upon,  on  which  Mr.  Gairdner's 
words  may  well  at  the  present  day 
be  suggestive.  Speaking  of  the  re- 
lative power  of  the  Houses  of  Lords 
and  Ck)mmons,  when  it  became  ne- 
cessary to  form  a  government  in 
place  of  the  imbecile  King,  he  says, 
*'  The  influence  which  the  House  of 
Commons  has  in  later  times  ac- 
quired is  a  thing  not  directly  re- 
cognised by  the  Constitution,  but 
only  due  to  the  control  of  the  na- 
tional purse-strings.  Strictly  speak- 
ing, the  House  of  Commons  is  not  a 
legislative  body  at  all,  but  only  an 
en^e  for  votmg  supplies.'  How 
is  it  then  that  (to  name  no  other 
instances)  in  1455  the  Commons, 
having  presented  a  petition  or 
*  grievance,'  would  proceed  to  no 
other  business  till  that  was  com- 
plied with  ?  In  this  presenting  of 
'petitions'  lies  the  kernel  of  the 
matter. 

L.  TouLMiN  Smith. 


"^5«®|(Siir> 


IS7'S] 


27 


A  YlSrr  TO  SHAMYL'S  COUNTRY  IN  THE  AUTUMN  OP  1870.^ 
By  Edwin  Ransom,  F.R.A.S.  F.R.G.S. 


AFTER  making  some  acquaint- 
ance with  St.  Petersburg, 
Moscow,  and  Nijni  Novgorod,  I  left 
the  latter  port  on  August  i8,  1870, 
with  a  through  ticket  for  Petrovsk, 
on  the  Caspian.  I  had  the  services 
of  a  courier  who  had  been  twice  with 
English  trayellers  in  Caucasus. 

The  right  bank  of  the  Volga  is 
often  picturesque,  though  never  so 
high,  broken,  or  wooded,  as  at 
Nijni  Novgorod.  The  great  towns 
at  which  the  eteamer  stopped, 
thongh  of  course  partaking  of  the 
unhemptness  of  all  Russia  and  the 
Russians,  possess  handsome  fea- 
tures, and  promise  well  for  the 
fatnre.  Astrakhan — one  of  the  first 
names  one  learns  in  geography — 
marked  so  large  and  alone  on  the 
map,  is  far  less  in  sis^  and  in  in- 
terest than  some  of  the  river  towns. 
Flat  it  is  and  sandy,  among  vast 
sand  flats,  which  produce  water- 
melons and  cucumbers  utterly  in- 
nnmerous  for  the  vegetable-eating 


Government  may  make  the  moun- 
tain lines  of  Caucasus  and   Ural 
the  boundaries  between  Asiatic  and 
European     provinces,    and    carto- 
graphers may  colour  their  maps  on 
a  similar  rule,  but    the  traveller 
mast  feel  himself  quite  in  Asia  when 
he  Bees  the  nomadc  Kalmuks  with 
their  skin  tents  on  both  sides  the 
great  river,  when  he   meets  their 
queer,  flat,  featureless  faces  on  the 
steamer  and  in  the  bazar  at  Astrak- 
han, and  stiU  more  when  he  finds 
himself  immersed  in  Mahometan- 
ism   in   Daghestan,    where   every 
feature  of  life   and    civilisation  is 
Oriental  excepting  the  Russian  sol- 
dier and  the  Russian  post. 
Near  most  of  the  Caspian  ports 


the  sea  is  shallow  and  open,  so  that 
anchorage  is  impossible  in  windy 
weather.  From  Astrakhan  all  mer- 
chandise and  passengers  are  con- 
veyed some  70  miles  across  the 
delta  between  the  river  steamers 
and  the  sea  steamers  in  vessels  of 
lighter  draught.  Besides  this  na- 
tural detriment  to  Astrakhan  as  an 
entrep6t,  any  bad  weather  on  the 
Caspian  hinders  commerce  and  re- 
stricts the  navigation  season,  which 
begins  among  the  ice-floes  in  May, 
and  ends  in  autumn  through  short- 
ness of  water,  fogs,  or  frost.  A 
railway  between  the  two  seas  from 
Poti  to  Tiflis  and  the  good  harbour 
of  Baku  will  be  an  incalculable  help 
to  the  commerce  between  East  and 
West. 

Tartars,  Armenians,  and  Per- 
sians are  numerous  in  Astrakhan. 
If  the  former  continue  successful  in 
effecting  a  cross  with  the  Georgians, 
may  we  not  hope  for  fewer  of  the 
tiny  eyes  and  almost  imperceptible 
noses,  and  more  of  such  high  quali- 
ties as  mark  the  Kazan  Tartars  in 
the  offices  and  hotels  of  St.  Peters- 
burg and  Moscow  ?  Since  Persia 
ruled  the  countries  west  of  the 
Caspian,  the  snivelling  Persian  mer- 
chant tracks  the  steps  of  trade,  and 
the  sturdy  Persian  labourer  finds 
employ  where  the  less  able  Russian 
or  the  less  willing  native  often 
grumble  and  starve. 

The  voyage  from  Astrakhan  to 
the  sea  steamer  is  most  tedious. 
During  the  night  the  fiery  tail  of 
sparks  from  the  chimney  of  the 
tug  steamer  leads  the  way,  and  the 
day  reveals  nothing  but  boundless 
swamps  with  banks  of  reeds.  Peli- 
cans, cormorants,  and  other  sea- 
fowl  occasionally  pass ;  an  outlying 


*  In  this  paper  foreign  words  are  spelt  nearly  a«  pronounced ;  for  the  vowels  the 
pnTujing  usage  of  German  and  Italian  pronunciation  is  intended.  The  letter  '  c ' 
is  not  adopted,  heing  an  expletive,  and  its  sound  generally  uncertain. 


28 


A  Visit  to  ShaniyVs  Country. 


[Javmary 


island  station  requires  a  lengthy 
call ;  and  then  we  steer  for  a  speck 
on  the  horizon  which  in  the  course 
of  time  proves  to  be  the  Prince 
Co7istantine,  a  good  paddle-steamer 
of  perhaps  700  tons,  which  afler 
some  four  hours'  work  receives  her 
cargo.  A  glorious  night  on  a  gently 
rolHng  sea  was  followed  by  a  fresh 
morning.  The  traveller  from  Russia 
looks  out  for  the  first  sign  of  moun- 
tains— at  the  foot  of  brown  craggy 
hills  lie  the  white  houses,  the  bar- 
racks and  the  pier  of  Petrovsk.  The 
time  of  year  was  recommendable 
rather  for  convenience  and  health 
than  with  regard  to  the  aspects  of 
nature.  Probably  every  part  of  the 
Russian  dominions  needs  all  of 'May' 
it  can  get  to  give  it  a  charm  to  the 
Western  visitor.  I  found  through- 
out Southern  Russia  the  steppe  and 
all  but  the  highest  uplands  alike 
brown  and  bare  and  void  of  the 
picturesque ;  but  on  the  other  hand 
the  weather  was  for  three  months 
never  unfriendly,  and  the  roads  and 
rivers  never  incmivenables,  Petrovsk 
is  mostly  modem.  The  new  har- 
bour ought  to  become  very  useful, 
being  the  only  one  north  of  Baku ; 
but  from  the  style  of  progress  in 
works  and  in  trade  the  engineer 
may  well  be  glad  of  all  the  com- 
pliments he  gets.  After  looking  over 
two  neat  old  forts  and  a  fine  new 
lighthouse,!  was  anxious  to  be  on  the 
way  to  Temir-khan-shura,  the  capi- 
tal of  the  district,  there  to  present 
an  introduction  to  the  .governor, 
and  to  learn  what  sort  of  a  journey 
I  could  make  to  Tiflis.  (I  had 
utterly  failed  in  seeking  information 
about  Daghestan,  excepting  from 
Ussher's  London  to  PersepoUs.)  A 
diligence — a  sort  of  omnibus — 
.was  assigned  as  a  favour  (instead 
of  the  renowned  little  boat  on  four 
wheels — telega — ^the  representative 
vehicle  of  the  Russian  post,  which 
figures  in  every  English  book  on 
Russia),  and  the  anticipated  expe- 
sience  of  'urging  the  inevitable 
pwraclodnaia  over  the  interminable 


dteppe'  was  deferred.  The  hom 
blew  loud,  and  the  four  horses 
abreast  galloped  off. 

For    the    first  stage    the    route 
skirted  the  foot  of  the  hills,   their 
shadows  then  varied  by  a  finely- 
clouded  sky.     To  the  right  wtis   a 
boundless  level — the  steppe.       The 
driver  goes  where  are  the  feiwest 
inequalities    in    the    ground,     and 
where  a  track  is  made  in  the  dried 
herbage.     After  passing  some   cnU 
tivated  patches  of  the  ungracious 
looking   soil,   Kumkurtale    is     ap- 
proached.     It    is    about    fourteen 
miles  from  Petrovsk,  and  on  a  cliff 
overlooking  the  stream  which  flows 
down   from   'Shura.     The    honses 
are    all    of    mud  —  as    in    many 
Eastern  countries — solid    and    du- 
rable as  the  'cob'  of  Devonshire. 
Some  com  was  being  grathered  in 
small  stacks  by  the  homes  or  on 
their  roofs;  in  another  place  oxen 
drawing  a  chair  on  nvheels   were 
being   urged    round    the    thickly- 
strewn    threshing-floor.       With    a 
fresh  team  a  start  was  soon  made, 
and    novelties  drew  attention    on 
either  hand.    The  road  here  turned 
down  into  the  valley,  following  it 
right  up  into  the  mountain  country, 
stumbling    along    and    across   the 
rugged    river    bed.     Here   was    a 
walled  vineyard  with  its   *  tower' 
in  the  comer,  there  a  field  of  maize, 
a  corn  field,  or  a  garden,  with  the 
life-giving  irrigation,  showing  the 
native  thrift  of  the  sons  of  the  soil. 
After  an  hour's  jolting  a  plateau  is 
reached,  which  commands  striking 
panoramas    of   the    peaky,    rocky 
hills,  and  valleys  which  mark  the 
approach  to  this  *  mountain-land  * — 
Dagh-cstan.     Sandstone  is  the  pre- 
vailing formation,   and   sometimes 
very  picturesque.   A  village — aul— - 
is  passed  every  few  miles,  and  one 
learns  often  to   recognise  its  pre- 
sence by  the  cemetery-hill,  with  its 
crowd  of  rude  monuments  and  high 
upright  stones,  which   may  cfitch 
the  eye  long  before  the  flat  brown 
tops  of  the  snugly-set  houses.     The 


1573J 


A  Visit  to  ShamyVs  Country. 


29 


countenances  and  style  of  the  peo- 
pie  are  the  greatest  contrast  to 
either  Russian  or  Kabnnk,  recalling 
one's  ideal  of  a  race  of  mountaineers. 
One  may  feel  it  almost  an  Honour 
to  be  looked  at  by  the  grand  large 
eyes  of  the  boys.  Long  strings  of 
carts  are  passed  on  the  road,  the 
drivers  generally  wearing  the  mas- 
sive cone  of  white,  black  or  brown 
sheepskin — the  hat  of  the  Cauca- 
sians. The  last  &ul  before  reaching 
the  town  is  perhaps  as  picturesquely 
placed  as  any  in  Daghestan,  the  old 
Tartar  keep  overhanging  its  village 
and  its  gardens ;  barest  hills  around, 
on  which  the  sun  is  just  setting, 
and  one  wonders  what  an  evening 
was  like  up  in  that  tower  fifty  years 
ago,  when  the  levelling  Christian 
Rnss  had  not  placed  his  foot  on  the 
land,  and  when  feud  and  fight  were 
the  Kfe  of  the  people.  Again  the 
horn  is  blown,  and  we  are  impelled 
at  the  utmost  speed  of  Russian 
etiquette,  through  the  fortifications 
of  the  Russiazi  town,  up  a  street 
which  seems  a  mixture  of  tree- 
trunks,  dried  mud,  and  stones. 
Hero  it  may  b©  indeed  well  to  try 
to  make  some  virtue  of  the  neces- 
aity  of  taking  things  as  one  finds 
them.  The  traveller's  position  in  a 
diH^ee  is  really  like  that  of  *a 
pea  in  a  rattle.'  He  learns  to  hold 
m  as  the  victim  of  the  Russian  post 
most  do,  especially  when  leaving 
or  nearxng  a  station. 

In  the  darkness  we  turn  out  at  the 
Hotel  Giinib ' — ^the  chief  tavern  of 
the  town — ^kept  by  an  Armenian,  as 
is  usnal  in  Caucasian  countries ;  and 
the  darkness  inside  renders  an  en- 
tiya  matter  of  time.  On  reach- 
ing ^  first  floor — where  are  gene- 
n^y  the  principal  rooms,  the  cham- 
bers, bilHard-room  and  dining-room 
—we  find  some  little  glass  petro- 
leun  lamps  (the  same  &at  do  duty 
iadoort  and  oat  anywhere  within  a 
thooaftDd  miles  this  side  of  the  oil 
wells  of  Baku).  Presently  a  waiter 
«{iena  the  tall,  cpeeky»  Rassian-like 
doors  of  the  bet^r  f4pH0urtments ;  by 


*  strong  representations  *  we  obtain 
some  leather  mattresses  to  mitigate 
the  boarded  bedsteads  or  couches, 
which  with  a  few  stools  are  the 
sole  furniture.  Earthenware  may 
be  borrowed  as  a  favour,  though 
the  Russian  ablutions  are  usually 
done  out  of  doors,  the  water  being 
poured  on  the  hands  Oriental- wise. 
Thirty  miles  of  very  unaccustomed 
shaking  indisposed  one  to  criticise 
long  or  severely  the  circumstances 
of  the  new  quarters. 

The  nextmoming  was  sunny,  and  I 
soon  turned  out  to  see  if  there  might 
be  anything  pleasing  orinteresting  in 
the  little  capital  of  Northern  Dagh- 
estan. Temir-khan-shura  numbers 
about  two  thousand  souls,  and  a 
similar  number  of  soldiers  were 
stationed  there  under  canvas  on  a 
hill- side.  The  residence  of  Prince 
George-adzi,  the  governor,  the  sum- 
mer house  of  Prince  Melikov,  and 
the  extensive  barracks,  are  stone- 
built,  white-washed,  and  roofed 
with  the  Russian  sheet-iron  or 
tiles.  Nearly  all  the  other  build- 
ings are  entirely  wooden  (unless  the 
roofs  be  in  some  cases  thatched), 
painted  white  and  green,  or  more 
often  unpainted.  The  streets  are 
quite  unpaved,  excepting  d  la 
coroUtroy  near  the  town  gates,  with 
white  lamp  posts  at  the  comers, 
and  relieved  by  rows  of  Lombardy 
poplars.  My  servant  ascertained 
that  the  governor  was  on  a  tour  of 
inspection  in  his  district,  but  was 
expected  home  in  two  or  three  days. 

This  delay  was  vexing.  Though 
Gtinib — ^the  celebrated  stronghold 
of  Shamyl — was  my  proximate  ob- 
ject, I  was  dependent  on  Prince 
Greorge-adzi  for  information .  and 
letters  to  help  me  to  make  such 
journey  to  Tiflis  as  might  promise 
most  of  interest.  And  so  neces- 
sity, added  to  courtesy,  caused  a 
stay  of  four  days  before  making 
fuiiher  progress  towards  the  great 
mountams*  In  one  of  the  chief 
shops  were  a  few  comestibles, 
doubtless,  supposed   to   be   choice 


30 


A  Visit  to  ShamyVs  Country. 


[Janaar^ 


samples  of  Western  civilisation — 
most  prominent  being  the  ubiquitous 
and  representative  *  Beading  Bis- 
cuits.' The  inevitable  'photo- 
grapher,' here  as  in  almost  every 
other  town  announced  on  a  large 
board,  was  unable  to  supply  any 
views  of  landscape  or  building. 
Qerman  though  he  generally  is  in 
Caucasus,  I  never,  except  at  Tiflis, 
could  obtain  the  pictures  the  tra- 
veller usually  likes  to  gather  en 
route.  Most  evenings  there  was 
good  billiard  playing  at  the  hotel  be- 
tween the  officers,  natives  especially. 

The  country  around  'Shura  was 
hilly  and  broken,  brown  and  tree- 
less. On  the  north  side  of  the 
town  the  river  rushes  at  the  foot  of 
high  sandstone  cliffs,  on  the  crest 
of  which  are  some  old  forts.  Not 
far  off  is  a  Russian  cemetery,  con- 
taining the  damaged  tombs  of  several 
officers.  One  evening  we  spent 
with  a  German  settler  in  the  valley, 
where  he  has  a  very  good  orchard 
and  a  mill,  besides  a  brewery.  From 
the  aspect  of  things  in  general,  I 
did  not  wonder  at  his  expressing 
a  wish  to  sell  out  and  leave  the 
country,  though  his  motives  might 
be  more  social  than  commercial,  for 
he  assured  us  the  goodwill  of  his 
beer-houses  in  the  town  was  no 
trifle.  His  ale  hardly  reached  the 
standard  of  the  bright,  light,  fra- 
grant *  Astrakhanski  pivo,'  which 
is  the  emulation  of  brewers  and 
drinkers  in  East  Caucasus. 

On  Saturday,  August  15  (O.S.),  I 
witnessed  the  service  of  the  last  day 
of  the  Feast  of  the  Assumption.  The 
first  day  I  had  spent  among  the 
throng  of  worshippers  at  the  many 
churches  and  shrines  at  *Holy 
Trinity,'  near  Moscow.  Here,  on 
the  outskirts  as  it  were  of  the 
Russian  Church  and  the  Russian 
realm,  the  observances  were  fully 
attended.  The  church  is  promi- 
nent, placed  in  the  midst  of  a 
square,  and  is  coloured  over  outside 
with  red  ochre.  It  was  crowded, 
and  the  memorial  and  symbolical 


adjuncts  of  the  altar  were  nearly 
obscured  by  dense  incense.  The 
next  morning  the  market-place  in. 
the  native  quarter  was  alive  ivitlx 
peasants  of  all  sorts  and  ages, 
dealing  chiefly  in  fruits  and  com. 
I  bargained  for  some  different  kinds 
of  grapes  at  about  a  penny  a 
pound,  and  found  them  fairly  good. 

My  last  evening  at  'Shura  was 
spent  most  profitably  with  a  distin- 
guished officer  stationed  there  for  a 
short  time,  I  believe,  for  scientific 
purposes.  He  was  a  Finn — ^had 
been  in  Chodsko's  expedition  in 
Armenia,  and  was  one  of  those  who 
mounted  Ararat — so  apparently  felt 
entitled  to  speak  jauntily  of  climbers 
with  whom  he  &ared  scientific  ob- 
servations were  a  secondary  matter. 
He  had  been  colouring  maps  of  a 
great  part  of  Caucasus,  to  distinguish 
the  many  tribes  (some  of  which 
are  limited  to  a  single  village),  and 
the  varied  dialects  and  different 
languages  current  between  the  Cas- 
pian and  Black  Seas.  He  was  a 
real  philologer — knew  English,  too, 
though,  like  several  Russians,  espe- 
cially ladies,  he  would  not  talk  it, 
through  ignorance  of  our  pronnn- 
ciation.  The  governor  I  found  gra- 
cious, as  Russian  officers  are  always 
represented  to  be.  He  did  not 
speak  French,  so  my  interpreter- 
servant  from  Moscow  was  required 
as  a  medium.  He  advised  the  fre- 
quented route  from  Gunib  to 
Vladikavkaz  and  Tiflis,  rather  than 
straight  over  the  high  mountains 
by  Telav,  and  gave  me  letters  to 
all  the  authorities  on  the  way.  He 
assigned  as  escort  and  interpreter  as 
far  as  Gunib  a  brave  officer  of  the  1 
n  ati  ve  militia — Abdullah — lately 
high  in  the  service  of  Shamyl. 
I  went  to  the  post-office  and  gave 
a  letter  to  the  master — the  last  I 
could  post  before  reaching  the 
capital — its  address  requii^  in 
Russian  as  well  as  English,  that  it 
might  be  read  and  registered.  | 

Late  in   the  afternoon  we  rode 
out  of  Temir-khan-shura,  and  for 


1873] 


A  VM  to  ShamyVs  Country, 


31 


foQiieen  miles  rode  slowly  soatli- 
warda,  mostly  in  the  shades  of  a 
serene  evening.  The  roar  of  grass- 
hoppers alone  disturbed  the  still- 
ness. We  soon  left  the  Caspian 
road  which  leads  to  Derbem,  and 
on  onr  way  passed  some  large  vil- 
Iftges ;  one  of  them,  they  said,  more 
popnlons  than  the  town.  The  reli- 
gions exercises  of  onr  leader  caused 
more  than  one  protracted  delay. 
His  Mahometanism  I  may  observe 
WAS  Snnni,  the  Shia  forms  of  the 
fiuth  are  nearly  confined  to  the  coast 
and  other  districts  formerly  under 
Persian  rule.  About  nine  o'clock 
▼e  tnmed  into  the  Government 
house  at  Jengntai,  and  the  dirty 
divan  in  the  chief  room  was  assigned 
for  my  repose.  The  journey  was 
resumed  by  starlight.  Passing  out 
of  the  village  a  cemetery  was  on 
either  hand,  and  in  each  was  a  clus- 
ter of  the  people  awaiting  the  dawn 
in  ftttitudes  of  devotion.  I  was 
afterwards  repeatedly  impressed 
with  this  practice,  and  more  than 
once  noticed  the  like  observance 
also  with  Russians  on  ship-board. 

The  country  was  not  poor,  the  soil 
being  very  light  and  not  shallow, 
and  generally  cropped  with  maize  and 
bnckwheat.  Villages  lined  the  route 
at  sbortintervals — winding  between 
the  houses  in  these  auls  was  some- 
times not  easy  or  agreeable.  The 
people  and  animals  weretuming  out 
for  the  day — the  men  and  women 
appear  generally  to  share  the  work 
—then  they  were  reaping  the  bar- 
ley, stacking  it,  or  laying  out  the 
bundles  on  a  threshing-floor;  in 
other  directions  they  were  to  be 
heard  urging  the  cattle  at  plough. 
The  road  throughout  to  Gunib  was 
in  course  of  improvement :  bridges, 
little  and  big,  being  built,  pretty 
thoroughly  t^.  The  old  route  of 
^gbly.four  miles  from  'Shura  (de- 
scribed by  2iir.  Ussher  in  his  London 
to  PenepoUa  in  1863)  will  be  rather 
shortened.  Mine  was  of  some  fifty- 
eight  miles,  leading  through  the 
mountain  gorges. 

veil.  VII.— so.  IXXVII.  NEW  8EBIES. 


We  left  the  road,  taking  a  long 
steep  climb,  from  the  sunmiit  of 
which  is  a  very  extensive  view  of 
the  'Shura  hill  country.  The  south 
side  overlooked  a  very  deep  set 
&6\ — Aimyaki.  Forthe  descent  itwas 
quite  necessaiy  to  dismount,  and  my 
horse,  once  in  the  village,  soon  led 
the  way  to  a  house,  which  proved 
to  be  Abdullah's  home.  There  I  was 
soon  occupied  in  clearing  a  plate  of 
small  raw  hen  eggs,  and  was  the 
subject  of  much  regard  by  child- 
ren on  neighbouring  roofs,  and  by 
the  host's  two  little  ones.  Putting 
my  spectacles  on  the  boy,  he  went 
off  with  them  to  his  mother,  who 
was  preparing  a  repast  which  she 
and  Abdullah  produced  with  the 
graceful  manners  characteristic  of 
the  Mussulmans  of  the  country.  An 
hour  in  the  quiet  and  in  the  dark 
was  afterwards  refreshing.  I  found 
a  'siesta'  was  usual  after  dinner 
with  all  classes  in  Caucasus — Rus- 
sian and  native.  This  Abdullah 
received  from  the  late  Emperor  one 
of  the  (re-captured)  Russian  flags 
which  Shamyl  had  taken.  The 
great  conflict  seemed  very  recent^ 
and  one  could  hardly  imagine  the 
best  part  of  the  men  we  see  having 
been  deadly  enemies  to  Russia,  and 
now  even  acting  as  showmen  in 
Shamyl's  head-quarters. 

The  mountains  here  were  of 
chalk  and  limestone,  the  strata 
rising  towards  the  south,  as  I 
have  heard  does  Daghestan  gene- 
rally, the  steeps  being  on  the  sotUh 
side  of  the  main  range,  oveiv 
hanging  Kakhetia.  The  exit  from 
Aimyaki  is  through  a  strange^, 
lofty,  jagged  *  gate.'  We  followed  a 
brook  for  perhaps  four  miles,  having 
often  a  thousand  feet  of  precipice  on 
each  side,  and  sometimes  the  space  at 
top  as  narrow  as  the  river  bed  along 
which  we  made  our  way.  The  rock 
formation,  I  thought,  rendered  tho 
scenery  more  striking  than  the  simi- 
lar gorges  in  Switzerland,  Tyrol, 
andNorth  Dovrefield — ^more  broken^ 
rocky,  and  ridgy.    Before  reaching 

D 


32 


A  Visit  to  ShamyVs  Country, 


[January 


the  main  valley  of  the  Kazikoiso, 
a  contretemps  caused  some  diver- 
sion, the  path  being  covered  with 
water  through  a  miller  making 
extra  '  pen.'  Where  the  chffs  were 
four  or  five  yards  apart  all  was 
water  for  more  than  twice  that  dis- 
tance. The  lad  who  had  charge  of 
the  horses  wont  first,  and  the  *  yu- 
kha'  (baggage  horse)  next — ^that 
missed  footing  on  the  narrow  path 
where  the  water  was  not  two  feet 
deep,  and  threatened  soon  to  sub- 
merge itself.  However,  Abdullah 
managed  to  get  it  through  without 
my  baggage  being  seriously  wet- 
ted. I  went  next,  and  my  horse 
tumbled,  but  soon  scrambled  out. 
The  horses  revenged  themselves  in 
a  fashion  by  treading  down  the 
banks  of  the  miller's  dam  in  cross- 
fined  it. 

Passingthroughaconsiderable  &a\ 
— Gergebil — ^where  maize  was  grow- 
ing in  great  luxuriance,  with  plenty 
of  trees  and  crops,  we  crossed  the 
Elazikoisu  by  a  strong  bridge,  the 
river  running  far  below,  confined 
by  the  rock  strata  to  a  precisely 
straight  course  for  several  hundred 
feet.  The  valley  seemed  filled  with 
hills  of  boulder,  covered  or  tufted 
with  grass.  As  the  road  approaches 
the  mountain  on  the  other  side  the 
valley,  it  passes  vast  piles  of  this 
boulder  deposit.  The  latter  seems 
packed  along  the  north  side  of  the 
mountain,  the  strata  of  which  rises 
.  vertically  from  one  to  two  thousand 
feet  above  the  bed  of  the  Kara- 
koisu — the  Gunib  stream.  The  road 
through  the  mighty  defile  of  this 
river  is  in  a  notch  perhaps  half-way 
up  the  cliff".  The  sides  are  often 
too  abrupt  to  allow  a  view  of  the 
water :  they  vary  from  fifty  feet  to 
a  mile  in  distance  from  the  tower- 
ing crags  opposite.  After  a  broad 
valley  the  mountains  again  close  in 
on  the  road.  The  latter  ascends 
considerably  to  where  the  stream 
coming  down  from  Gunib  is  spanned 
by  a  light  iron  lattice  bridge  which 
carries    the    road    to    Ehunzakh. 


Thence  the  white  house  of  the  go- 
vernor at  Gunib  is  visible,  high  on 
a  prominent  crag.  The  main  direc- 
tion of  the  road  is  nearly  straight, 
and  also  level,  though  the  actual 
distance  is  nearly  trebled  by  the 
incessant  windings  caused  by  gul- 
lies and  lateral  valleys.  Au  officer 
en  route  from  St.  Petersburg  to 
Gtmib  kept  company  for  an  hour  or 
two.  He  had  left  'Shnra  that 
morning,  and  on  his  way  had  had 
a  ducking  in  the  mill-stream. 
His  white  pony  held  on  its  way 
better  than  our  caravan,  at  the 
waddling  trot  which  is  liked  in  this 
country.  Daylight  was  gone  long 
ere  we  reached  the  bridge  which 
introduces  to  the  zigzags  of  Gunib. 
Many  lights  on  the  mountain  side 
had  shown  where  we  were,  and 
gradually  we  found  ourselves  among 
them. 

The  governor's  reception  was 
most  cordial,  and  the  apologies 
profuse  for  a  disarrangement  of 
the  establishment  caused  by  the 
preparations  for  the  visit  of  the 
Viceroy,  the  Grand  Duke  Michael, 
then  on  a  progress  through  Dagh- 
estan.  I  found  myself  violating  a 
maxim  of  Russian  travel — never  to 
be  just  before  or  after  a  great  man ; 
and  afterwards  on  the  post  road  I 
was  two  or  three  times  hindered 
for  hours  through  the  horses  being 
requisitioned  for  the  imperial  cor- 
tege, I  was  soon  desired  to  join  a 
few  officers  who  were  invited  to 
sup  with  a  general  of  engineers. 
The  latter  was  on  a  tour  of  inspec- 
tion of  the  barracks  and  other 
military  works  in  the  district.  The 
party  was  a  pleasant  one,  for  all 
could  speak  French  or  (German,  and 
the  engineer  had  lately  been  on  an 
expedition  to  the  country  east  of  the 
Caspian.  He  had  visited  the  high, 
bare  Balkan  hills,  and  produced  his 
sketch  book  and  notes.  The  new 
Russian  colonia  there,  Krasno- 
vodsk,  is  costly,  for  there  is  very 
lifcde  in  the  neighbourhood  to  sup- 
port it,  but  it  is  hoped  it  will  be 


1873] 


A  Visit  to  ShamyVs  Counivy, 


33 


QseM  in  the  Grovemment  system 
of  Western  Turkestan.  A  special 
steamer  maintains  the  communica* 
tion  irith  Baka  on  the  opposite 
coast. 

Next  morning  1  was  conducted, 
bj  two  handsome  officers  of  the 
moimted  native  militia,  around 
Ganib.  The  town  is  on  the  side  of 
the  mountain  mass  which  bears  the 
name,  and  at  the  onlj  point  which 
is  not  precipitous,  and  therefore 
accessible.  Above  the  town  are  yet 
more  zigzags,  and  the  road  is 
generally  supported  by  walls  or 
arches.  The  barracks  and  upper 
fortifications  seemed  considerable, 
for  the  force  stationed  there  was  a 
battalion  ( i ,  ooo  men) .  The  fastness 
of  Gunib  is  about  33  miles  round, 
and  the  objection  to  it  as  a  fortress 
is  its  extent.  The  interior  is  much 
depressed,  and  a  deep  gorge  carries 
off  the  numerous  streams  towards 
the  town.  This  rent  appears  water- 
worn  in  places,  and  at  a  height 
which  struck  me  as  far  above  the 
possible  level  of  any  glut  which 
could  now  be  furnished  by  the  sur- 
roimding  slopes.  ShamyVs  dis- 
mantled village  is  in  the  midst  of 
the  uplands.  His  house  is  tenanted 
to  keep  it  up ;  it  is  similar  to  all 
other  houses  in  the  country,  but  has 
a  noticeable  Jittle  wateh  tower  and 
stone  gateway.  Here  two  stupid, 
ugly  children,  dressed  in  loose  blue 
cloths  like  the  women,  took  hold  of 
me,  and,  besides  two  ugly  black 
sheep  with  the  fat  tails,  were  the 
only  signs  of  life.  From  this  house 
Shamyl  went  down  the  valley  to 
meet  his  conqueror.  Prince  Bar- 
yatinski,  in  a  birchwood  by  the  road 
within  sight  of  his  home.  An  open 
building,  its  roof  supported  by  eight 
piUara,  and  perhaps  four  yards 
square,  covers  the  spot  where  for- 
mally ended  Shamyl's  twenty-seven 
years*  war  against  Russia.  A  stone 
on  which  the  Viceroy  sat  bears  the 
date  of  the  chieftain's  submission — 
4  PH.  Aueust  26,  1859. 

We  followed  for  a  few  miles  the 


windings  of  a  road,  in  course  of 
construction,  up  to  a  newly  made 
tunnel:  a  route  which  materially 
shortens  the  J  distance  from  Gunib 
town  to  Karadakh,  the  next  gar* 
risen  fort  on  the  west.  The  Kus- 
sian  soldiers  on  the  work  were 
numerous,  digging,  stone-breaking, 
and  building.  They  had  extem- 
porised huts  from  the  haycocks. 
They  were  just  then  at  their  mid- 
day chief  meal,  which  was,  as  else- 
where, vegetable  broth,  with  coarse 
bread  and  a  shred  of  meat.  The 
outer  end  of  the  tunnel  suddenly 
reveals  one  of  the  wildest  and 
grandest  prospects  in  the  country, 
and  overlooks  a  very  deep  and 
precipitous  valley,  the  descent  to 
which  is  by  many  zigzags.  At 
the  governor's  to  dinner,  besides 
his  wife,  a  cultivated  lady  from 
Goorgia,  and  her  elder  chil- 
dren, were  the  supper  party  of  the 
previous  evening.  Gunib  is  a 
*  crack  *  station,  but  living  is  costly. 
I  noticed  many  officers  there.  It  is 
a  sanatorium  tor  invalided  members 
of  the  Government  services.  The 
rocks  are  apt  to  be  loose,  and  the 
ways  in  the  town  are  very  irregular, 
and  dangerous  in  the  dark ;  several 
soldiers  get  thrown  down  or  crushed 
in  the  course  of  a  year. 

The  Russian  soldiers  are  always  at 
work,  at  least  in  Caucasus.  Here 
they  seemed  to  do  everything.  Their 
clothes  are  well  worn  and  patched  ; 
uniforms  are  not  always  worn  in 
Caucasus — sometimes  an  officer's 
old  white  coat  is  donned  instead  of 
the  grey — ^but  always  the  cap  and 
long  boot,  without  which  a  man  is 
hardly  a  Russian.  A  plateau  in  the 
midst  of  the  town  is  useful  for  drill. 
It  was  formerly  fortified,  and  a 
curious  collection  of  field  pieces  and 
other  artillery,  native,  Russian,  and 
Persian,  is  now  set  out  by  the 
church.  The  latter  building  is  a 
first  and  principal  consideration 
with  the  Russian  at  home  or  abroad, 
and  on  effecting  an  occupation  the 
conqueror  or  colomst  has  been  said 


34 


A  Visit  to  ShamyVg  Country, 


[January 


to  declare,  *  We  never  give  up  con- 
secrated ground '  1 

The  next  day  I  rode  and  strolled 
about  the  long  slopes  of  pasture, 
and  mounted  to  the  crest,  which 
rises  almost  like  the  edge  of  a 
saucer.  The  wild  flowers  were  yet 
more  plentiful  than  before,  though 
I  did  not  recognise  any  which  are 
not  familiar  in  Bedfordshire.  The 
rainy  season  here  is  in  the  three 
months  which  end  in  July,  so  the 
vegetation  was  fresher  than  in  the 
same  latitude  in  the  Pyrenees.  The 
grasshoppers  were  countless  and 
noisy,  brilliant  green,  black  and  red, 
yellow,  and  yellow-green.  On  and 
off  for  an  hour  or  two  my  attention 
was  taken  by  a  kind  of  broken  net- 
work over  the  sky — immense  flights 
of  cranes  coming  from  the  Caspian 
southward.  The  panorama  from 
Gunib  is  very  extensive  and  very 
impressive.  Down  below  the  won- 
derful precipices  on  the  southern 
edge  were  the  tiny  fields  of  the  fertile 
valley,  the  pairs  of  oxen  just  dis- 
cernible drawing  their  loads.  A 
large  part  of  the  main  range  of 
East  Caucasus  was  visible,  with 
patches  of  snow  on  the  higher  parts 
only.'  Countless  great  summits 
jagged  the  southern  horizon,  but 
neither  the  extreme  right  nor  left 
revealed  the  longed-for  peak  of 
Shebulos  or  Basarajusi.  Between 
was  spread  a  chaos  of  mountain 
land,  clefb  irregularly,  and  present- 
ing no  marked  ridges  oropen valleys. 
The  northward  prospect  from 
Gunib  shows  how  the  country 
breaks  down  towards  the  steppe-— 
the  Tshetshnian  forests  shading  its 
limits  in  that  direction — forests 
connected  with  woeful  memories  of 
slaughtered  columns  of  invaders. 
The  commanding  heights  imme- 
diately to  the  east  I  had  hoped  to 
climb,  while  waiting  a  few  days  for 
an  expected  good  chance  of  strik- 
ing across  the  wild  high  country 
straight  for  Tiflis ;  but  being  taken 
with  a  diarrhcBa,  I  gave  a  day  to 
rest,  and  another  vainly  to  laudanum, 


then  started  westward  one  evening* 
for  Karadakh,  vid  the  tunnel  and. 
the  valley  below  it  I  had  looked 
into.  The  country  to  the  south 
has  been  little  visited,  even  by 
Russians.  I  was  told  it  would  be 
difficult  and  dangerous  to  cross  it« 
except  in  quiet  weather,  and  witH 
a  full  supply  of  food  and  of  cover- 
ing, there  being  little  population , 
and  the  tracks  tedious  and  rocky 
in  the  extreme.  The  charms  of 
the  route  I  afterwards  took  com- 
bine varieties  of  forest  and  culti- 
vated vegetation,  with  crags  and 
steeps  probably  nearly  equal  in 
scale  to  those  of  the  undescribed 
districts. 

Taking  leave  of  my  bountiful  en- 
tertainers, I  quitted  their  mansion 
and  traversed  the  great  mountain 
of  GKinib  for  the  last  time,  de- 
scending on  the  contrary  side  to 
the  town  by  the  new  exit  to  the 
deep  valley.  For  several  versts  we 
took  a  doubtful  course  along  a  stony 
little  river  bed,  sometimes  nearly 
grown  up  with  bushes,  while  the 
evening  shades  soon  confined  the 
view.  It  became  too  dark  to  dis- 
tinguish the  coal-seams  in  the  clifiT, 
which  the  Russians  work  by  adits. 
We  could  have  no  communication 
with  our  guide,  he,  like  other  na- 
tives, knowing  no  speech  but  that 
of  his  congeners;  and  we  found 
ourselves  bitterly  deceived  by  a  six 
hours'  ride  having  been  described  as 
consisting  of  as  many  miles,  the 
latter  being  indeed  barely  the 
length  of  the  direct  line.  The 
moon  rising  on  the  left  revealed  in 
front  a  cliff  of  some  600  or  800 
feet,  with  a  narrow  rift  in  the  direc- 
tion of  our  march.  At  the  bottom 
of  this  was  the  stream,  and  utter 
darkness.  Some  soldiers — Finns — 
sleeping  on  huts  at  the  entrance  of 
the  passage,  recommended  us  to 
stay  there  ;  but  as  they  said  the 
fort  was  but  three  versts  beyond, 
I  went  on.  My  timid  courier, 
whose  breeding  was  of  Homburg, 
Baden,  and  Paris,  abhorred  such 


1878] 


A  Visit  to  ShainyVs  Gountry. 


35 


jonrnejiiig ;  and  his  dislike  of  my 
tour  was  nearly  equalled  by  his  dis- 
like of  the  taste  that  chose  its 
pleasare  in  snch  a  country.  We 
dismounted,  and  splashed  along  the 
bed  of  the  stream  in  the  dark  for 
nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  The  top 
of  the  ravine  was  straighter  and 
narrower  than  the  bottom.  The 
view  looking  ont  at  each  end  was 
very  striking.  It  was  eleven  be- 
fore the  Karadagh  foH  was  reached 
farther  down  the  valley,  and  I  was 
vexed  to  be  obliged  to  call  np  the 
officer  in  charge.  After  some  delay 
he  kindly  prepared  ns  lodging  and 
snpper.  The  host  was  a  devoat 
old  peasant  soldier  of  thirty-five 
years'  service,  who  had  been  pro- 
moted repeatedly  in  consequence  of 
bravery  in  the  Crimean  war.  Snch 
hononr  has  been  unusual  in  the 
Russian  army,  the  full  flock  of 
nobility  being  largely  dependent 
on  the  State  for  'relief  in  the 
form  of  appointments.  Almost 
cveiy  evening  of  my  journey  I 
could  follow  in  the  first  f:onversa- 
tion  enquiries  as  to  what  we  each 
were,  our  route,  and  about  the 
events  and  probabilities  of  the  war. 
Now  I  had  to  interrupt  this,  for, 
not  knowing  if  the  remaining  thirty 
versts  to  Khunzakh  might  prove 
ninety,  I  was  determined  on  rest 
without  delay,  and  an  early  start. 

The  morning  rose  fresh,  bright, 

and  hot.     Forward  the  valley  was 

wider  and  a  little  cultivated.    After 

miles  of  laborious  zigzags  the  road 

emerges  on  a  very  elevated  poor 

pasturage,  where  were  pretty  little 

sheep  and  goats  of  all  colours.     In 

a   depression    lay   the   large  new 

fortress,   barracks,  and  village    of 

Khunzakh.    The  mountains  around 

were  bare  ancl  wild:   though   the 

strata   were   broken,  they   offered 

no  striking  feature  excepting  one 

fiqnarc  solitary  mass  rising  from  a 

valley  on  the  left,  which  had  caught 

nj  eje  all  the  morning.  The  valleys 

of  this  conntry  are  probably  between 

five  and  seven  thousand  feet  above 


the  sea-level,  and  the  heights  not 
often  three  thousand  feet  above  them. 
Many  soldiers  were  at  the  unfinished 
works  building  and  banking;  several 
were  dousing  in  the  pools  and  water- 
falls of  a  torrent  close  by. 

Here  again  the  governor  and  his 
lady  proved  assiduous  and  cordial 
entertainers,  and  I  was  glad  of  rest. 
The  table  was  supplied  by  some  va- 
riety of  meats,  as  well  as  of  fruits  and 
vegetables.  Besides  household  deco- 
rations, I  was  struck  with  ornamental 
cups,  plates,  and  sticks  carved  from 
a  red  root,  and  bearing  designs  in 
imbedded  silver  points.  The  long 
day's  journey  hence  was  by  a  toil- 
some route,  and  one  on  which  tra- 
vellers are  occasionally  molested.  I 
yras  favoured  with  the  company  of 
a  young  officer,  lieutenant  to  the 
governor  of  Botlikh,  the  next  lodg- 
ing place.  He  was  a  Mahometan, 
belonging  to  one  of  the  old  terri- 
torial families  of  this  the  country 
of  the  Avars.  He  had  been  in  the 
military  academy  at  St.  Petersburg, 
and  his  intelligence  and  polish,  in 
addition  to  his  general  appearance, 
gave  one  the  impression  of  a  culti- 
vated genial  German.  I  was  again 
and  again  struck  with  a  superior- 
ity in  the  Tartar  blood  of  Kazan, 
in  the  few  old  Tartar  families  of 
Poland,  and  in  the  Tartar  and  other 
stocks  in  East  Caucasus,  all  of  them 
retaining  more  or  less  strictly  their 
ancient  £Edth  and  worship,  thanks 
to  the  restrictive  jealousy  which  the 
Russian  State  so  wisely  bears  to- 
wards its  Church. 

We  journeyed  for  some  hours 
on  the  elevated  pasture  land,  not 
unfrequently  crossing  rills  and 
streams  which  support  the  herbage 
for  numbers  of  sheep  and  horses. 
The  herdsman,  whether  on  foot 
or  on  horseback,  is  a  curious 
object  in  the  Cancasian  landscape ; 
his  boarka  like  a  conical  roof  ob- 
scuring the  man,  or  perhaps  sup- 
porting his  '  chimney-pot '  —  the 
massive  upright  cylindrical  hat  of 
sheepskin.     This  bourka  is  his  one 


96 


A  Visit  to  BhamyVa  Country. 


[January 


proteotipn  against  cold  and  wet ;  a 
stiff  round  cloak  made  of  a  thicj^ 
coat  of  cow's  hair,  felted  on  the 
inner  side.  It  is  made  similarly  to 
the  woollen  felt  for  tents  (the  kibit- 
kas  of  the  Tartars),  which  is  a 
quarter  of  an  inch  or  more  thick, 
and  almost  impervious  to  heat,  cold, 
or  damp.  The  best  bourkas  are 
made  in  this  neighbourhood,  and 
the  price  at  a  fair  is  about  twenty 
shillings.  I  afterwards  noticed 
many  loads  of  them  en  route  for  the 
towns  of  the  steppe. 

Curiosity  led  me  to  enter  a  little 
mill  which  stood  by  the  way. 
It  was  a  mud  box,  perhaps  six 
feet  in  height  and  width,  the 
length  being  rather  greater;  the 
water  entering  on  one  side,  a 
dashing  mill  race  coming  from  un- 
der it  on  the  other,  and  some  dust 
of  the  trade  marking  the  doorway. 
The  'honest  miller'  was  represented 
by  two  children — they  shovelled 
bai'ley.  into  the  hollowed  tree-stem 
from  which  the  stones  were  sup- 
plied; the  meal  descended  into  a 
similar  trough,  out  of  which  the 
sacks  were  filled,  and  then  put 
ready  for  the  fiarmer's  donkey.  The 
little  mill  stones  were  apparently 
just  above  the  primitive  turbine  or 
radial  water-wheel,  which  was  un- 
der the  floor,  a  single  shaft  sufficing, 
while  the  water,  conducted  down 
a  steep  enclosed  spout,  impelled  the 
spokes  of  the  wheel  by  its  velocity. 

The  day  wore  on  as  we  passed  the 
abrupt  bare  brows  which  overlook 
the  next  large  valley.  We  sought 
rest  in  a  village  below;  and  un- 
pinning the  door  of  a  good  cottage, 
we  found  a  tidy,  shady  room.  The 
occupants  were  away;  there  were 
earthen  bottles  on  the  floor,  and  a 
table,  in  the  drawer  of  which  were 
a  Koran  and  a  Mecca  passport, 
common  signs  of  a  Moslem  home. 
We  started  on  down  steep 
chalky  crags  to  the  bank  of  the 
river — a  kara  koisu  they  called  it — 
and  a  black  water  it  was,  opaque 
^th   the    washings  of  its   upper 


course.  A  g^rassy  orchard  of  peacli , 
apple,  and  vine  was  an  agreeable 
and  refreshing  resting  place  for  the 
delayed  midday  meaL  After  mucli. 
time  was  lost  in  waiting  for  the 
needed  relay  of  horses,  we  fbllowedl 
a  good  road  up  the  left  bank  of  the 
river  for  many  miles.  Crowds  of 
natives  were  passed;  many  were 
returning  from  their  meadows  with 
asses  loaded  with  hay,  the  slight 
burden  being  placed  in  panniers  or 
in  a  capacious  frame  which  bestrode 
the  little  beast  like  a  letter  YIT. 
The  sun  set  behind  mountains  to 
the  right,  and  thunder  and  light* 
ning  threatened  in  front,  deepening* 
the  frowns  of  a  most  wild  and 
precipitous  defile.  The  mountains 
here  are  very  abrupt,  and  the 
dangerousness  of  the  road,  which 
hardly  finds  its  broken  way»  often 
at  a  height  of  loo  or  200  feet  above 
the  stream,  renders  the  joomey 
more  striking. 

Before  reaching  the  village  of 
Tlokh  some  curious  salt  works 
are  passed.  Saline  streams  issue 
from  the  foot  of  the  mountain, 
and  are  caught  in  earth  pans  or 
tanks  (for  filtration  and  evapora- 
tion) just  before  entering  the  river. 
They  extend  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
along  the  side  of  the  road.  Wend- 
ing tnrough  the  rugged  little  village 
we  suddenly  mounted  in  single  file 
one  of  Shamyl's  bridges,  a  fragile 
structure  of  fir  trees.  Each  course 
of  logs  jutted  endwise  beyond  the 
preceding  one,  and,  successively 
overhanging  the  abyss  from  either 
side,  slanted  upwards  towards  the 
apex,  where  a  rather  doubtful  bond 
was  maintained  between  the  unwill- 
ing timbers.  Soon  after  this  we 
reached  a  place  where  the  road  had 
fallen,  so  had  to  make  a  round  by  a 
large  village  (Enkhelli)  set  on  a 
rocky  declivity.  The  way  through 
the  place  was  under  houses  and 
rock,  for  near  300  yards  of  dark 
passages.  Emerging,  strong  moon- 
light showed  the  very  broad,  stony 
bed  of  a  torrent  which  was  to  be 


1878] 


-4  Vmt  to  Shamyrs  Country, 


37 


crossed.  The  Karasa  ma  last 
crossed  by  an  EagHsh-made  iron 
bridge  near  the  abandoned  fatal 
fever-stricken  fort  of  Preobrajenski. 
Some  of  Sfaamyrs  vast  monntain 
wall  is  here  observable.  It  was 
constracted  of  loose  stones  only, 
and  abont  the  height  of  a  man ; 
its  iTandering  conrse  sometimes 
marked  by  a  little  embrasure  or 
nde  battery. 

We  pnlled  np  at  the  governor's 
house  at  Botlikh  by  nine  o'clock, 
and  received  a  good  supper  and 
quarters.     It  was  sultry.     I  paced 
the  stone  terrace  of  the  mansion 
for  some  time  waiting  for  theyukha, 
which  was  belated,  and  watching 
the   lightning    playing    over    the 
bare  mountains  in  front.    As  my 
course  was  now  northvrard  toward 
the  steppe,  and  Tiflis  was  behind  me, 
1  wanted  to  pnsb  on  and  get  over 
the  detour.     My  kind  conductor  of 
the  previous  day  started  us  in  the 
mormug  with  two  old  native  militia, 
Jesos  and  Mahomet.     The  latter 
proved  chatty — ^not  that  we  knew 
Russian,  but    we   very  often   ex- 
(dianged  looks  and  signs,  and  some- 
times sweetmeats.    It  is  interesting 
to  try  to  convey  feelings,  ideas,  and 
&cts  without  using  the  tongue,  and 
sorely  in  no  part  of  the  world  is  it  so 
necessary  as  in  this  polyglot  land, 
where  a  native  can  hardly  niake  him- 
self nnderstood  when  he  has  crossed 
amoontainor  followed  a  stream  for 
twenty  miles. 

Winding   and    climbing  up   for 

some  hours,   we  left   the    walnut 

trees  and    cornfields     far    below. 

Before    finishing    the    ascent    we 

were  canght  in  a  heavy  rain  cloud. 

1  took  refoge  in  a  haycock;  the 

escort  untied  their  bourkas   from 

their  saddles,  and  unfolding  them 

^vetly  awaited  the  sunshine,  which 

was  flitting  over  the  slopes  before 

us.   We  had  rich  views  of  valley, 

moimtainfi,  and  clouds.     The  little 

broken  plain  of   Botlikh  is  very 

picturesque,   and  I    should  think 

▼cry  fruitful.      The    temperature 


was  much  lower  at  top ;  the  bright 
green,  grassy,  rolling  hills,  and  soon 
a  bright  blue  lake — the  first  and 
almost  the  only  one  I  saw  during 
my  whole  tour — were  refreshing  to 
mind  and  body  afler  bare  hill-sides 
and  confined  valleys.  My  watch 
has  been  useful  in  lonely  situations 
to  tell  the  time  for  midday  prayers. 
This  day  the  halt  was  with  several 
herdsmen,  who  were  minding  their 
cattle,  sheep,  or  horses.  My  nag 
lost  a  stirrup  in  rolling  on  the  soft 
grass,  and  the  search  for  it  prolonged 
our  delay.  We  again  ascended 
green  slopes,  and  on  a  ridge  perliaps 
more  than  7,000  feet  high  were  for 
some  minutes  in  biting  wind  and 
rain.  Getting  imder  the  clouds- 
another  valley  opened  before  us, 
with  fields  of  com,  which  our  horses 
were  eager  to  taste,  and,  beyond,  a 
village  of  the  usual  sort,  with  a 
large  tower  in  the  middle.  The 
latter  is  generally  square  in  this 
country,  and  in  height  from  twenty 
to  fifty  feet.  A  few  more  verste 
and  we  were  glad  to  find  comfort  in 
the  white  tents  of  the  little  camp  set 
just  above  the  second  Forelno  lake^ 
The  name  is  from  the  trout  (forel)^ 
which  is  taken  by  line.  The  captain 
in  charge  was  a  Pole,  and  so  we 
were  heartily  entertained.  Out- 
side, dismal  silent  mists  alternated 
with  driving  rains. 

The  next  day  was  the  last  of 
mountain  and  horseback  in  Dag- 
hestan — no  more  ascending.  The 
kind  Pole  and  his  aide,  a  cap- 
tain of  engineers,  accompanied  us 
for  two  or  three  hours  along  the 
irregular  rooky  shore  of  the  lake, 
which  was  perhaps  as  beautiful 
as  it  could  be  without  tree  or 
bush  ;  then  on  the  line  of  a  new 
road  to  Viden,  which  they  were 
constructing.  Natives  were  at 
work  with  the  soldiers,  and  the 
task  wa.<i  in  many  parts  laborious 
and  tedious.  We  witnessed  one 
blasting  and  the  echo,  and  were 
afterwards  several  times  unplea- 
santly near  to  the  flying  fragments 


38 


A  Visit  to  ShamyVs  Cirunti-y. 


[January 


from  ezplosions  fat  above.  All  the 
proceBsesandstages  of  road-making 
(blasting,  digging,  levelling,  and 
metalling)  were  witnessed,  for  all 
the  daj^s  jonrnej  was  along  the 
new  route,  and  often  bad  enough. 
Where  the  work  required  was 
slight  the  way  seemed  finished,  but 
where  the  mountain  side  presented 
a  precipice  there  was  merely  a 
notch,  perhaps  hardly  so  wide  as 
the  horse's  body.  On  the  open 
uplands  people  were  chopping  the 
berbage,  which  here  included  a 
great  variety  of  not  very  esculent 
growths.  They  were  screaming 
and  chanting  as  though  to  the 
eagles,  and  always  ready  to  talk 
with  the  passer-by.  Then  at  last 
came  the  view  of  the  distant  steppe, 
and  in  the  foreground  of  the  grand 
prospect  were  charming  great  green 
slopes,  studded  with  bushes  and 
trees.  A  long  steep  descent  among 
mountain  ash,  acacia,  and  sycamore, 
led  to  a  warm  wooded  valley,  which 
traverses  the  great  forest  border  of 
Daghestan,  here  about  twenty-five 
miles  wide.  Four  miles  farther, 
across  meadows,  by  the  side  of  a 
rippling  stream,  lay  Viden.  This 
place  consists  of  a  strong  white 
wall,  enclosing  a  square  of  mud, 
trees,  and  houses — stagnant  ditches 
surround  the  dwellings,  and  after 
what  we  had  heard  of  fever  in  more 
auspicious  places,  I  did  not  much 
relish  a  night  in  what  appeared, 
from  the  recent  rains,  like  an  en- 
closed marsh. 

The  next  day's  journey  of  forty 
miles,  mostly  level,  was  interest- 
ing for  little  save  as  a  contrasc 
with  what  we  had  passed  before. 
The  mode  of  travelling  was  by 
veritable  paraclodnaia,  the  rudest 
little  waggon  with  a  bit  of  hay 
for  protection  in  the  jolts.  (The 
vehicle  is  'telega,'  the  mode  of 
travelling,  or  the  *  turn-out '  itself. 


is  termed  either  'paraclodnaia,*  or 
if,  as  usual,  drawn  by  three  horses, 
*  troika.')      The    destination    vras 
Orosnai,  a  fortified  town  and  Rus- 
sian settlement  on  the  road  between 
the  Caspian  Sea  and  Vladikavkaz. 
The  Yiden  valley  is  clothed  throngli- 
out  with  foliage,  and  the  windings 
of  the  route  sometimes  lead  through 
a  sultry  wood,  with  dense  under- 
g^wth,  soon  opening  again  on   a 
prospect  enhanced    by  river    and 
rocks.     Each  verst  is  marked  by  a 
burnt  tree,  and  there  yet  remain 
some  of  the  sentiy  stations  perched 
on  a   scaffold   perhaps   ten    yards 
high.     The  forenoon  halt  for  break- 
fast  was  at  the  foot  of  Arsinoe, 
where  the  valley  debouches  on  the 
plain.     Southward  some  mountain 
snows  gleamed  in  the  sun.     Yellow 
hollyhocks  were    splendid    among 
the  brushwood  of  the  open  country. 
There  were  filberts  and  hops,  the 
largest  I  ever  saw,  and  the  wilder- 
ness was  made  up  of  elders  and  a 
spiny  bush  with  large  yellow  berries. 
A   few  miles  before  Grosnai  "we 
heard  the  roar  of  water,  and  found 
ourselves  near  an  expanse  of  rocks 
and  stones — the  bed  of  the  Argon — 
an  indefinite  width,  but  doubtless 
oflen  covered  for  half  a  mile.     We 
crossed  with  some  difficulty ;  there 
were  three  streams,  the  last  nearly 
a    yard    deep.      In     the    deepest 
part    some    buffaloes,    drawing    a 
heavy  cartload  with  some  people 
a- top,  were  stubbornly  enjoying  the 
water,  as,  indeed,  they  are  apt  to 
under    such    circanistances.       We 
crossed  the  river  Sunsha  by  a  larg^ 
bridge,    and    after    a    long    drive 
through  the  ragged-looking  town, 
found  some  venr  fair  quarters  in  an 
inn  kept  by  a  «few.     He  was  atten- 
tive, and  appeared  more  to  advan- 
tage  on  a  week  day  than  on  Sab- 
bath,' which  was  the  morrow,  and 
which  he  observed  bv  an  extra  ex- 


'  Curious  that  Rutsia  is  the  only  Christian  country  where  the  Jew  finds  his  designation 
of  the  seventh  day  eurreot.  The  first  day  is  *  Resurrection,'  the  ^erenth  *  Sabbath/ 
the  rest  of  the  week  numbered. 


im] 


A  Visit  to  BhawyVs  CoufU-ry. 


39 


hilantion  of  wodky.  We  also  lefb 
on  that  daj,  and  perhaps  be  was 
the  less  agreeable  from  objecting 
on  principle  to  parting  with  cus- 
tomers on  the  day  of  rest. 

Here  we  really  did  encounter  the 
stir  caused  by  tbe  imperial  progress, 
the  Grrand  Dnke  Micbae],  Viceroy 
of  Cancasia,  being  expected  at 
Grosnai  next  morning.  Tbe  first 
tMng  in  preparing  for  a  journey  by 
the  Russian  post  is  tbe  'padarojnia/ 
or  order  for  horses,  for  there  is 
trouble  and  delay  in  getting  it, 
excepting  in  small  places.  My  ser- 
vant  was  occupied  for  hours  in 
Tainly  seeking  the  needed  authori- 
ties; they  were  away,  or  inacces- 
sible. The  chief  of  the  governor's 
staff,  a  mighty  German,  was  kind, 
bat  hopeless  of  our  getting  on  even 
if  we  found  horses  for  the  first 
5tj^.  He  promptly  and  precisely 
gaye  us  the  news  of  Sedan,  which 
(my  courier  being  a  German)  made 
US  both  for  the  time  almost  in- 
different to  our  difficulties.  I  re- 
peatedly found  the  best  news  of  tbe 
war  from  the  German  officers  in 
the  Russian  service,  who  had  direct 
telegrams  frequently. 

The  next  morning  rose  clear  and 
hot.    All — ^natives  and  Russians — 
were  agog,  and  absorbed  with  the 
imminent  advent  of  their  ruler.  I  had 
walked  through  part  of  the  dreary 
town — dreary  because,  Russian-like, 
it  seemed  spread  over  the  greatest 
possible  space — and  having  passed 
the  northern   gate  and  its  draw- 
bridge, was    strolling  among  the 
waiting  groups    and  the   soldiers, 
and  tbe  forty  or  fifty  horses  which 
were  brooght  in  readiness  to  gallop 
off  with  the  cortege.     Sundry  ranks 
of  Cossack  cavalry  were  there  to 
give  effect  to  the  reception,  arrayed 
in  their  full  uniform,  the  long  black 
coats  trimmed  with  red,  blue,  or 
white.     Soon    after  the  expected 
time  six  carriages,  each  drawn  by 
fi^e  or  six  horses,  tore  through  the 
town,  and  pulled  up  abruptly,  fol- 
V)wed  bv  the  Grosnai  staff.    The 


Grand  Duke  alighted,  and  received 
several  papers.  Romanov-like,  he 
is  large,  dignified,  and  pleasing. 
He  wore  then  the  plain  white  linen 
coat  and  flat  cap  of  the  *  service.* 
Many  w^ere  the  salutations,  while 
music  added  to  the  rather  singular 
effect  of  the  scene.  Horses  were 
soon  changed,  and  all  dashed  off* 
into  the  plain.  Through  the  cour- 
teous attention  of  the  German  offi- 
cer, padarojnia  and  horses  too 
were  soon  at  the  inn,  and  early 
in  the  afternoon  we  had  succeed- 
ed in  making  two  stages  towards 
Vladikavkaz.  Then  we  were  caught, 
two  other  parties  being  already  in 
the  same  fix ;  and  from  the  clear-' 
ance  of  post  and  other  horses  which 
were  used  or  retained  along  the 
imperial  route  for  draught  and  dis- 
play, it  was  absurd  for  travellers 
to  be  even  impatient. 

The  village  was,  like  most  others 
on  the  route,  well  planted,  mostly 
T^-ith  poplar  and  acacia,  and  sur- 
rounded by  a  quadrangle  of  mud  wall, 
capped  with  the  common  chevaux  de 
frise  of  thorn  bushes  pegged  down  on 
the  inside.  I  amused  myself  for 
the  fii-st  time  with  spelling  out  the 
entries  in  the  postmaster's  journal, 
which  is  attached  by  string  and  seal 
to  its  desk.  Afber  a  wait  which 
seemed  less  weary  to  the  Russians 
than  to  the  Englishman,  a  '  fare  * 
arrived  from  the  westward;  and' 
we  succeeded  by  a  little  money  and 
a  little  self-assertiveness  in  getting 
the  starost,  or  master  of  the  station, 
to  give  us  at  once  the  returning 
vehicle.  The  post  rules  do  not 
allow  travellers  to  use  a  team,  ex- 
cept after  it  has  been  a  certain  time 
in  the  stable.  As  several  stages 
forward  were  farmed  by  the  same 
man,  we  paid  in  advance,  taking 
a  receipt,  which  amounted  to  a 
'  through  ticket.'  Not  the  least  ad- 
vantage  of  this  vms  the  avoidance 
of  the  need  of  carrying  change. 
The  currency  required  in  post  jour- 
neys in  the  Russian  dominions  being 
one-rouble  notes  and  copper  (even 


40 


-4  "FwiY  to  ShamyVs  Couninf, 


[January 


the  recent  debased  small  silver 
being  scarce  in  some  districts), 
the  quantity  nsed  of  the  latter  is 
great;  indeed,  I  have  repeatedly 
started,  in  the  morning  with  as 
mach  as  a  pound's  worth  of  five- 
kopeck  pieces,  and  before  paying 
the  last  stage  of  a  long  day's  travel 
feared  lest  I  might  have  to  part 
with  a  rouble  (28.  6c?.)  to  cover  a 
few  odd  kopecks  in  the  charge. 
With  three  white  horses  we  careered 
over  the  dry  light  soil  and  the  dust- 
covered  weeds.  The  country  was 
uninteresting,  meagrely  cultivated, 
though  a  stanitza  or  village  of  a 
thousand  or  two  people  occurred 
every  four  or  six  miles. 

The  Sunsha  was  in  the  plain  to 
the  left,  and  to  the  right  a  low  range 
of  hills  formed  the  horizon.  The 
golden  'hunter's'  moon  rose  ex- 
actly behind  us  ere  the  long  stage 
was  ended,  and  when  the  journey 
was  resumed  its  disk,  then  silvery, 
was  just  in  our  faces.  The  post- 
master was  in  that  objective  mood 
to  which  enforced  laziness  and  other 
ungenial  circumstances  frequently 
reduce  his  ilhterate  class.  The  ten- 
dering influence  of  a  quarter  rouble 
in  acknowledgment  for  the  can- 
dle and  hot  water  for  tea  soon 
brought  him  to,  and  also  insured 
horses  before  dawn.  The  Russian 
'  post-house  affords  rooms  with 
wooden  benches  or  couches.  All 
provisions  are  carried,  but  fire  and 
water  can  generally  be  had  for  a 
gratuity.  For  the  last  stage  or  two 
zke  mountains  were  in  full  view, 
many  bold  peaks  clothed  in  snow. 
Afterwards  the  significant  Russian 
churches  rose  in  the  foreground, 
Vladikavkaz  seemed  interminable, 
but  passing  one  rambling  street 
after  another,  we  reached  *  Gostin- 
nitza  Noitaki ' — an  hotel  well  kept 
by  a  Greek  named  Noitaki.  After 
being  really  blackened  by  the  prairie 
dust  a  wash  was  not  a  short  busi- 
ness, and  it  behoved  a  stranger  to 
turn  out  in  his  *  best,'  considering 
the  bevies  of  smart  people  who  were 


doing  honour  to  a  high  day.  Tliere 
.was  a  muster  of  troops  and  mnch 
music. 

This    town— the    *Key  of    the 
Caucasus  '-—occupies  both  banks  of 
the  Terek,  where  it  issues  from  the 
Dariel  pass  into  the  open  country- 
It  is  at  equal  distances  from  theiiwa 
seas,  and  has  a  large  share  of  the 
traffic  pufising  from  one  to  the  other, 
as  well  as  of  the  intercourse  be- 
tween Russia  proper  and  Transcau- 
casia, the  Dariel  being  in  point  o£ 
fact  almost  the  only  road  between. 
Europe  and  Asia.      Vladikavkaz  is 
obviously  important  as  a  military 
position,  and  is  the  head-quarters 
of  a  large  force,  which,  with  its  offi- 
cers and  other  Government  attaches, 
imparts  some  gaiety  and  bustle  to 
the  place.  Parallel  with  the  river  is  a 
boulevard  a  mile  long;  the  Govern- 
ment buildings  in  it  are  handsome, 
and  many  other  structures  of  brick 
are    rising,    including    a    theatre. 
The   Terek   is   often  a    dangerous 
neighbour,  although  its  sides    are 
rocky;    it    has    destroyed    several 
bridges,  and  is  spanned  now  by  a 
good  iron  one,  and  by  another,   a 
mile  lower,  of  wood.     When  not  in 
clouds  the  mountains  yield  an  im- 
posing view  from  hence,  and  tlie 
river  rattling  over  its   stony  bed 
brings  a  cooler    air    towards    tlie 
plains. 

I  was  so  lucky  as  to  find  a 
Northamptonshire  gentleman  and 
his  family,  from  whom  I  learnt 
much,  chatting  in  English  too  as  I 
did  not  again  for  many  weeks.  He 
is  a  Government  architect,  and 
showed  me  photographs  of  baths 
and  other  buildings  he  had  erected, 
both  at  Piatigorsk  and  Vladikav- 
kaz. Among  the  callers  at  his  house 
I  was  struck  with  the  juxtaposition 
of  a  true  Georgian  beauty  and  a 
young  Polish  Mussulman — the  very 
finest  eyebrows,  nose,  and  com- 
plexion, facing  the  plain,  intelligent 
visage,  and  small  dark  features  of 
the  Tartar  pedigree. 

For  company  and  economy  my 


1873] 


A  VisU  to  ^hamj^Vs  Countnj. 


41 


ooDiier  sought  some  one  with 
whom  I  could  agree  to  share  a 
good  tarantas  for  the  hundred 
and  tiurty  miles  hence  to  Tiflis. 
An  old  colonel  was  found  lodg- 
iog  on  the  side  of  the  boulevard 
opposite  to  Noitaki's  who  was 
waiting  for  some  one  to  join  him. 
He  had  a  carriage,  and  its  wheels 
were  being  re-tjred,  for  they  had 
come  direct  &om  Vologda,  and 
previously  from  Archangel!  His 
family  were  at  the  Caucasian  capi- 
tal, and  he  was  naturally  anxious  to 
finish  his  ride.  I  was  ready  to  ap- 
preciate the  roomy,  easy  accommo- 
dation of  the  tarantas,  afler  rough* 
ing  it  in  the  telega  of  the  ordinary 
traveller.  The  former  is  a  capacious 
and  hooded  body,  with  room  to  lie 
do?ni  in,  and  placed  on  two  long 
bearers,  which  are  not  too  thick  to 
allow  of  some  spring.  The  ends  of 
these  rest  on  the  axles.  Such  is  the 
vehicle  of  those  who  travel  far,  and 
who  can  afford  to  lay  out  from  30Z. 
to  60^.  at  the  coDunencement  of  the 
journey.  By  that  arrangement  bag- 
gage has  not  to  be  changed  at  the 
post  stations,  the  small  charge  at 
every  stage  for  the  use  of  the  tele- 
ga is  avoided,  and  a  private  bed  is 
secnredfor  that  rest  which,  whether 
travelling  by  night  or  not,  to  all  but 
the  toughest  is  needAil  in  a  week's 
journey,  and  indispensable  in  a  Sibe- 
riancontinuous  post  journey  of  thir- 
ty days  and  nights.  The  charge  for 
lu>rse8  is  the  same  whether  supplied 
to  the  private  tarantas  or  the  telega 
of  the  post  service,  unless,  indeed, 
the  stage  be  hard  or  hilly,  when  the 
postmaster  adds  to  the  team,  and 
the  owner  of  a  big  carriage  has 
to  pay  extra  though  the  pace,  per- 
haps, he  a  walking  one,  and  he 
himself  walk  too.  The  private 
carriage,  as  in  other  European 
countries,  bears  a  charge  at  the 
toll-bars,  which  occur  on  the 
better  roads. 

We  trotted  out  of  Vladikavkaz 
^  «^  good  chaussee,  which,  with 
the    grand     station-houses,     was 


ohiefly  the  work  of  the  late  Prince 
Voronaov.  The  shadows  were 
lengthening  and  gloom  slowly  en- 
wrapped the  massive  heights  as 
we  drew  near  them.  The  Terek 
was  on  the  lefl,  and  before  i^aach- 
ing  the  first  station  we  found 
the  road  washed  away  by  it,  so  the 
horses  had  to  make  their  way  for  some 
distance  over  the  wide  waste  of  stones 
which  the  torrent  often  suddenly 
includes  in  its  dreaiy  domain.  Lars, 
the  second  station,  is  closely  sur- 
rounded by  the  mountains.  Wo 
stayed  the  night  there;  the  house 
and  the  stables  were  handsome, 
well  built  of  hewn  stone,  and  spa- 
cious. Besides  the  reasonable  fit- 
tings to  a  room  of  sound  windows 
and  floor,  we  found  chairs  and 
tables  and  good  wooden  couches,  on 
which  one's  rugs  and  pillows  may 
be  appreciated  even  better  than  in 
a  tarantas.  The  style  of  the  route 
seemed  to  indicate  an  approach  to 
the  capital  (different,  indeed,  I  after- 
wards found  were  the  three  other 
routes  from  east,  south,  and  west, 
to  Tiflis).  The  horses,  however, 
we  understood,  have  been  a  con- 
stant exception;  overworked  and 
underfed,  they  were  a  disgrace  to 
the  post.  Five  were  attfushed  to 
the  carriage  next  morning;  on 
whipping  them  up  at  starting  they 
fell  at  once  in  a  heap,  and  eventu- 
ally seemed  but  able  to  draw  the 
vehicle  without  us. 

The  scene  grew  more  grand  where 
the  road  crosses  to  the  right  bank  of 
the  river,  and  rises  for  once  to  some 
height  above  it.  Putting  aside  the 
extravagant  language  of  Ker  Por- 
ter, and  also  of  more  recent  travel- 
lers, these  renowned  'Caucasian 
gates '  reminded  me  of  the  Finster- 
muntz.  Here  was  the  Dariel  defile, 
and  the  Russian  fortress  appeared 
crouching  among  the  mighty  piles 
of  mountain,  which  seemed  to  close 
the  way  both  behind  and  before. 
The  tumbling  of  the  Terek,  fresh 
fr*om  glaciers  and  snovrs,  was  the 
only  sound.     We  were  nearly  five 


42 


A  Visit  to  ShamyVs  Country. 


[Jaonaiy 


ibonsand  feet  above  the  sea,  and 
the  nearer  heights  seemed  at  a 
similar  distance  from  ns.  Before 
Kasbek  station  was  in  sight,  a  bril- 
liant snow-top  suddenly  caaght  the 
eye  through  a  clefb  on  the  right, 
the  veritable  summit  which  English- 
men had  been  the  first  to  reach,  and 
it  was  from  that  station  that  Mr. 
Freshfield's  party  had  started  for 
their  celebrate  ascent  of  the  moun- 
fein  two  years  before. 

The  better  view  from  the  station 
itself  was  clouded,  and  the  weather 
became  dull  as  we  passed  the  Kres- 
tovya  Qora  (Cross  Mountain),  the 
received  boundary  between  Europe 
and  Asia,  and  the  watershed  between 
the  Terek  and  the  Aragva.  Trot- 
ting down  a  long  series  of  zigzags, 
we  made  a  sort  of  Spliigen  descent 
to  the  Georgian  valley.  The  old 
local  namesy  full  of  consonants, 
were  samples  of  the  hard- to-be-pro- 
nounced language  of  the  country, 
and  culminated  in  the  perhaps  un- 
surpassed monosyllable  Mtskhet,  the 
last  station  before  Tiflis. 

More  population,  mown  grass 
fields,  and  a  large  breadth  of  tillage, 
were  a  contrast  to  rough  uplands  and 
their  wild  people,  to  half-cultivated 
«teppe  with  untidy  natives  or  Eozak 
colonists.  The  afternoon's  ride  was 
picturesque ;  basalt  cliffs  rose  from 
the  liver,  and  there  were  neat  auls 
overhung  with  trees  and  surrounded 
with  little  fresh  corn-stacks.  The 
evening  shed  a  golden  and  then  a 
rosy  glow  on  the  wooded  slopes 
which  farther  on  encircled  Pasanur. 
Behind  our  quarters,  there  was  a 
specimen  of  the  ancient  Georgian  for- 
tress church,  with  the  short  conical 
roof  of  masonry.  In  another  direction 
stood  a  bran  new  wooden  Russian 
church,  its  bright  colours  staring  at 
every  comer.  A  rugged  street  was 
lined  with  cabarets  and  shanties. 

The  scenexy  of  the  next  day  was 
less  interesting,  the  hills  lower, 
and  the  country  generally  brushy. 


The  ride  was  stopped  at  Mtskhet 
with  the  news  that  nineteen  post- 
horse  orders  (padarojnias)  'were 
waiting  already;  so,  instead  of 
reaching  Tiflis  soon  after  noon,  ive 
dawdled  nine  hours  at  the  post- 
house  and  finished  the  journey  in 
pitch  dark,  entering  the  city  at 
midnight. 

At  Mtskhet  it  rained  so  as   to 
prevent    my    seeing    anything     of 
the  curious  village  (quondam  capi- 
tal   of   Georgian    princes)    or    of 
the   rather   inviting  ruins    of    an 
ancient    castle  on  the  hill  which 
rose  from  the  opposite  bank  of  the 
Kiir.      This     stream,     descending 
from  the  west,  passes  close  by  the 
post-house,  near  to  which  it  joins 
■  the  Aragva,  then  proceeds  to  Tiflis, 
and  eventually  reaches  the  Caspian. 
I  killed  time  in  watching  the  travel- 
lers, their  baggage  and  equipages, 
and  sometimes  succeeded  in  passing 
a  few  remarks,  many  being  educated 
men,  officers  of  a  regiment  then 
en  route  from  a  camp  in  the  south- 
east to  Vladikavkaz.     The  drain  on 
the  stables  of  the  post  was  great, 
and    the    trains     of    impedimenta 
which  we  had  met  belonging  to  this 
force  had  almost  blocked  the  road, 
especially  when  a   wheel  was  off, 
that  common  occurrence  in  Russia. 
Later  in  the  evening  came  the 
process  of  shilling  the  mails  from 
one    waggon    to    another.     Well, 
our  turn  came  at  last,  sure  enough, 
five  horses  at  a  good  trot.     We 
could  see  nothing  except  that  there 
was  nothing  particular  to  be  seen. 
At  the  end  of  a  long  stage  we  gra- 
dually found  ourselves  in  a  wide 
Russian     street,     with    petroleum 
lamps  glimmering  across  it;  very 
long  it  was,  but  a  short  turn  at  the 
end  of  it  brought  us  to  the  *  Hotel 
Europe.'     There  was  the  very  best 
of  quarters,  bed  and  boaitl.     Host 
and  hostess  Barberon  made  everj- 
thing  satisfactory,   though  it  was 
after  midnight. 


1873] 


43 


SOME  CURIOSITIES  OP  CRITICISM. 


MARKHAM.— I  was  ^ruck  by  a 
remark  of  yours  the  other  day, 
Benisoxiy  as  to  the  irreconcilably 
vanons  opinions  held  on  certain 
points  by  men  of  superior  intelli- 
gence ;  and  set  about  in  my  mind 
to  recollect  examples,  especially  in 
the  department  of  literary  judg- 
ments, and  I  have  lately  spent  two 
wet  mornings  in  the  library  hunt- 
ing np  some  estimates  of  famous 
men  and  famous  works,  the  estima- 
tors being  also  of  note.  Most  of 
these  are  from  diaries,  letters,  or 
oonversations,  and  doubtless  ex- 
press real  convictions. 

Benison,  Will  you  give  us  the 
pleasQie  of  hearing  the  result  of 
Tonr  researches  ?  It  is  a  rather 
interesting  subject. 

Markhain,  I  have  only  taken  such 
examples  as  lay  ready  to  hand.     If 
Ton  and  Frank  are  willing  to  listen, 
I  will  read  you  some  of  my  notes ; 
and  you  must  stop  me  when  you 
have  had  enough.     First  I  opened 
onr  old  friend  Pepys.      Since  his 
Diary   was    decyphered  from    its 
shorthand  and    published   (as  he 
never  dreamed    it  would  be)  we 
think  of  Samuel  as  a  droll  gossippy 
creature,  but  he  bore  a  very  different 
aspect  in  the    eyes    of   his  daily 
associates.     Evelyn  describes  him 
as  *a  philosopher  of  the  severest 
morality.'      He   was  in  the   best 
company  of  his  time,  loved  music 
and  books,  and    collected    a  fine 
library.    He  was  a  great  frequenter 
of  the  theatres  and  a  critical  ob- 
server of  dramatic  and  histrionic 
art.  Well,  on  the  i8tofMarch,i66i, 
Mr. Pepys  suwRomeo  and  Juliti  ^  ^  the 
first  time  it  was  ever  acted ' — ^in  his 
time,  I  suppose—'  but  it  is  a  play  of 
itself  the  worst  that  ever  I  heard, 
and  the  worst  acted  that  ever  I  saw 
these  people  do.'     *  September  29, 
1662— To  the  King's  Theatre,  where 


we  saw  Mitlsummer  NigliVs  Dream^ 
which  I  had  never  seen  before,  nor 
shall  ever  again,  for  it  is  the  most 
insipid,  ridiculoas  play  that  ever 
I  saw  in  my  life.'  *  January  6, 
1662-3 — To  the  Duke's  House,  and 
there  saw  Twelfth  Night  acted  well, 
though  it  be  but  a  silly  play,  and 
not  relating  at  all  to  the  name  or 
day.' 

Bemson.  Pepys  was  certainly 
sensitive  to  visible  beauty,  and  also 
to  music ;  to  poetry  not  at  all. 
Shakespeare's  fame  seems  to  have 
made  no  sort  of  impression  on  him. 

Frank,  We  must  remember,  how- 
ever, that  most  if  not  all  of  these 
that  Samuel  saw  were  adaptaiions^ 
not  correct  versions. 

Markham,  He  had  a  somewhat 
better  opinion  o£ Macbeth,  *  Novem- 
ber 5,  1664 — To  the  Duke's  House 
to  see  Macbeth,  a  pretty  good  play, 
but  admirably  acted.'  '  August  20, 
1666  —  To  Deptford  by  water, 
reading  Othello,  Moor  of  Venice 
[this,  doubtless,  was  the  original], 
which  I  ever  heretofore  esteemed  a 
DMg^^^y  good  play ;  but  having  bo 
lately  read  TJie  Advetiturea  of  Five 
Uoures,  it  seems  a  mean  thing. *" 
The  bustling  play  which  Pepys  so 
much  admired  was  translated  or 
imitated  from  Calderon,  by  one  Sir 
George  Tuke,  and  is  in  the  twelfth 
volume  of  Dodley's  Old  Plays, 
April  15,  1667,  ^^  B^^  ^^  ^^® 
King's  House  *  The  Change  of 
Croicmes,  a  play  of  Ned  Howard's, 
the  best  that  ever  I  saw  at  that 
house,  being  a  great  play  and 
serious.'  August  15,  he  was  at  the 
same  theatre,  and  saw  The  Merry 
Wives  of  Windsor,  '  which  did  not 
please  me  at  all,  in  no  part  of  it.^ 
'  The  Taming  of  a  Shrew  hath  some 
very  good  pieces  in  it,  but  i& 
generally  a  mean  play.'  (April  8, 
1667.)      Later  (November   i)   he 


^  Pepyfly  S^  edition,  4  toIs.  London,  1854. 


u 


Some  Curiosities  of  Griticism. 


[January 


calls  it  *  a  silly  play.'  The  Tempest 
lie  finds  (November  6,  1667)  *  the 
most  innocent  play  that  ever  I  saw ;  * 
and  adds,  *  The  play  has  no  great 
wit,  but  yet  good,  above  ordinary 
plays.'  To  do  Samuel  justice,  he 
was  *  mightily  pleased'  with  Hamlet 
(August  31,  1668) ;  *  but,  above 
all,  with  Betterton,  the  best  part,  I 
believe,  that  ever  man  acted.' 

Franl;.  It  is  pleasant  to  part 
with  our  friendly  Diarist  on  good 
terms.  Honv  persistently,  by  the 
way,  Shakespeare  held  and  continues 
to  hold  his  place  on  the  boards 
amid  all  vicissitudes,  literary  and 
social.  This  very  year,  in  rivalry 
with  burlesque,  realistic  comedy, 
and  opera  houffe,  he  has  drawn 
large  audiences  in  London. 

Markham,  Whenever  an  actor 
appears  who  is  ambitious  of  the 
highest  things  in  his  art,  he  must 
necessarily  turn  to  Shakespeare. 

Benison,  That  double  star,  called 
Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  has  long 
ago  set  from  the  stage.  It  is  curi- 
ous to  remember  that  there  were 
hundreds  of  dramas  produced  in 
the  age  of  Elizabeth  and  James, 
no  few  of  them  equally,  or  almost 
equally,  successful  with  Shake- 
speare's ;  many  written  by  men  of 
really  remarkable  powers ;  and  that 
not  a  single  one  of  all  these  plays 
has  survived  in  the  modern  theatre. 

Frank.  Might  not  one  except 
A  N&iv  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts  of 
Massinger  ? 

Benison.  That  is  revived,  rarely 
and  with  long  intervals,  to  give  some 
vehement  actor  a  chance  of  playing 
Sir  Giles  Overreach.  The  Duchess 
of  Malfy  and  perhaps  one  or  two 
other  old  plays  have  been  mounted 
in  our  time  for  a  few  nights,  but 
excited  no  interest  save  as  curio- 
sities. 

MarkJuim.  But  there  have  been 
fluctuatians  in  taste;  in  Pepys's 
time,  and  not  in  Pepys's  opinion 
merely,  the  star  of  Shakespeare 
was  by  no  means  counted  the 
brightest  of   the  dramatic  firma- 


ment.    I  have  a   note   here  from 
Dryden,  which  comes  in  pat.     In 
his  EsFay  on  Dramatic  Poetry^   b.e 
says  that  Beaumont  and  Fletcher 
'  had,  with  the  advantage  of  Shake- 
speare's wit,  which  was  their  pre- 
cedent, great  natural  gifts,  improved 
by    study;    Beaumont,    especially, 
being  so  accurate  a  judge  of  plays 
that  Ben  Jon  son,  while  he  lived, 
submitted  all   his   writings  to   his 
censure.'     *I  am  apt  to  believe  the 
English  language  in  them  arrived 
to  its  highest  perfection.'     *  Their 
plots  were  generally  more   regular 
than  Shakespeare's,  especially  those 
that  were  made  before  Beaumont's 
death ;  and  they  understood  and  imi- 
tated the  conversation  of  gentlemen 
much  better.'  .  .  .  Their  plays  are 
now  the  most  pleasant  and  frequent 
entertainments  of  the  stage ;  two  of 
theirs  being  acted  through  the  year 
for  one  of  Shakespeare's  or  Jon- 
son's  ;  the  reason  is,  because  there 
is  a  certain  gaiety  in  their  comedies, 
and  pathos  in  their  more  serious 
plays,   which  suits  generally  with 
all  men's  humours.     Shakespeare's 
language  is  likewise  a  little  obso- 
lete, and  Ben  Jonson's  wit  comes 
short  of  theirs.' 

Frank,  It  is  very  comforting,  sir, 
to  find  the  best  holding  up  its  head, 
like  an  island  mountain  amid  the 
deluge  of  nonsense  and  stupidity, 
which  seems  to  form  public  opinion. 

B&iiison,  The  nonsense  and  stu- 
pidity are  only  the  scum  on  the 
top.  It  is  plain  that  public  opinion , 
or  rather  say  the  general  soul  of 
mankind,  has,  in  the  long  run, 
proved  to  be  a  better  judge  of  the 
comparative  merits  of  plays  than 
Dryden  or  Beaumont. 

Markliam.  I  have  sometimes 
thought  that  old  Ben's  Silent 
Woman  would  still  please  if  well 
managed,  and  Tlie  Fox,  too,  perhaps. 
They  have  more  backbone  in  them 
{pace  our  great  critic)  than  any- 
thing of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's. 
Bat  now,  with  your  leave,  I'll  ^o 
on  a  century,  and  pass  from  Pepys 


1873] 


Some  Guriosiiies  of  Oriticisin, 


45 


to  Doctor    Johnson    and    Horace 
Walpole. 

Frank,  Who  by  no  means  formed 
a  pair. 

Markham,  Very  fer  from  it. 
Both,  however,  are  notables  in 
literaiy  history,  and  men  of  nn- 
donbtecl  acnteness.  The  Doctor's 
opinion  of  Milton's  sonnets  is  pretty 
well  known — ^those  *  sonl-animat- 
ing  strains,  alas  !  too  few,'  as 
Wordsworth  estimated  them.  Miss 
Hannah  More  wondered  that  Milton 
could  write  'snch  poor  sonnets.' 
Johnson  said,  *  Milton,  madam,  was 
a  genins  that  conld  cnt  a  colossus 
&om  a  rock,  but  conld  not  carve 
heads  upon  chexry-stones.'  * 

Take  another  British  classic. 
'Swift  having  been  mentioned, 
,  Johnson,  as  nsnal,  treated  him  with 
little  respect  as  an  author.'*  *  He 
attacked  Swift,  as  he  used  to  do 
upon  all  occasions.  .  .  .  I  wondered 
to  hear  him  say  of  Qullivei's  Travels^ 
"When  once  yon  have  thought  of 
big  men  and  Httle  men,  it  is  vexy 
easy  to  do  all  the  rest "  '* 

Gray  was  also  one  of  the  great 
Doctor's  antipathies.  *  He  attacked 
Gray,  calling  him  "  a  dull  fellow." 
BoswELL:  "I  understand  he  was 
reserved  and  might  appear  dull  in 
company,  but  surely  he  was  not 
dull  in  poetry  ?  "  Johnson  :  "  Sir, 
he  was  dull  in  company,  dull  in  his 
closet,  dull  everywhere.  He  was 
dall  in  a  new  way,  and  that  made 
many  people  caU  him  great. " '  * 

Nop  did  Sterne  fare  much  better. 
'It  having  been  observed  that 
there  was  little  hospitality  in  Lon- 
don— Johnson  :  "  Nay,  sir,  any  man 
who  has  a  name,  or  who  has  the 
power  of  pleasing,  will  be  very  gene- 
rally invited  in  London.  The  man 
Sterne,  I  am  told,  has  had  engage- 
ments for  three  months."  Gold- 
siirrH:  "And  a  very  dull  fellow." 
JOHUSOK: "  Why,no,  sir  "  '  ®  [1773]. 
^Nothing  odd  wiUlast  long.  Tristram 


Shandy  did  not  last.'  ^  *  She  (Miss 
Monckton)  insisted  that  some  of 
Sterne's  writings  were  verypathetic. 
Johnson  bluntly  denied  it.  "  I  am 
sure,"  said  she,  "  they  have  affected  * 
me."  "  Why,"  said  Johnson,  smil- 
ing, and  rolling  himself  about, "  that 
is,  dearest,  because  you  are  a 
dunce." ' « 

His  opinion  of  the  Old  Ballads, 
in  which  Bishop  Percy  threw  open 
a  new  region  of  English  poetry, 
was  abundantly  contemptuous. 

Benison.  It  must  be  owned  there 
were  a  good  many  blunders  to  be 
scored  against  old  Samuel — a  pro- 
fessed critic,  too,  who  might  have 
been  expected  to  hold  an  evener 
balance.  Speaking  of  Johnson  and 
poetry,  I  never  can  hold  the  Doctor 
excused  for  the  collection  usually 
entitled  Johtison's  Poets. 

Frank.  He  did  not  select  the 
authors. 

Benison.  No,  but  he  allowed  his 
name  to  be  attached  to  the  work, 
and  there  it  remains,  giving  as 
much  authorisation  as  it  can  to  a 
set  of  volumes  including  much  that 
is  paltry  and  worthless,  and  much 
that  is  foul.  It  was  one  of  the  books 
that  I  ferretted  out  as  a  boy  from 
my  father's  shelves;  and  many  of 
the  included  'poets'  would  cer- 
tainly never  have  found  their  way 
thither  but  for  the  Doctor's  impri' 
mctur. 

Markham.  He  says  liimself,  in  a 
memorandum  referring  to  the  Lives, 
*  Written,  I  hope,  in  such  a  manner 
as  may  tend  to  the  promotion  of 
piety.*  ^ 

Benison.  I  remember  he  pooh- 
pooh'd  objections  made  to  some  of 
Prior's  poems;  but  Prior  at  least 
was  clever.  On  the  whole,  he 
evidently  allowed  the  booksellers 
to  take  their  own  way  in  the  selec- 
tion of  'Poets,'  and  did  not  hold 
himself  responsible  for  the  work  as 
a  whole — ^but  responsible  he  was. 


^  BoswelTs  Life  qf  Johnson,  Dlugtrated  library,  If.  207. 
•  n.  207.  »  ii,  21s.  •  ii.  145.  » ii.  287. 


•  iv.  82. 


*  it  48. 
•iv.  31. 


46 


So^ne  GuriosUies  of  Criticism. 


[January 


MarJeham.  In  a  measure,  cer- 
tainlj. 

Frank.  The  work  as  a  collection 
is  obsolete,  is  it  not  ? 

Benison.  I  believe  so,  and  many 
of  the  individual  writers  would  now 
be  utterly  and  justly  forgotten  but 
for  Johnson's  Lives.  But  you  have 
some  more  extracts  for  us. 

Markham.  Yes.  The  opinions  of 
Horace  Walpole,  an  acute  man  and 
fond  of  books,  of  his  predecessors 
and  contemporaries  are  often  curious 
enough.  Every  one  of  the  writers 
whom  we  are  accustomed  to  recog- 
nise as  the  unquestionable  stars  of 
that  time  he  held  in  more  or  less 
contempt.  And  remember  that 
Horace  collected,  selected,  and  most 
careMly  revised  and  touched  up 
that  famous  series  of  Letters  of  his. 
There  is  nothing  hasty  or  uncon- 
sidered. *  What  play '  (he  writes  to 
Lady  Ossory,March27,  I773),*makes 
you  laugh  very  much,  and  yet  is  a  very 
wretched  comedy?  Dr.  Goldsmith's 
She  Stoops  to  Conquer.  Stoopsindeed ! 
So  she  does,  that  is,  the  Muse.  She 
is  draggled  up  to  the  knees,  and  has 
trud^d,  I  believe,  from  Southwark 
Fair.  The  whole  view  of  the  piece 
is  low  humour,  and  no  humour  is 
in  it.  All  the  merit  is  in  the  situa- 
tions, which  are  comic.  The  hero- 
ine has  no  more  modesty  than  Lady 
Bridget,  and  the  author's  wit  is  as 
much  manquS  as  the  lady's;  but 
some  of  the  characters  are  well 
acted,  and  Woodward  speaks  a 
poor  prologue,  written  by  Garrick, 
admirably.'  *®  Of  the  same  comedy 
he  writes  to  Mr.  Mason : — *  It  is 
the  lowest  of  all  &rces.  .  .  . 
But  what  disgusts  me  most  is,  that, 
though  the  characters  are  very  low, 
and  aim  at  low  humour,  not  one  of 
them  says  a  sentence  that  is  na- 
tural, or  marks  any  character  at 
all.'  "  He  thus  notices  the  author's 
death: — 'Dr.  Goldsmith  is  dead. 
.    .   .   The  poor  soul    had    some- 


times parts,  though  never  commoiL 
sense.'  *' 

Dr.  Johnson's  name  always  put 
Walpole  into  a  bad  humour.  *  Ltet 
Dr.  Johnson  please  this  age  with 
the  fustian  of  his  stylo  and  the 
meanness  of  his  spirit;  both  are 
good  and  great  enough  for  the 
taste  and  practice  predominant.'  ^' 
'  Leave  the  Johnsons  and  Macpher- 
sons  to  worry  one  another  for  the 
diversion  of  a  rabble  that  desires 
and  deserves  no  better  sport.''* 
'I  have  not  Dr.  Johnson's  Litres. 
I  made  a  conscience  of  not  baying 
them.  .  .  .  criticisms  I  despise.'** 
*The  tasteless  pedant  .  .  .  Dr. 
Johnson  has  indubitably  neither 
taste  nor  ear,  criterion  of  judgment, 
but  his  old  women's  prejudices; 
where  they  are  wanting  he  has  no 
rule  at  all. ' '  ^  *  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds 
has  lent  me  Dr.  Johnson's  Life  cf 
Pope,  ...  It  is  a  most  trumpery 
performance,  and  stuffed  with  all 
his  crabbed  phrases  and  vulgarisms, 
and  much  trash  as  anecdotes.  .  .  . 
Was  poor  good  sense  ever  so  un- 
mercifully overlaid  by  a  babbling 
old  woman  ?  How  was  it  possible 
to  marshal  words  so  ridiculously? 
He  seems  to  have  read  the  ancients 
with  no  view  but  of  pilfering 
polysyllables,  utterly  insensible  to 
the  graces  of  their  simplicity,  and 
these  are  called  standards  of  bio- 
graphy ! '  ^^  * .  .  .  Yet  he  [Johnson] 
has  other  motives  than  lucre :  pre- 
judice, and  bigotry,  and  pride,  and 
presumption,  and  arrogance,  and 
pedantry,  are  the  hags  that  brew 
his  ink,  though  wages  alone  supply 
him  with  paper.' "  On  the  Doctor's 
manners  Horry  comments  thus 
mildly : — •  I  have  no  patience  with 
an  unfortunate  monster  trusting  to 
his  helpless  deformity  for  indemnity 
for  any  impertinence  that  his  arro- 
gance suggests,  and  who  thinks 
that  what  he  has  read  is  an  excnse 
for  ever3rthing  he  says.'  i*    Of  Dr. 


"T.453. 
»» Tu.  508. 


»  T.  467. 
"  Tiii.  la 


»vi.73. 
"  yiii.  27. 


'  Ti.  109. 
^Tiii.  150. 


'  VI.  193. 
•  vL  302. 


l87o] 


Bonie  Ouriosiiies  of  Criticism. 


47 


Jahnson's  Prayers  he  writes : — *  See 
Tvhat  it  is  to  have  fricDds  too 
faocest !  How  conid  men  bo  such 
idiots  as  to  execute  soch  a  trast? 
One  laogba  at  every  pa^e,  and 
then  the  tears  come  into  one's 
ejcs  when  one  learns  what  the  poor 
being  saffered  who  even  suspected 
Lis  own  madness.  One  seems  to 
bj  reading''  the  diarj  of  an  old  alms- 
woman  ;  and  in  fact  his  religion  was 
not  a  step  higher  in  its  kind.  John- 
eon  had  all  the  bigotry  of  a  monk, 
and  all   the    fully  and   ignorance 

t.30."» 

*  Bosweirs  book  is  the  story  of  a 
mountebank  and   his  zany.'^i     «A 
jackanapes  who    has  lately   made 
a  noise  here,  one  Boswell,  by  anec- 
dotes of  Dr.  Johnson.'  ^*     *  Signora 
Piozzi's  book  is  not  likely  to  gratify 
ber  expectation  of  renown.     There 
is  a  Dr.  Walcot,  a  burlesque  bard, 
who  had     ridiculed     highly    and 
most  deservedly  another  of  John- 
eon's  biograpbic  zanies,  oneBos  well; 
be  has  already  advertised  an  Eclogue 
hdiceen  Bozzi  and  Piozzi ;   and  in- 
deed there  is  ample  matter.     The 
Signora  talks  of  her  Doctor's  ex- 
fa^yded  mind,  and  has  contributed 
ber  mite  to  show  that  never  mind 
"was  narrower.      In  fact,  the  poor 
man  is  to  be  pitied ;  he  was  mad, 
and  his  disciples  did  not  find  it  out, 
bat  have  unveiled  all  his  defects ; 
say,  have  exhibited  all  his  brutali- 
ties as  wit,  and  his  lowest  conun- 
dramsas  humonr.  .  .  .  What  will 
posterity  tbink  of  us,  when  it  reads 
what  an  idol  we  adored  ? '  *3     « She 
and  Boswell  and  their  hero  are  the 
joke  of  the  public'  ^* 

Walpole's  chief  poets  were  Dry- 
den,  Pope,  Gray,  and — the  Reverend 
William  Mason,  'a  poet  if  ever 
tbere  was  one.'  **  He  also  had  a 
jrreat  admiration  for  Mr.  Anstey.** 
He  desires  the  acquaintance,  he  says, 
of  the  author  of  the  Bath  Guide 


[Anstey]  and  the  author  of  the  ^erota 
Epistle  [Mason],  adding,  '  I  have  no 
thirst  to  know  the  restof  my  contem- 
poraries, from  the  absurd  bombast 
of  Dr.  Johnson  down  to  the  silly 
Dr.  Goldsmith;  though  the  latter 
changeling  has  had  bright  gleams 
of  parts,  and  the  former  had  sense, 
till  he  changed  it  for  words  and 
sold  it  for  a  pension.'  ^7  ]^Xr.  Ma- 
son's acquaintance  he  had  the 
privilege  of,  and  kept  up  a  profuse 
exchange  of  compliments  with  that 
great  writer  ('Your  writings  will 
be   standards,'**   *  Divine  lines,'** 

*  Your  immortal  fome,'  ^®  Ac.  Ac). 
Mr.  Mason  was  not  only  an  immortal 
poet,  bat  a  connoisseur  of  the  first 
water  in  the  arts  of  painting  and 
music.  Here,  by  the  bye,  is  his 
judgment  of  a  certain  musical  com- 
poser of  that  day  :  'As  to  Giardini, 
look  you,  if  I  did  not  think  better  of 
him  than  I  do  of  Handel,  my  little 
shoemaker  would  not  have  had  the 
benefit  he  will  have  (I  hope)  from 
the  labour  of  my  brain  [Mr.  M. 
had  been  writing  an  opera-book, 
Sapphoj  and  Giardini,  whoever  he 
was,  was  to  famish  the  music]. 
Let  Handel's  music  vibrate  on  the 
tough  drum  of  royal  ears ;  I  am  for 
none  of  it.'  ^* 

*  Somebody,*  says  Walpole,  'I 
fancy  Dr.  Percy,  has  produced  a 
dismal,  dull  ballad,  called  Tlie  Exe- 
cution of  Sir  Charles  Bawdin^  and 
given  it  for  one  of  the  Bristol 
Poems,  called  Rowley's,  but  it  is  a 
still  worse  counterfeit  than  those 
that  were  first  sent  to  me.'  '*  This 
was  one  of  Chatterton's  productions, 
but  after  the  boy's  miserable  death 
had  made  a  stir,  Walpole  thought 

*  poor  Chattertou  was  an  astonish- 
ing genius,'  ^  and  denied  that  he 
hs^  had  any  hand  in  discouraging 
him. 

To  turn  to  the  stage.  We  are 
accustomed  to  think  of  Garrick  as 


*».  II.  «Mx.  25.  "«.  45. 

""•375'  "ii.  12.  ''v.  458. 

*  Tii.  456.  "  vii.  26.  ■=  V,  389. 

YOL.  YU.— KO.  XXXVII.    NEW  8EEIES. 


"  ix.  48. 
»•  vii.  121. 
••  vi.  447. 


•*  ix.  49- 
»  vii.  84. 


48 


Some  OuriosUies  of  Critieism. 


[Jamiary 


a  good  actor,  bat  Walpole  loses  no 
opportunity  to  sneer  at  him.  *  He 
has  complained  of  Mdme.  Le  Texier 
for  thinking  of  bringing  over  Cail- 
land,  the  French  actor,  in  the  Opera 
Comique,  as  a  mortal  prejudice  to 
his  reputation ;  and  no  doubt  would 
be  glad  of  an  Act  of  Parliament 
that  should  prohibit  there  ever 
being  a  good  actor  again  in  any 
country  or  century.'  •*  Being 
asked  to  meet  David  at  a  friend's 
house,  Walpole  writes,  ^Garrick 
does  not  tempt  me  at  all.  I  have  no 
taste  for  his  perpetual  buffoonery, 
and  am  sick  of  his  endless  ex- 
pectation of  flattery.'  '*  Of  Mrs. 
Siddons  he  writes  (in  1782,  after 
seeing  her  as  Isabella  in  The  Fatal 
Marriage),  *  What  I  really  wanted, 
but  did  not  find,  was  originality, 
which  announces  genius,  and  with- 
out both  which  I  am  never  intrinsi- 
cally pleased.  All  Mrs.  Siddons 
did,  good  sense  or  good  instruction 
might  give.  I  dare  to  say  that  were 
I  one-and-twenty,  I  should  have 
bought  her  marvellous,  but,  alas  ! 
I  remember  Mrs.  Porter  and  the 
Dumesnil,  and  remember  every 
accent  of  the  former  in  the  very 
same  part.'  *• 

Frank,  Johnson,  I  remember, 
though  always  friendly  to  his  old 
townsfellow  and  schoolfellow,  Davy, 
said  many  contemptuous  things  of 
him. 

Btnismi,  Peirhaps  rather  of  the 
art  of  acting.  He  certainly  thought 
Garrick  superior  to  almost  all  other 
actors.  Johnson  was  a  good  deal 
about  the  theatres  at  one  period  of 
his  life,  and,  as  we  know, wrote  aplay 
and  several  prologues  and  epilogues, 
yet  he  settled  into  a  conviction  of 
the  paltriness  of  acting. 

Frank.  As  Croethe  seems  to  have 
done. 

Benisoti.  The  Doctor  says,  for 
example,  that  a  boy  of  ten  years  old 
could  be  easily  taught  to  say  ^  To  be 


or  not  to  be  '  as  well  as  Garrick:. 
But  pray  go  on. 

Markham.  Neither  Sterne  nor 
Sheridan  pleased  Master  Walpole  a 
bit.  *  Tiresome  Tristram  Shundt/, 
of  which  I  never  could  get  thron^li 
three  volumes.'  ^^  '  I  have  reaxi 
Sheridan's  CriiiCf  but  not  having 
seen  it,  for  they  say  it  is  admirably 
acted,  it  appeared  wondrously  flat 
and  old,  and  a  poor  imitation.'  ^^ 

And  now  let  me  lump  in  some 
of  his  notions  of  more  distant 
literary  worthies.  •*  He  was  going- 
to  make  *  a  bower '  at  his  toy- villa 
of  Strawberry  Hill,  and  consulting- 
authorities.  '  I  am  almost  afraid  (he 
says)  I  must  go  and  read  Spenser, 
and  wade  through  his  allegories  and 
drawling  stanzas  to  get  at  a  pic- 
ture.*  *^  Chaucer's  Canterbury  Talcs 
are  *  a  lump  of  mineral  from  which 
Dryden  extracted  all  the  gold,  and 
converted  [it]  into  beautiful  me- 
dals.' ^^  '  Dante  was  extravagant, 
absurd,  disgusting :  in  shorty  a  Me- 
thodist parson  in  Bedlam.'  ^'  '  Mon- 
tague's Travels,  which  I  have  been 
reading ;  and  if  I  was  tired  of  the 
Essays,  what  must  one  be  of  these! 
What  signifies  what  a  man  thought 
who  never  thought  of  anything 
but  himself?  and  what  signifies 
what  a  man  did  who  never  did  any- 
thing ? '  *'  •  There  is  a  new  Timo7i 
of  Athens,  altered  from  Shakespeare 
by  Mr.  Cumberland,  and  marvel- 
lously well  done,  for  he  has  caught 
the  manners  and  diction  of  the  ori- 
ginal  so  exactly,  that  I  think  it  is 
full  as  bad  a  play  as  it  was  before 
he  corrected  it.'  ** 

Frank.  It  is  to  bo  hoped  that 
neither  Dante  nor  Shakespeare  will 
suffer  permanently  from  the  con- 
tempt of  Horace  Walpole. 

Benisofu  Nor  Johnson  and  Gold- 
smith, for  that  matter.  One  moral 
of  the  whole  subject  before  us 
is — not  that  we  are  to  despise 
criticism  and  opinion,  but  that  the 


•*  vi.  416. 
■•  vii.  291. 
«  viii-  235. 


•*  vi.  303- 
"  18  to  22. 
"  vi.  92. 


'  viii.  295. 
•  iv.  330. 
•▼.356. 


'  v.  91. 


1873] 


Some  Curiosities  of  Criticism. 


49 


eiiticxsms  and  opinions  of  even 
very  cleyer  men  are  often  extremely 
mistaken.  The  comfort  is,  as  Frank 
said,  that  good  things  do,  somehow, 
get  recognised  sooner  or  later,  and 
are  jojfollj  treasured  as  the  heritage 
of  the  human  race. 

Frafdc,  Take  away  BoswelVs 
Johnson — '  the  story  of  a  monnte- 
bank  and  hia  zany' — ^and  what  a 
gap  were  left  in  English  literature ! 
Markha^m.  Do  you  remember 
what  Byron  said  of  Horace  Wal- 
pole?  Here  it  is,  in  the  preface 
to  Mariiu}  Faliero  —  'Ho  is  the 
tdtimus  JKomanorum^  the  author  of 
the  Mysterious  Mother,  a  tragedy  of 
the  highest  order,  and  not  a  puling 
love-play.  He  is  the  father  of  the 
first  romance  and  of  the  last 
tragedj  in  our  language ;  and  surely 
worthy  of  a  higher  place  than  any 
living  author,  be  he  who  he  may.' 

Frank.  A  comical  judgment, 
truly,  if  sincere  I 

Benison.  I  believe  Byron  had  a 
deep  insincerity  of  character,  which 
ran  into  everything  he  wrote,  said, 
or  did. 

Markham.  And  now  listen  to 
Coleridge's  opinion  on  this  same 
*  tragedy  of  the  highest  order.' 
'  The  Mysterious  Mother  is  the  most 
disgusting,  vile,  detestable  compo- 
sition that  ever  came  from  the  hand 
of  man.  No  one  with  a  spark  of 
true  manliness,  of  which  Horace 
Walpole  had  none,  could  have 
written  it.' 

Frank.  Decided  difference  of  opi- 
nion 1  By  the  way,  it  is  Byron's 
distinction  among  English  poets  to 
have  heen  in  the  habit -of  speaking 
slightingly  of  Shakespeare  and  of 
Milton,  who  (he  observed)  •have 
bad  their  rise,  and  they  will  have 
their  decline.'  *® 

Jdarkham.  Let  us  return  to  Cole- 
ridge. Talking  of  Goethe's  Fwilst, 
after  explaining  that  he  himself  had 
long  before  planned  a  veiy  similar 
drama    (only  much    better)   with 


Michael  Scott  for  hero,  he  praises 
several  of  the  scenes,  but  adds, 
*  There  is  no  whole  in  the  poem ; 
the  scenes  are  mere  magic-lantern 
pictures,  and  a  large  part  of  the 
work  is  to  me  very  flat.'  More- 
over, much  of  it  is  *  vulgar,  licen- 
tious, and  blasphemous.' 

Frank.   By  my  troth,  these  be 
very  bitter  words  ! 

Markham.  Coleridge's  estimate  of 
Gibbon's  great  work  is  remarkable. 
After  accusing  him  of  '  sacrificing 
all  truth  and  reality,'  he  goes  on  to 
say: — *  Gibbon's  style  is  detest- 
able, but  his  style  is  not  the  worst 
thing  about  him.  His  history  has 
proved  an  effectual  bar  to  all  real 
familiarity  with  the  temper  and 
habits  of  imperial  Rome.  Few 
persons  read  the  original  authov* 
ties,  even  those  which  are  classical . 
and  certainly  no  distinct  know- 
ledge of  the  actual  state  of  the 
empire  can  be  obtained  from  Gib- 
bon's rhetorical  sketches.  He 
takes  notice  of  nothing  but  what 
may  produce  an  effect ;  ke  skips  on 
from  eminence  to  eminence,  withoat 
ever  taking  you  through  the  valleys 
between  :  in  fact,  his  work  is  little 
else  but  a  disgraised  collection  of 
all  the  splendid  anecdotes  which 
he  could  find  in  any  book  con- 
cerning any  persons  or  nations 
from  the  Antonines  to  the  capture 
of  Constantinople.  When  I  read 
a  chapter  of  Gibbon,  I  seem  to  be 
looking  through  a  luminous  haze 
or  fog:  figures  come  and  go,  I 
know  Jiot  how  or  why,  all  larger 
than  life,  or  distorted  or  disco- 
loured ;  nothing  is  real,  vivid,  true ; 
all  is  scenical,  and,  as  it  were, 
exhibited  by  candlelight.  And 
then  to  call  it  a  History  of  the  De- 
cline  and  Fall  of  the  Itoiuan  Empire ! 
Was  there  ever  a  greater  mis- 
nomer? I  protest  I  do  not  re- 
member a  single  philosophical 
attempt  made  throughout  the  work 
to   fathom  the  ultimate  causes  of 


**  Letter  on  Bowles's  Sixictures,  note.    Ltfe,  ^'C.  1839,  p.  696. 


50 


Some  Curiositiea  ^of  GriHcism, 


[Janoary 


the  decline  or  fall  of  that  empire.* 
After  some  farther  strictures,  Cole- 
ridge ends  thus : — *  The  true  key 
to  the  declension  of  the  Roman 
Empire — which  is  not  to  he  foand 
in  all  Gihhon's  immcDse  work- 
may  be  stated  in  two  words :  the 
imperial  character  overlaying,  and 
finally  destroying,  the  nah'owaZ  cha- 
racter. Rome  under  Trajan  was 
an  empire  without  a  nation.' 

Frank.  Coleridge's  two  words  are 
not  so  decisively  clear  as  one  could 
wish.  The  '  key  *  sticks  in  the  lock.^ 
But  his  criticism  on  Gibbon  cer- 
tainly gives  food  for  thought. 

Benison.  Gibbon,  however,  com- 
pleted a  great  book,  and  has  lefl  it 
to  the  world,  to  read,  criticise,  do 
what  they  will  or  can  with ;  whereas 
Coleridge  dreamed  of  writing  many 
great  books,  and  wrote  none.  He 
is  bat  a  king  of  shreds  and  patches. 

Markham,  Even  Hhe  Lakers' 
did  not  always  admire  each  other. 
*  Coleridge's  ballad  of  The  Ancient 
Mariner  (says  Southey)  is,  I  think, 
the  clumsiest  attempt  at  German 
sublimity  I  ever  saw.'  And  now, 
if  you  are  not  tired  out,  I  will  finish 
with  some  specimens  of  criticism  on 
works  of  the  last  generation  which 
(whatever  differences  of  opinion 
may  still  be  afloat  concerning  them) 
enjoy  at  present  a  wide  and  high 
reputation.  The  articles  on  Words- 
worth and  Keats  are  famous  in 
their  way,  but  the  ipsissima  verba 
are  not  generally  familiar.  Take  a 
few  from  Jeffrey's  review  of  The 
Excursion  (^Edinburgh  BevieWy  No- 
vember 1 8 14). 

*This  will  never  do.  .  .  .  The 
case  of  Mr.  Wordsworth,  we  pre- 
sume, is  now  manifestly  hopeless; 
and  we  give  him  up  as  altogether 
incurable  and  beyond  the  power  of 
criticism,  ...  a  tissue  of  moral 
and  devotional  ravings,  .  .  . 
*' strained  raptures  and  fantastical 
sublimities  " — a  puerile  ambition 
of  singularity  engitifted  on  an  un- 
lucky predilection  for  trnisms.' 

In  the  next  number,  I  see,  is  a 
review  of  Scott's  Lord  of  the  Isles^ 


beginning, '  Here  is  another  genuine 
lay  of  the  great  Minstrel.' 

Frank.  One  must  own  that 
much  of  the  Excursion  is  very  pro* 
saic ;  but  that  does  not,  of  course, 
justify  the  tone  of  this  review. 

MarkJiam.  And  here  is  the 
Qtiarterly  Bevima,  January  181 9, 
on  The  BcvoU  of  Islam,  'Mr. 
Shelley,  indeed,  is  an  unsparing 
imitator.'  'As  a  whole  it  is  in- 
supportably  dull.'  *  With  minds 
of  a  certain  class,  notoriety,  in- 
famy, anything  is  better  than  ob- 
scurity; baffled  in  a  thousand  at- 
tempts after  fame,  they  will  make 
one  more  at  whatever  risk,  and 
they  end  commonly,  like  an  awk- 
ward chemist  who  perseveres  in 
tampering  with  his  ingredients,  till, 
in  an  unlucky  moment,  they  take 
fire,  and  he  is  blown  up  by  the  ex- 
plosion.' *  A  man  like  Mr.  Shelley 
may  cheat  himself  .  .  .  finally  he 
sinks  like  lead  to  the  bottom,  and 
is  forgotten.  So  it  is  now  in  part^ 
so  shortly  will  it  be  entirely  with 
Mr.  Shelley: — ^if  we  might  with- 
draw the  veil  of  private  Ufe,  and 
tell  what  we  now  know  about  him, 
it  would  be  indeed  a  disgusting 
picture  that  we  should  exhibit,  bat 
it  would  be  an  unanswerable  com- 
ment on  our  text.' 

Now  a  few  flowers  of  criticism 
from  Mr.  Gifford's  review  of  Endy- 
mion,  a  poem,  in  the  Quarterly  Re- 
vieWy  April  18 18.  'Mr.  Keats  (if 
that  be  bis  real  name,  for  we  almost 
doubt  that  any  man  in  his  senses 
would  put  his  real  name  to  such  arhap- 
Body.'  .  .  .  'The  author  is  a  copyist 
of  Mr.  Hunt ;  but  he  is  more  unin* 
telligible,  almost  as  rugged,  twice  as 
diffuse,  and  ten  times  more  tiresome 
and  absurd  than  his  prototype.' 
'  At  first  it  appeared  to  us  that  Mr. 
Keats  had  been  amusing  himself, 
and  wearing  out  his  readers  with 
an  immeasurable  game  at  houls^ 
rimes ;  but,  if  we  recollect  rightly, 
it  is  an  indispensable  condition  at 
this  play,  that  the  rhymes  when 
filled  up  shall  have  a  meaning; 
and    our    author,    as    we     have 


18/3] 


Some  Curiosities  of  Orlticism. 


51 


already  hinted,  has  no  meaning.' 
The  reviewer  ends  thns :  *  But 
enongh  of  Mr.  Leigh  Hunt  and  his 
simple  neopb jte.  If  anyone  should 
be  bold  enough  to  purchaso  this 
"Poetic  Romance/'  and  so  much 
more  patient  than  ourselves  as  to 
get  beyond  the  first  book,  and  so 
much  more  fortunate  as  to  find  a 
meaDiDg,  we  entreat  him  to  make 
QS  acquainted  with  his  success ; 
we  shall  then  return  to  the  task 
which  we  now  abandon  in  despair, 
and  endeavour  to  make  all  duo 
amends  to  Mr.  Keats  and  to  our 
readers.' 

Benison.  You  remember  Byron's 
kind  remarks  on  the  same  subject  ? 
In  a  letter  from  Bavenna,  October 
20, 1820,  he  writes,  *  There  is  such  a 
trash  of  Keats  and  the  like  upon  my 
tables  that  I  am  ashamed  to  look  at 
them.'  '  Why  don't  they  review  and 
praise  Solomon's  Guide  to  Health? 
it  is  better  sense,  and  as  much 
poetry  as  Jobnny  Keats'.'  'No 
more  Keats,  I  entreat,  flay  him 
alive ;  if  some  of  you  don't,  I  must 
skin  him  myself.  There  is  no  bear- 
ing the  drivelling  idiotism  of  the 
manikin.' 

Marhham.  The  Quarterly  in  March 
1828  had  another  generous  and  ap- 
preciative article  beginning — 'Our 
readers  have  probably  forgotten  all 
abont  ^^Bndymion^  a  Poem,"  and 
the  other  works  of  this  young  man 
[Mr.  John  Keats],  and  the  all  but 
universal  roar  of  laughter  with 
which  they  were  received  some  ten 
or  twelve  years  ago.' 

Bat  now  enough.  Only  I  should 
like  to  read  you  just  one  thing 
more,  which  is  less  known,  and 
presents,  perhaps,  the  extreme  ex- 
unple  of  Uterary  misjudgmcnt,  bj 
a  man  of  true  literary  genius — 
Thomas  De  Quincey's  elaborate 
review  of  Garlyle's  translation  of 
WiVydm  MeisteTj  in  the  London 
Magazine  for  August  and  September 
1824.  *  Not  the  basest  of  Egyptian 
snperstition,  not  Titania  under  en- 
chantment, not  Caliban  in  drunken- 
1N68,  ever  shaped  to  themselves  an 


idol  more  weak  or  hollow  than 
modem  Germany  has  set  up  for  its 
worship  in  the  person  of  Goethe.' 
A  blow  or  two  from  a  few  vigor- 
ous understandings  will  demolish 
the  *puny  fabric  of  babyhouses  of 
Mr.  Goethe.'  For  the  style  of 
Goethe  *we  profess  no  respect,'  but 
it  is  much  degraded  in  the  trans- 
lation, on  which  the  reviewer  ex- 
pends many  choice  epithets  of 
contempt.  The  work  is  'totally 
without  interest  as  a  novel,'  and 
abounds  with  *  overpowering  abomi- 
nations.' *  Thus  we  have  made  Mr. 
Von  Goeihe's  novel  speak  for  itself. 
And  whatever  impression  it  may 
leave  on  the  reader's  mind,  let  it 
be  charged  upon  the  composer.  If 
that  impression  is  one  of  entire  dis- 
gust, let  it  not  be  forgotten  that  it 
belongs  exclusively  to  Mr.  Goethe.' 

The  reviewer  is  annoyed  to  think 
that  some  discussion  may  still  bo 
necessary  before  Mr.  Goethe  is  al- 
lowed  to  drop  finally  into  oblivion. 

Benison,  You  have  not  quoted 
any  of  Professor  Wilson's  trenchant 
BlackivoodismsBLgeimst  *  the  Cockney 
School.' 

Markh  am.  It  d id  not  seem  worth 
while.  All  the  bragging  and  bully- 
ing has  long  ceased  to  have  any 
meaning. 

Frank.  And  *  Maga's  '  own  pet 
poets,  where  are  they  ? 

Benison,  Let  echo  answer.  You 
might  easily,  Markham,  bring  to- 
gether some  specimens  of  misap- 
plied eulogy — of  praise  loud  and 
lavish,  given  (and  not  by  foolish  or 
insincere  voices)  to  names  and  works 
which  proved  to  have  no  sort  of 
stability.  Meanwhile,  many  thanks 
for  your  Curiosities. 

Frank  here,  whom  I  half  suspect 
of  a  tendency  to  authorship,  may 
take  a  hint  not  to  care  too  much 
for  censure  or  praise,  bat  do  his 
work  well,  be  it  little  or  great, 
and,  as  Schiller  says:  werfe  es 
schweigend  m  die  11/nendliche  Zeii, 
— '  cast  it  silently  into  everlasting 
time.' 


52 


[Jannarj 


THORWALDSEN  in  COPENHAGEN  AND  IN  ROME. 


THE  writer  in  a  recent  art-tonr 
to  the  North  of  Europe  promised 
himself  the  pleasare  of  making 
in  Copenhagen  a  more  intimate  ac- 
quaintance with  Thorwaldsen  than 
had  been  practicable  in  Rome  or  in 
any  other  capital.  And  yet  the  works 
of  the  Danish  sculptor  are  widely 
diffused.  Travellers  know  full  well 
the  monument  to  Pius  VII.  in  St. 
Peter's  ;  on  the  Lake  of  Coroo  it  is 
usual  for  tourists  to  take  a  boat  to 
the  villa  where  is  seen  the  Triumph 
of  Alexander,  at  Lucerne  the  Lion  to 
the  Swiss  guards  is  known  as  well 
as  the  lake  itself,  in  Stuttgard  is 
shown  the  monument  to  Schiller,  in 
Mayence  the  figure  of  Gutenberg, 
in  Munich  the  noble  equestrian 
statue  of  Maximilian.  England  too 
is  in  possession  of  famous  or  no- 
torious works,  such  as  the  Jason, 
the  Byron,  not  to  mention  others. 
Still,  only  in  Copenhagen  can  the 
Phidias  of  the  North  be  fully  under- 
stood :  in  that  city  within  the  Royal 
Palace,  the  Frauen  Kirche,  and  the 
Thorwaldsen  Museum,  are  gathered 
the  rich  harvests  of  a  long  and  fruit- 
ful life. 

On  entering  Denmark  there  is 
little  in  the  aspect  of  nature  or  in 
the  character  of  the  people  which 
can  be  said  to  be  in  keeping  with 
the  genius  of  Thorwaldsen.  This 
small  peninsula  of  sandhills  is  about 
the  last  place  in  which  a  classic 
revival  could  have  been  looked  for. 
On  reaching  the  Great  or  the  Little 
Belt,  the  traveller  seems  to  have 
come  to  the  end  of  all  things ;  art  is 
nowhere,  and  Nature  herself  is  re- 
duced to  extremity.  The  land  holds 
its  footing  on  precarious  tenure ;  the 
sea,  which  is  seldom  out  of  sight, 
makes  inroad  on  the  shore,  small 
hillocks  are  sown  with  grass  w^hich 
binds  the  shifting  sands  together, 
and  flat  marshy  tracts  grow  scanty 
com,  or  are  turned  into  market- 
gardens.     Nor  does  Denmark  fur- 


nish the  physical  materials  for  the 
sculptor's  art :  in  the  whole  of  Scan- 
dinavia  indeed  there  is  scarcely 
a  bit  of  stone  which  Apollo  or 
Venus  would  care  to  be  carved 
in.  The  huge  granite  boulders 
scattered  on  the  road  to  Copen- 
hagen, migrated  from  the  north 
long  ago  as  strangers  and  pilgrims. 
These  antediluvian  monsters,  which 
travelled  on  the  backs  of  gla- 
ciers, have  consanguinity  with 
Thor  and  Odin,  and  the  race  of 
northern  giants,  but  possess  little 
in  common  with  the  ideal  types  of 
Greece  or  Italy.  Neither  are  the 
Danes  themselves  a  race  with  any 
near  relationship  to  undraped  gods 
and  goddesses.  The  rude  climate 
of  the  North  imposes  thick  covering 
of  fur:  hard  conflict  with  unkind 
Nature  induces  a  character  stern 
and  brave ;  a  struggle  to  sustain  a 
bare  existence  precludes  luxuries. 
There  would  appear,  in  short,  no 
room  and  little  need  for  classic  or 
ideal  art  among  a  people  whom 
stem  necessity  has  nmdo  plodding 
and  plebeian,  simple  and  frugal. 

Thorwaldsen,  born  in  Copenha- 
gen in  1770,  was,  like  some  other 
sculptors  who  have  gained  celebrity, 
of  humble  origin.  His  father  was 
by  trade  a  carver  in  wood.  Chan- 
trey,  it  may  be  remembered,  also 
commenced  as  a  wood-carver.  Like- 
wise, by  curious  coincidence,  Gibson 
at  the  age  of  fourteen  was  appren- 
ticed to  a  cabinet-maker,  and  a  year 
afterwards  was  cutting  ornamental 
work  for  household  furniture.  Many 
American  sculptors,  too,  are  of 
humble  birth  and  limited  educa- 
tion. Young  Thorwaldsen  followed 
his  father's  calling ;  he  carved  heads 
for  ships  in  the  Royal  Dockyard, 
and  received  some  education  at  the 
cost  of  the  State.  His  first  entrance 
into  the  sphere  of  art  proper  seems 
to  have  been  when  he  translated 
pictures  into  wooden  bas-rolie&.   It 


1873] 


Thorwaldsen  in  GopenJutgen  aiul  m  Rome. 


53 


may  here  be  of  interest  to  know 
that  for  centnrieB  there  had  snb- 
sisted  in  the  North  of  Europe  a 
school  of  wood-carvers  ;  not  merely 
a  few  scattered  men  occupied  on 
6^re-heads  for  the  ships  which  sail 
from  Copenhi^en  and  other  ports  of 
the  Baltic — ^a  handicraft  which,  as 
we  have  seen,  yielded  but  a  pre- 
carious livelihood  to  the  old  and 
the  young  Thorwaldsen — ^but  a  con- 
siderable body  of  artisans,  or  artists 
in  wood,  who  went  to  the  primBBval 
pine  forests  of  Norway,  Sweden  and 
XoKhem  Russia,  felled  timber, 
sawed  planks,  carved  barge-boards, 
lintels,  and  rade  but  picturesque 
furniture  for  wooden  houses  and 
wooden  churches. 

The  history  of  art  throughout  the 
world,  whether  on  the  banks  of  the 
Nile,  of  the  Tigris  and  Euphrates,  in 
the  states  of  Ancient  Greece,  or  in 
Rome,  is  indissolubly  identified  with 
the  materials   found  on  the  spot. 
Granite,     sand- stone,     brick- clays, 
marbles,  have  severally  determined 
in  no  small  degree  the  specific  form 
of  national  arts.     The  granite  and 
primary  rocks    which    bound   the 
iron  coasts  of  Scandinavia  are  too 
difficult  of  workmanship  to  enter 
largely  into    the    constructive    or 
plastic  arts.     Hence,  resource  has 
natarally  been    had    to    the  pine 
forests.    The  iDtemational  Exhibi- 
tion of  Paris    proved  how  wood- 
carving  is  turned  to  secular  as  well 
as  to  sacred  uses  throughout  Scan- 
dinavia ;  and  the  Exhibition  at  St. 
Petersburg  in    1870,   both    in   its 
stnicture  and  contents,  gave  further 
illastration  to  an  art  which,  if  rude 
and  primitive,  has  claim  to  nation- 
ality.   The  traveller  in  these  lati- 
tndes  finds  himself  not  in  *  the  stone 
period '  or  *  the  iron  period,'  but  in 
^hat  may  be  termed  *the   wood 
period.'      Villages    are    of   wood, 
churches  are  of   wood,  and  when 
he  enters  a  museum  such  as  that  of 
'Northern    Antiquities*  in    Chris- 
tiania,he  discovers  the  historic  basis, 
in  a  long  line  of  descent,  for  this  art 


bom  of  tlio  forest.  At  least  as  far 
back  as  the  thirteenth  century,  are 
doors  from  churches  and  chairs  from 
houses,  carved  with  dragons,  runic 
knots,  and  other  grotesque  aevices 
known  to  Northern  antiquaries. 

This  slight  digression  may  be 
brought  within  the  argument  by 
one  or  two  brief  remarks.  First 
that  Thorwaldsen  was  true  to  the 
lineage  of  Scandinavian  art  so  long 
as  ha  carved,  like  his  forefathers,  in 
wood.  Secondly,  that  the  ambitious 
Dane,  when  he  migrated  to  Italy  and 
began  to  carve  in  Carrara  marble, 
suiTcndered  a  large  part  of  his  na- 
tionality. Thirdly,  that  the  style  of 
Thorwaldsen  in  some  degree  re- 
mained as  it  had  begun,  '  wooden  : ' 
that  Apollos,  Graces,  and  other 
newly-made  acquaintances,  from 
Olympus  and  Parnassus,  even  when 
chiselled  in  finest  marble,  never  quite 
threw  off  the  stiffness  and  awkward- 
ness of  the  wooden  figure-heads 
carved  in  the  Dockyard  of  Copen- 
hagen. 

The  story  of  the  young  Dane  is 
soon  told.  Thorwaldsen,  at  the  age 
of  eleven,  entered  as  a  free  student 
the  Academy  of  Arts  at  Copenhagen ; 
at  seventeen  he  gained  the  small 
silver  medal,  at  nineteen  the  large 
silver  medal ;  at  twenty-one  he  won 
the  small  gold  medal,  at  twenty- 
three  the  large  gold  medal.  During 
this  somewhat  brilliant  career,  the 
youth's  talents  attracted  attention ; 
in  fact,  a  subscription  was  raised, 
and  the  Danish  Academy,  which  to 
this  day  gives  generous  aid  to  art 
and  its  professors,  conferred  a  pen- 
sion on  the  sculptor  of  promise,  who 
was  about  to  bring  unexampled 
distinction  on  his  native  city.  That 
city,  when  the  boy  Thorwaldsen 
walked  through  its  streets,  wore  a 
widely  different  aspect  from  the 
Copenhagen  which  now  meets  the 
traveller's  eye.  It  had  not  been 
devastated  by  the  great  fire ;  it  had 
not  been  destroyed  by  the  English 
fieet.  Old  Copenhagen  was  not  spoilt ; 
yet  new  Copenhagen  had  not  arisai 


54 


Thcncaldscn  in  Copenliagen  and  in  Rome, 


[Jannarj 


as  one  of  the  chief  art  capitals  in 
'Europe.  The  palace  of  Christians- 
borg  was  not  built ;  into  the  castle 
of  Rosenborg  had  not  been  gathered 
the  memoricJs  of  the  Danish  kings ; 
the  Museum  of  Northern  Anti- 
quities was  scarcely  begun;  the 
Classic,  Christian,  and  Ethnological 
collections  were  still  scattered,  or 
did  not  exist  at  all ;  the  foundation 
was  not  laid  of  the  new  Frauen 
Kirche,  now  famous  for  Thorwald- 
sen's  '  Christ  and  Apostles ;'  and  of 
course  the  crowning  pride  of  the 
nation's  art  treasures,  the  Thor- 
waldsen  Museum,  had  scarcely  a 
potential  existence  even  in  the  imagi- 
nation of  the  sculptor  whose  embryo 
genius  must  have  been  almost  as 
unknown  to  himself  as  to  the  world 
at  large.  Copenhagen  evidently 
had  in  those  days  few  charms  for 
Thorwaldsen.  She  failed  to  inspire 
him  with  patriotism.  He  left  the 
city  of  his  birth  in  1 796  with  but 
little  regret;  love  of  country  was 
not  awakened  till  the  weight  of 
years  warned  the  artist  to  prepare 
for  himself  a  sepulchre  among  his 
people. 

Thorwaldsen  became  severed  in  a 
double  sense  from  the  land  of  his 
birth :  firstly  by  change  of  domi- 
cile, secondly  by  the  adoption  of  a 
fityle  classic,  and  therefore  foreign. 
Yet  wo  wore  scarcely  aware,  before 
we  examined  on  the  spot  the  history 
of  Northern  art  and  academies  d  uring 
the  second  half  of  last  century,  bow 
strong  was  the  bias  towards  classic 
art  given  to  Thorwaldsen  in  his 
early  training.  The  so-called  na- 
tional movement  had  not  set  in.  At 
the  present  moment  there  exists 
what  is  called  the  national  party, 
animated  by  the  idea  that  Scandi- 
navia, including  of  course  Denmark, 
ought  to  break  loose  from  allegiance 
to  classic  and  Italian  schools,  in 
order  to  fashion  for  itself  an  art 
true  to  humanity  and  to  nature  in 
northern  latitudes.  We  incline  to 
think  that  the  best  hope  for  the 
future  lies  in  this  direction.     Tho 


school  of  Scandinavia  in  its  present 
phase  is  of  peasant  origin  ;  paintcra 
are  for  the  most  part  the  sons  of 
sailors,  fishermen,  and  tillers  of  the 
soil.  We  shall  have  to  regret  in 
the  sequel  that  Thorwaldsen  did  not 
cherish  with  affection  the  Noi-sd 
spirit.  The  special  point,  however, 
is  that  the  young  sculptor,  Tvhilo 
studying  in  the  Academy  of  Copen- 
hagen, was  not  taught  any  leg-iti- 
timate  national  art,  but  a  bastard 
classic  art.  The  French  school,  as 
represented  by  Poussin,  Lebrnn, 
David,  and  others,  is  identified  with 
the  rise  of  the  arts  in  the  capitals  of 
Copenhagen  and  Stockholm.  In 
Sweden  appeared  contemporanc- 
ously  with  Thorwaldsen  three  scnl{>- 
tors  of  high  renown — Sergei,  I?y- 
strom,  and  Fogelberg — ^artists  who, 
in  the  majority  of  their  works, 
showed  themselves  servile  disci- 
ples ,of  the  prevailing  classicism, 
in  Denmark,  also,  the  sculptor 
Wiedewelt  gave  currency  to  the 
widespread  revival  which,  having 
been  animated  by  the  discoveries 
in  Pompeii  and  Herculaneum,  was 
strengthened  through  tho  teach- 
ings of  Winckelmann.  Thus  tho 
path  wherein  Thorwaldsen  trod  be- 
came from  the  very  first  clearly 
defined. 

Thorwaldsen  reached  Rome  oa 
March  8, 1797, and  so  important  was 
the  event  in  bis  life's  history  that  he 
was  accustomed  to  say, '  I  was  bom 
on  the  8th  of  March,  1797  ;  before 
that  day  1  did  not  exist.'  Goethe 
only  a  year  before  had  written,  *  A 
true  new  birth  dates  from  the  day  I 
entered  Rome.*  John  Gibson,  who 
migrated  southwards  twenty  years 
later,  had  like  reason  to  date  his 
intellectual  birth  from  his  arrival 
in  Italy.  It  is  interesting  to  read 
in  the  autobiography  of  the  sculp- 
tor whom  we  would  venture  to  call 
England's  Thorwaldsen,  tlie  follow- 
ing acknowledgment : — *  One  of  the 
great  advantages  I  derived  from 
residing  in  Rome  was  the  listeniog 
to  conversations  on  art,  not  onlj 


1673] 


Tkorwaldsen  in  Copenhagen  and  in  Rome. 


55 


between  Canova  and  Thorwaldsen, 
bat  between  artists  of  talent  from 
all  coantries.'  The  careers  of  Thor- 
waldsen and  of  Gibson  from  first  to 
last  ran  in  parallel  lines ;  the  styles 
of  Canova,  of  Flaxman,  and  of 
Wjatt,  on  the  contrary,  present 
variety  rather  than  nnity. 

Daring  the  last  qnarter  of  the 
eighteenth  centnry  and  the  first 
qnarter  of  the  nineteenth  centnry, 
Winckelmann  and  Mengs  in  the 
Vatican  had  mastered  the  antique ; 
Goethe  had  published  his  Italian 
Tour;  Niebahr  and  Bonsen  had 
helped  to  place  the  history  of  Rome 
on  a  sound  critical  basis;  within 
the  same  period  had  arisen  a  school 
of  Christian  art  led  by  Cornelius 
asd  Overbeck ;  and  during  this 
self-same  half- century  lived  and 
worked  in  friendship,  or  under 
wholesome  rivalry,  Canova  the 
Italian,  Thorwaldsen  the  Dane,  and 
Plazman,  Wyatt,  and  Gibson,  Eng« 
lishmen.  Thorwaldsen  was  model- 
ling *  Mercury,'  'Venus,'  and  the 
•Three Graces;'  Frederick  Schlegel 
was  writing  laudatory  criticisms  on 
the  Christian  art  of  Cornelius  and 
Overbeck  ;  while  the  poet  Shelley, 
wandering  about  the  mountainous 
rains  of  the  Baths  of  Coracalla, 
composed  Prometheus  Unbound, 

Thorwaldsen,   however,    had  to 
endure  much  before  he  reached  to 
an  equality  with  the  great  men  of 
his  times.     On  his  first  arrival  in 
Borne,    what    chiefly    struck    the 
people  to  whom  he  carried  intro- 
ductions  was  his   profound  igno- 
rance.   One  of   his   kind    friends 
wrote  that  the  yoimg  Dane  was  so 
ignorant  as  to  be  unqualified  to  re- 
Oivre   the    benefits    which    Rome 
could  ofier.      The  aspiring  youth 
»%ma  to  havB  commenced  his  stu- 
dies in  Rome  pretty  much  at  the 
point   at  which  they  had  left  off 
in  Copenhagen.     Having  from  the 
fifsi,  as  we  have    seen,    addicted 
himself  to  the  antique,  he  natu- 
Kdly  began  by  making  copies  from 
the    master- works    in    the   Vati- 


can and  the  Capitol.  He  took 
the  studio  Flaxman  had  occupied ; 
he  lived  among  historic  traditions, 
and  fell  into  art  usages.  But  the 
lives  of  sculptors  in  Rome  repeat 
themselves.  Thus  Thorwaldsen  suf- 
fered the  fate  common  to  most 
artists  who  come  to  Italy  to  seek 
fortune — he  fell  into  pecuniary  dif- 
ficulties. Also,  like  other  young 
sculptors,  he  commenced  by  model- 
ing a  figure  as  the  first  pledge  of 
his  ability.  *  Have  you  seen  Thor- 
waldsen's  "Jason  ?"  '  was  then  the 
question  passed  on  from  studios 
to  cafes,  just  as  now  the  talk 
may  be  about  the  first  effort  of 
some  travelling  student  from  the 
London  Academy.  Canova  was 
at  that  time  umpire  of  disputed 
merit;  and  Canova  pronounced 
the  *  Jason'  'new  in  style  and 
grand  in  manner.'  And  yet,  though 
a  seal  was  thus  set  on  the  scnlptor*8 
talent,  the  work  did  not  sell. 
Driven  to  despair,  Thorwaldsen  de- 
termined to  return  to  Denmark. 
His  baggage  was  packed,  but  by 
chance,  when  he  was  about  to  start,  a 
flaw  appeared  in  his  passport.  The 
delay  of  a  day  was  the  making  of 
his  ibrtune  for  life.  Thomas  Hope, 
the  rich  English  patron,  entered 
the  young  sculptor's  studio,  and 
gave  a  commission  for  the  '  Jason ' 
on  the  spot.  From  that  moment 
Thorwaldsen  had  more  orders  than 
he  could  execute.  And  yet  the 
new  •  Jason '  was  little  more  than 
a  compilation  from  the  old  Apollo. 

We  have  sometimes  in  Rome 
wondered  how  artists  who  scarcely 
knew  a  Greek  letter  by  sight,  who 
could  barely  read  a  line  of  a  Latin 
author,  were  yet  living,  thinking, 
and  working  in  the  spirit  of  classic 
art.  But  there  on  the  spot,  the  pas- 
sion for  the  antique  seems  conta- 
gious. Moreover,  one  of  the  most 
ready  means  of  access  to  the  thought 
of  classic  times  is  through  antique 
marbles.  John  Gibson  was  accus- 
tomed, in  the  Caffe  Greco,  to  lay 
down  the  doctrine  dogmatically  thai 


56 


Thorwcddsen  in  Copenhagen  and  in  Bonie. 


[Januarj 


Phidias  and  others  received  inspi- 
ration from  the  Greek  philosophers 
and  poets.  So,  in  fact,  it  has  been 
in  all  times.  The  artist,  with  cun- 
ning hand,  gives  embodiment  to 
the  best  and  most  beautiful  ideas 
which  float,  as  it  were,  in  the  at- 
mosphere of  his  time  and  country. 
Thorwaldsen  was  doubtless  in  great 
measure  the  product  of  his  age — 
an  age  which  did  not  call  new  forms 
out  of  the  great  storehouse  of  na- 
ture, but  revived  old  forms,  the 
wrecks  of  an  old  world,  treasured 
in  museums.  He  who  has  spent 
his  mornings  in  the  Vatican  or  on 
the  Capitol,  who  has  wandered 
through  the  streets  of  Pompeii,  or 
studied  for  days  among  antique 
remains  in  the  Neapolitan  Museum, 
will  understand  how  Thorwaldsen 
and  Gibson  became  imbued — or 
fihall  we  not  rather  say  inspired  ? — 
by  classic  art.  Moreover,  minds  of 
artistic  intuition  take  fire  readily; 
they  pass  speedily  from  a  state  of 
torpor ;  an  electric  spark  leaps  from 
the  dead  marble  to  the  living  brain, 
so  that  the  dead  and  the  living  have 
one  life,  and  the  old  Greek  speaks 
through  young  Dane  or  Englishman. 
Thorwaldsen  was  classic  because 
his  days  were  cast  in  the  midst  of 
a  classic  revival,  and  in  him  that 
revival  received  its  truest  exponent. 
Coming  from  Copenhagen  an  un- 
educated youth,  in  Rome  he  grew 
into  the  greatest  sculptor  of  his 
times  ;  the  improvisatrice  Bosa 
Taddei,  declaiming  on  the  *  pro- 
gress of  sculpture,*  won  applause 
when  she  exclaimed,  '  Si  c'est  en 
Danemark  que  Thorwaldsen  est  ne 
k  la  vie,  c'est  en  Italic  qu'il  est  ne 
k  Tart.'  During  a  long  sojoura  in 
Borne,  the  famous  sculptor  enjoyed 
intercourse  with  Niebuhr,  Bunsen, 
Canova,  Cornelius,  Horace  Vernet, 
Mendelssohn — in  short,  with  men 
of  all  parties  who  had  become  con- 
spicuous by  talent  and  position. 
Yet  though  tolerant  of  all,  he  was 
identified,  as  wo  have  seen,  with 
the   dassiciste.      We    hear    of   a 


friendly  company  assembled  at  the 
house  of  Bunsen,  close  by  the  Palen- 
tine  Hill.  It  was  midnight,  and 
the  planet  *  Jupiter  sparkled  in  the 
sky  as  if  he  were  looking  down  on 
his  own  Tarpeian  rock.  We  were 
drinking  healths,'  writes  Niebuhr. 
*  I  said  to  Thorwaldsen,  "  Let  us 
drink  to  old  Jupiter."  "  With  my 
whole  heart,"  Thorwaldsen  replied, 
in  a  voice  full  of  emotion.  Some 
were  startled.'  The  simple  Scan- 
dinavian scarcely  realised  all  that 
might  be  implied ;  he  had  a  grand 
indifierence  to  the  conflicting  claims 
of  the  gods ;  on  change  of  domicile 
he  easily  transferred  his  faith  from 
Odin  and  Thor  to  Jnpiter  and 
Apollo. 

Lessing,  Winckelmann,  Mengs, 
Goethe,  even  Madame  de  Stael, 
helped  to  prepare  the  mind  of  En- 
rope  for  that  classic  revival  which 
subsists — at  least,  in  the  art  of 
sculpture — down  to  our  own  days. 
Frederick  Sclilegel,  one  of  the 
earliest  champions  of  that  opposing 
Gothic  and  Christian  movement 
which  has  changed  the  aspect  of 
architecture  and  painting  within 
the  present  century,  made  sculpture 
the  one  exception  to  his  teachings. 
The  German  critic  admits  that  the 
Greeks  in  the  plastic  arts  '  reached 
an  eminence  which  we  can  scarcely 
hope  to  equal,  much  less  surpass.' 
He  further  writes  that  a  chief  *  aim 
of  the  sculptor's  genius  appears  to 
be  to  represent  a  classical  figure  in 
such  a  manner  that  it  might  even 
be  taken  for  an  antique,  like  Thor- 
waldsen's  Mercury,  which  appears 
as  if  girded  with  a  sword  only  the 
more  imperatively  to  announce  to 
hundreds  of  modern  statues  their 
impending  and  inevitable  doom.'  In 
fulfilment  of  this  prophecy,  uttered 
in  1 8 19,  we  may  say  that  the  Mer- 
cury lives,  and  will  live,  while  it 
were  well  if  many  marble  figures, 
then  and  now  produced  by  the  score, 
could  be  broken  up  to  mend  the 
roads.  Critics  a  century  ago,  de- 
voting themselves  to  a  strict  and 


1873] 


Thoncaldsen  in  Copenhagen  and  in  Eome. 


67 


close  stadj  of  antique  art,  parged 
the  schools  of  Michael  Angelo  and 
Bernini  from  mannered  grossness 
and  impertinent  frivolity.  Lesaing, 
in  the  *  Laocoon,'  lays  down  the 
principles  which  govern  the  purer 
styles  of  Thorwaldsen,  Flaxman, 
Wyatt,  and  Gibson. 

The    Phidias    of  Denmark  was 
never  inspired  by  the  spirit  of  Gothic 
art;  in  the  Thorwaldscn   Mnsenm 
we  do  not   recall  a  figure  which 
Epeaks  in  the    strong    accents  of 
Scandinavia.     On  the  other  hand, 
'Jason,'     'Venus,'     'The   Graces,* 
'Mercury,'    'Adonis,'    and    'Love 
Triumphant,'    might    almost    pass 
for  works  of  the  time  of  Pericles, 
or  rather  perhaps  of  Hadrian.     It 
is  scarcely  needful,  even  in  these 
realistic  and  naturalistic   days,  to 
defend  a  sculptor  for  the  choice  of 
subjects  far  removed   from  actual 
life.    It  might  be  urged,  in  accord- 
ance with    the    teachings  of   the 
critics  we  have  named,  that  it  is  the 
fnDction  and  the  privilege  of  the 
ideal  sculptor  to  raise  the   mind 
abore  the  level  of  conmion  nature. 
*  True,'  wrote  Mrs.  Jameson,.  '  the 
gods  of  Hellas  have  paled  before  a 
diviner  light ;    the    great  Fan   is 
dead.    Bat  we  have  all  some  ab- 
stract notions    of   power,   beauty, 
love,  joy,  song,  haunting  oar  minds 
and  illuminating  the  realities  of  life ; 
and  if  it  be  the  especial  province  of 
sculptore    to    represent    these    in 
forms,  where  shall  we  find  any  more 
perfect  and  intelligible  expression 
for  them  than  the  beautiful  imper- 
sonations the  Greeks  have  left  us  ? ' 
Goethe,  writing  from  Rome  ten 
years  before   the  arrival  of  Thor- 
waldsen,  raises  the  question  which 
lies  at  the  root  of  all  ideal  sculpture, 
a  question  asked  again  and  again, 
hoth  by  critics  and  artists,  how  the 
Greeks  'evolved  from  the  human 
form  their  system  of  divine  types, 
which  is  so  perfect  and  complete 
that  neither  any  leading  character 
nor  any  intermediate  shade  or  tran- 
sition is  waniaog.'    *For  my  part,' 


writes  Goethe,  '  I  cannot  withhold 
the  conjecture  that  the  Greeks 
proceeded  according  to  the  same 
laws  that  Nature  works  by,  and 
which  I  am  endeavouring  to  dis« 
cover.'  Raphael  had  somewhat  the 
same  thought  when,  after  deploring 
the  paucity  of  beautiful  women,  he 
says  that,  'to  paint  a  beautiful 
figure  he  must  see  others  more 
beautiful,  and  that  he  had  striven 
hard  to  attain  within  his  mind  a 
certain  ideal.'  Some  such  ideal, 
either  latent  in  Nature  or  patent  in 
Greek  art,  was  the  constant  pursuit 
of  Thorwaldsen  and  of  Gibson. 
The  search  after  beauty  was  with 
both  the  main  purpose  of  long  and 
laborious  lives.  Gibson  started  with 
the  maxim  tliat  the  Greeks  were 
always  right ;  he  was  known  to  say 
that  in  commencing  a  figare  he 
asked  himself  what  the  Grreeks 
would  under  the  circumstances  have 
done.  Thorwaldsen,  in  practice  at 
least,  conformed  to  the  same  prin- 
ciple. The  writer  once  heard  Gib- 
son describe  his  method  when  at 
work  on  the  '  Bacchus.'  '  I  chose,' 
he  said,  '  three  of  the  finest  male 
models  in  Rome,  and  when  the 
figure  was  somewhat  advanced  a 
female  model  was  also  engaged, 
because  the  Greeks  usually  threw 
into  Bacchus  female  traits.'  This 
anecdote  indicates  that  Gibson, 
hke  Goethe,  had  faith  in  high 
generic  types,  existent  not  only  in 
old  Greek  art,  but  in  living  nature. 
Gibson  would  not  admit  that  he 
neglected  nature,  and  yet  it  may 
be  safely  affirmed  that  he  never 
went  to  nature  without  Phidias 
at  his  elbow.  That  Thorwaldsen 
worked  on  like  principles  may  be 
proved  by  his  procedure  when 
modelling  his  'Venus.'  We  are 
told  that  no  less  than  thirty  models 
were  used  over  the  period  of  three 
years  devoted  to  this  faultless  work. 
Thorwaldsen's  Venus  is  the  highest 
embodiment  of  the  Goddess  of 
Beauty  since  the  time  of  the  Greeks. 
Canova's  Venus  and  Gibson's  Venus 


58 


Thonoaldscn  in  Copenhageih  and  in  Bomc. 


[Jannaiy 


are  inferior  wc»*ks.  The  unison  of 
conception  is  complete — the  thirty 
models  are  blended  into  one  god- 
dess— a  figure  which  seems  not  the 
compilation  of  years,  but  the  in- 
stantdneoos  issue  of  the  artist's 
brain.  Accidents  and  blemishes 
are  thrown  out ;  here,  in  short,  the 
generic  form  of  Greek  art  and  the 
typical  form  of  actual  nature  prove 
identical.  This  and  other  of  the 
sculptor's  ideal  figures  fulfil  the 
conditions  under  which  individual 
forms  may  assume  godlike  aspect. 
The  Greeks  said  Winckelmann  as- 
cended from  heroes  to  gods  *  rather 
by  subtraction  than  by  addition; 
that  is  to  say,  by  the  gradual  ab- 
straction of  all  those  parts  which 
even  in  nature  are  sharply  and 
strongly  expressed  until  the  shape 
becomes  refined  to  su*'h  a  degree, 
that  only  the  spirit  within  appears 
to  have  brought  the  outward  form 
into  being.' 

In  the  study  of  past  or  of  contem- 
porary art,  it  adds  lively  personal 
interest  to  learn  how  a  sculptor  or 
painter  catches  his  ideas,  and  in  what 
way  he  works  from  a  primal  con- 
ception to  an  ultimate  conclusion. 
Anecdotes  are  told  which  show 
how  Thorwaldscn  got  at  his  sub- 
jects, and  how  he  matured  liis  treat- 
ments. Sometimes  he  worked  from 
the  antique,  and  made  living  nature 
subordinate  and  accessory ;  but  oc- 
casionally nature  came  to  him  di- 
rect and  almost  unasked;  also,  at 
rare  intervals  art  conceptions  flashed 
across  his  imagination,  and  thb 
ideas,  when  once  conceived,  were 
thrown  speedily  into  clay.  Thus 
it  is  related,  how  that  felicitous 
composition  which  obtains  popular 
currency  throughout  Europe,  the 
bas-relief  of '  Night,'  was  conceived 
in  sleepless  hours  and  modelled  in 
the  morning.  In  this  instance,  at 
all  events,  speed  involved  no  imma- 
turity. Thorwaldsen  beyond  doubt 
was  overtaxed ;  he  took  commis- 
sions wholesale,  as  a  manufacturer 
rather  than  as    an    artist.      Still 


genius  it  is  hard  to  extinguish,  es- 
pecially when  access  to  nature  is 
not  cut  off.  Thorwaldsen,  too,  had 
acquired  the  wholesome  habit  of 
revising  his  sketches  and  of  matur- 
ing his  compositions;  he  placed 
himself  in  the  position  of  a  severe 
critic  on  his  own  creations ;  a  figure 
he  did  not  like  he  would  destroy ; 
or  else  would  go  on  working  till  iu 
good  degree  he  approached  his  ideal. 
His  resources  and  expedients,  as 
usually  happens  with  men  higMy 
endowed,  were  many  ;  his  modes  of 
procedure  changed  with  the  occasion ; 
in  advanced  life,  when  with  dimi- 
nished power  he  became  oppressed 
by  commissions,  at  the  time  in  fact 
when  with  impartial  indifference 
were  modelled  Hercules  and  the 
Twelve  Apostles,  he  fell  into  me- 
chanical and  routine  methods. 
Such  is  the  usual  fate  of  artists, 
who,  having  been  tried  in  the 
school  of  adversity,  forsake,  when 
success  comes,  the  narrow  way  for 
that  broad  road  which  leads 
through  prosperity  to  destruction. 
But  Thorwaldsen  in  his  young,  ar- 
dent, and  truth-seeking  days,  show- 
ed himself,  as  we  have  seen,  at  once 
the  severe  student  of  the  antique 
and  the  simple  child  of  nature. 
Accordingly  he  was  found  humble, 
cautious,  addicted  to  self-examina- 
tion. Even  when,  in  advanced 
years,  ho  made  studies  for  the 
Christ  now  in  the  Frauen  Kircbe, 
Copenhagen,  his  conscience  would 
not  allow  him  to  shirk  duty.  Gib- 
son, who  of  all  the  men  we  hare 
known  was  the  most  deliberate,  he 
touched,  retouched,  and  finished 
almost  to  a  fault.  On  the  other 
hand,  Crawford  and  some  other 
American  sculptors  sketched  as 
rapidly  and  carelessly  in  the  clay, 
as  artists  draw  in  pencil,  or  with  pen 
for  an  illustrated  newspaper.  Thor- 
waldsen in  some  measure  reconciled 
the  two  extremes,  he  was  swift  or 
slow  according  to  the  mood  or  the 
occasion.  His  Christ  is  scarcely 
less  carefully  thought  out  than  the 


1873] 


Thorwaldsen  in  Copenhagen  and  in  Rome. 


59 


ceDtnd  head  ia  Leonardo's  'Last 
Sapper.*  Like  the  Chnst  in  HoU 
man  Hani's  '  l^'inding  in  the  Tem- 
ple,' it  was  studied  at  first  without 
drapeiy,  and  yet  the  action,  which 
is  aimitted  to  be  fine  and  felicitons, 
fixushed  upon  the  artist  in  a  mo- 
ment. It  is  related  that  on  a  cer- 
tain evening  as  Thorwaldseu  was 
leaving  his  studio  with  a  friend  he 
soddenlj  arrested  his  steps,  placed 
himself  in  front  of  the  Christ,  and 
there  remained  without  uttering  a 
word.  One  arm  as  modelled  in  the 
day  was  raised,  the  other  extended. 
Suddenly  the  artist  advanced  with 
firm  step,  as  when  a  person  has 
come  to  a  stroD^  resolve.  Thor- 
waldseu seized  the  two  arras,  and 
by  an  energetic  movement  brought 
down  both  equally;  he  then  re- 
treated four  or  five  steps,  and  ex- 
ckimed,  'Sec,  that  is  my  Christ; 
there  it  is,  and  so  it  shall  remain.' 

Oar  sculptor  in  his  work  showed 
much  versatility.  The  Thorwaldsen 
Museum,  Copenhagen,  proves  him  a  * 
man  prolific,  reiCdy  in  resource,  va- 
ried in  style.  The  subjects  range 
frommythologic  to  naturalistic,  and 
theace  to  spiritual  or  Christian. 
The  treatments  in  like  manner 
comprise  the  classic,  the  poetic,  and 
the  picturesque.  As  a  portrait 
BcoJptor,  Thorwaldsen  was  not  al- 
ways successful ;  indeed  the  figure 
of  Lord  Byron  which  ultimately 
finds  a  resting-place  at  Cambridge, 
is  notoriously  a  failure.  His  loid- 
ship,  it  is  said,  at  once  afiected  a 
strange  aspect;  'Keep  yourself 
tranquil,'  exclaimed  Thorwaldsen, 
*  pray  do  not  assume  an  expression 
fo  desolate.'  'That  aspect^'  replied 
Byron,  'is habitual  to  my  features.' 
Byron  never  liked  the  head  because 
it  did  injustice  to  his  melancholy. 
The  pisister  cast  for  the  Byron 
statue  now  in  Copenhagen  is  very 
badly  modelled,  the  style  of  exeou- 
tioQ  is  common.  Mrs.  Jameson 
denounces  the  work  as  'feeble, 
almost  ignoble,  and  without  like- 
ness or  character.'    The  monument 


to  Schiller  is  scarcely  more  success- 
ful ;  the  figure  is  wooden  and  stolid, 
and  without  play  or  movement. 
The,  sculptor's  heads,  though  strong- 
ly pronounced,  are  often  hard,  they 
lack  the  softness  of  flesh;  his  hands, 
however,  seldom  fail  in  form,  action, 
or  expression.  Fortunately  there 
are  portrait-statues  which  redeem 
the  artist's  credit.  Pius  VII.  for 
example  is  earnest,  quiet,  impres- 
sive. The  monument  to  Gutenberg 
assumes  an  aspect  more  pictur- 
esque; the  figure  has  strong  indi- 
viduality ;  the  costume,  freed  from 
academic  affectation,  corresponds  to 
the  dress  of  the  times ;  the  whole 
treatment  is  broad,  and  yet  in 
parts  sufficiently  detailed.  With 
like  vigour  and  fidelity  did  the 
sculptor  throw  off*  his  own  figure, 
chisel  and  mallet  in  hand.  In  look- 
ing at  this  stalwart  frame,  grand 
in  coronal  development,  broad  in 
shoulders,  massive  and  strong,  we 
seem  for  once  to  recognise  Thor- 
waldsen as  of  the  old  Scandinavian 
stock  ;  it  is  said,  indeed,  that  in  his 
veins  flowed  the  6ery  blood  of  the 
sea-kings;  certainly  his  head  and 
frame  are  as  little  Italian  as  Albert 
Diirer's.  Again,  for  an  equestrian 
statue,  Thorwaldsen  has  few  rivals — 
that  of  Prince  Poniato wsky  possesses 
dignity,  repose,  power.  The  essen- 
tial simplicity  of  the  artist's  style 
was  indeed  seldom  marred  by  affec- 
tation; the  forms,  if  overmuch 
generalised,  are  not  forced  from 
nature's  quiet  mean.  Maximilian 
I.  in  Munich  is,  with  the  exception 
of  Peter  the  Great  in  St.  Peters- 
burg, the  finest  equestrian  statue 
set  up  in  Europe  in  modem  times  ; 
it  has  more  fire  and  movement  than 
Chantrey's  cfligy  of  George  IV.  in 
Trafalgar  Square,  more  simplicity 
and  fidelity  than  Marochetti's  Carlo 
Alberto  in  Turin. 

Thorwaldsen,  like  Gibson,  proved 
himself  the  true  artist  by  living  in 
and  for  his  art.  Human  life,  ge- 
neral society,  even  incidents  in  the 
public  streets,  all  ministered  to  art. 


60 


TJiorwaldsen  in  Co^enluxgen  and  in  Eome, 


[January 


The'\imter  used  to  notice  with  what 
avidity  Gibson  seized  on  everything 
that  could  be  thrown  into  a  statue 
or  bas-relief;  he  remembers  one 
morning  on  the  way  from  the  Caffe 
Greco  to  the  studio,  how  the  sculp- 
tor turned  round  and  watched  out 
of  sight  a  pair  of  noble  horses  in 
high  action.  Such  swift  movement 
GKbson  gave  to  the  well-known 
bas-reliefs  of  *  Phaeton  '  and  '  The 
Hours.'  The  writer  also  recalls 
an  evening  in  Gibson*s  rooms,  Miss 
Hosmer  and  Mr.  Penry  Williams 
being  of  the  small  company  assem- 
bled to  look  through  the  sculptor's 
sketch-books,  which  gave  abundant 
proof  that  it  had  been  Gibson's 
habit  to  note  down,  with  a  hand 
graceful  and  delicate  as  Flaxman's, 
any  incidents  in  daily  life  which 
might  serve  for  transfer  to  marble. 
The  Thorwaldsen  Museum  bears 
witness  that  the  prolific  Dane  was 
scarcely  less  observant  of  passing 
events.  Raphael  it  is  said  took  up 
the  head  of  a  cask,  as  the  readiest 
material  at  hand  for  an  impromptu 
sketch  of  a  mother  and  child  seated 
by  the  wayside ;  and  thus  originated 
the  circular  picture  known  as  '  La 
Seggiola.'  In  like  manner  Thor- 
waldsen took  advantage  of  a  pictur- 
esque figure  seated  in  the  Corso; 
he  sketched  on  the  spot  the  happy 
action  which  is  repi'oduced  in  his 
famous  'Mercury.'  Another  of  his 
most  charming  conceptions,  *Tho 
Young  Shepherd,'  was  suggested 
by  the  momentary  attitude  of  a 
young  shepherd  of  the  Gampagna. 
The  writer  remembers,  in  Florence, 
to  have  conversed  with  Mr.  Power, 
then  made  famous  by  *  The  Greek 
Slave,'  on  the  difficulty  in  these 
latter  days,  when  so  much  has  been 
attempted  both  by  ancients  and 
modems,  of  finding  for  a  figure  a 
new  attitude.  *  The  Mercury '  and 
'The  Young  Shepherd*  have  the 
unusual  merit  of  being  in  motive 
altogether  novel.  They  wear  the 
ease  and  the  freshness  of  nature, 
and  yet,  be  it  observed,   the  art 


brought  to  bear  has  raised  the  com- 
positions above  the  level  of  common 
nature.  Of  the  'Mercury'  Mrs. 
Jameson  says, '  Nothing  can  exceed 
the  quiet  grace  of  the  attitude,  and 
the  youthful,  god-like  beauty  of  the 
form.'  The  sculptor  has  imbued  a 
fine  type  in  nature  with  the  spirit 
of  the  antique :  the  figure,  in  fact, 
bears  out  the  remark  of  Goethe 
already  quoted,  that  the  Greeks 
worked  by  the  laws  whereby  Nature 
works.  Such  laws  partake  of  the 
eternal  and  the  immutable,  hence 
high  creations  in  art  pertain  not  to 
the  present  or  to  the  past  only,  but 
to  all  time. 

Thorwaldsen  eventually  became 
so  confident  of  his  power,  so  con- 
firmed in  his  method,  so  certain 
of  his  result,  as  to  work  without 
nature.  The  reader  may  be  shocked 
to  learn  that  when  in  1819  the 
dying  Lion,  since  cut  in  the  living 
rock  at  Lucerne,  was  modelled,  the 
sculptor  had  never  seen  a  lion. 
Thorwaldsen  took  his  lion  not  from 
nature,  but  from  antique  marbles ; 
the  proceeding  is  wholly  indefen- 
sible, yet  the  result  turned  out  well, 
and  the  reason  has  been  already 
indicated.  The  Greeks  worked  aa 
Nature  works.  The  Greeks,  as  Gib- 
son used  to  say,  are  always  right ; 
right  not  invariably  as  to  matters 
of  fact  or  of  detail,  but,  what  is  more 
to  the  purpose,  right  in  art  treat- 
ment. In  Lncerne  we  have  always 
been  disappointed  with  the  colossal 
monarch  of  the  forest:  the  Swiss 
artist  who  executed  the  work  spoilt 
the  design.  The  other  day  when 
the  writer  came  upon  the  orig-inal 
model  in  Copenhagen  he  was 
amazed  at  its  grandeur.  The  agony 
of  the  wounded  beast  is  not  pushed 
beyond  the  moderation  imposed 
upon  art.  Thorwaldsen,  though 
perhaps  not  so  much  ashamed  aa 
he  ought  to  have  been  when  he 
evolved  a  lion  out  of  his  inner 
consciousness,  eagerly  repaired  his 
want  of  knowledge  on  the  first  op- 
portunity.    Lions  came  to  Rome, 


18?3] 


Thorwdldsen  in  Copenhagen  and  in  Rome. 


61 


and  he  made  their  personal  aoqnain- 
tance.  In  the  year  183 1  he  mo- 
delled '  Lore  on  the  Lion.'  He  had 
a  pretty,  playful,  and  pictorial  way 
of  composiDg  animals  with  figures, 
though  none  of  his  groups  have 
attracted  equal  attention  with  Dan- 
neker's  *  Ariadne  on  the  Panther,' 
koown  in  Erankfort  to  all  tra- 
rellera. 

On  the  arrival  of  the  ^gina 
Marbles  in  Italy,  the  Danish  sculp- 
tor, as  the  hest  authority  on  classic 
art,  was  entrusted  with  their  re- 
storation. A  large  plot  of  ground 
near  the  Corso  had  been  rented,  so 
that  the  figures  might  be  arftmged 
in  the  order  in  which  they  originally 
stood  in  the  pedinients.  The  whole 
task  occupied  a  year.  These  marbles, 
severe  and  sometimes  archaic  in 
style,  were  not  without  influence 
on  Thorwaldsen.  The  Caryatides 
near  the  King's  throne,  in  the 
palace  of  Christiansborg,  are  after 
theiEgina  manner ;  and  how  strict- 
ly the  modem  Danish  sculptor  was 
able  to  adapt  himself  to  a  Phidian 
or  pre-Phidian  art,  is  known  by  the 
faultless  restoration  of  the  Greek 
Caryatid  in  the  Nuovo  Braccio  of 
the  Vatican.  Between  this  severe 
kind  of  work  and  the  romantic  style 
dommant  in  the  '  Graces '  and  the 
'  Veaas,'  there  is  as  wide  an  inter- 
val as  between  Phidias  and  Canova. 
In  fact,  at  certain  moments  the 
vigorous  Dane  sought  to  emulate 
the  emaacnlate  Venetian.  Fortu- 
nately, his  innate  strength  saved 
him  £com  servitude  to  a  contempo- 
rary who  must  ever  rank  as  his 
inferior — at  least  in  manliness,  sin- 
cerity, and  simplicity.  It  is  the 
distinction,  in  fact,  of  Thorwaldsen 
that  he  stood  aloof  firom  the  graceful 
but  debilitated  romanticism  which 
1^  proved  the  bane  of  modern 
Italian  schools  and  their  several 
derivatives  throughout  Europe. 
He  thus  occupies  a  position  differing 
from,  if  not  superior  to,  that  of 
Schwanthaler,  of  Pradier,  and  of 
Wyatt.  And  yet  he  passes  occasion- 


ally from  treatments  strictly  classic 
to  styles  picturesque  and  naturalis- 
tic. In  fact,  when  modelling  that 
charming  little  bas-relief,  *  Cupid 
Mending  Nets,'  he  absolutely  de- 
scends into  genre.  After  the  same 
style  must  also  be  accounted  '  The 
Sale  of  Cupids,'  borrowed  from  a 
well- known  wall-painting  discovered 
in  Pompeii. 

Thorwaldsen  was  fearless;  he 
never  hesitated  or  halted  half-way. 
Thus,  in  the  vexed  question  of 
modern  costume,  he  sought  for  no 
compromise.  Occasionally,  how- 
ever, he  allowed  himself  a  classic 
subterfage,  as  in  the  figure  of  Schil- 
ler. But  mostly  he  took  a  matter- 
of-fact  and  common-sense  view  of 
portrait  sculpture.  Gibson,  on  the 
contrary,  was  so  committed  to  un- 
compromising classicism,  that  he 
has  been  known  to  justify  the  use 
of  antique  costume  by  appeal  to 
one  of  his  failures,  the  portrait 
statue  of  Sir  Robert  Peel  in  West- 
minster Abbey.  The  writer  remem- 
bers the  verbal  account  given  by 
his  friend  of  an  interview  with  the 
committee  who  sat  in  judgment  on 
the  figure:  *I  have  made,'  said 
Gibson,  '  the  head  the  best  possible 
likeness  of  the  man ;  but  I  cannot 
adopt  the  modem  costume.  A  states- 
man should  be  robed  as  an  ancient 
Greek.'  But  Thorwaldsen,  in  the 
figare  of  Gatenberg,  as  well  as  in 
his  own  portrait  statue,  adopted, 
without  compromise  or  subterfuge, 
the  actual  dress  of  the  day.  It  must 
be  confessed  that  more  is  thus 
gained  than  is  lost.  Indeed,  in  a 
portrait  statue,  ideality  must  be 
accounted  a  mistake ;  what  is  wanted 
is  not  ideality,  but  character  and 
individuality.  On  the  other  hand, 
in  mythological,  allegorical,  and 
poetic  subjects,  classic  costume  is 
appropriate.  Thorwaldsen  was  con- 
vinced of  this  obvious  distinction, 
and   adapted  his  practice   accord- 

This  versatile  Dane  had  yet 
another  development  in  the  direc- 


lliorwaUisen  in  Coiwuhagett  and  in  Rome, 


62 

tion  of  bas-relief.     We  have  seen 
that  his  first  entrance  into  art  was 
by  way  of  translation  of  pictures 
into  carviugs  in  wood.     Wo  also 
know  that  throughout  Scandinavia 
there  existed  from  the  olden  time  a 
school  of  surface  decoration  which, 
though    rarely    extending    beyond 
grotesque  dragons   and  floral  and 
foliate  arabesques,  had  attained  to 
a  true  art  treatment.    Somehow,  at 
any  rate,  it  happened  that  Thor- 
waldsen  contracted  a  passion  for 
bas-relief — a  habit  cultivated    in 
common  with  the   greatest  of  his 
contemporaries,  John  Gibson.    But, 
again,  in  this  department,  we  are 
compelled  to  temper    praise  with 
blame.     The  Dane,  brought  up  in 
the  ways  of  a  wood-carver  in  the 
Dockyard   of   Copenhagen,    found 
it  by  no  means  easy  to  throw  off 
the  manufacturing  habit  once  con- 
tracted.  Thus  he  turned  out  whole- 
sale to  order  'The  Triumph  of  Alex- 
ander' in  the  space  of  three  months, 
a  composition  which,  though  sub- 
sequently revised,  still  retains,  even 
in  the  marble  frieze,  as  seen  by  the 
writer  last  summer  in  the  palace  of 
Christiansborg,  not  a  few  crudities 
and  solecisms.     In  the  Museum  of 
Copenhagen  the  number  of  these 
pictures  in  marble  is  amazing.  Some 
inay  fall  below   criticism,  yet  the 
average  merit  is  high.     As  usual, 
the  styles  are  varied;   they  pass 
from  the  classic  to  the  romantic, 
and    thence    to     the     naturalistic 
down  into  genre.     Little  short  of 
perfect  are  '  Alexander  induced  by 
Thais  to  burn  Persepolis,*  '  Cupid 
and  Bacchus,'  *  Cupid  and  Psyche,' 
*  Love  Caressing  a  Swan,'  and,  last 
but  not  least,  that  most  popular  of 
bas-reliefs,  *  The  Night.'   The  claims 
of    Thorwaldsen    as    a    Christian 
sculptor  may  be  best  considered  on 
his  return  to  Copenhagen. 

Thorwaldsen's  generosity,  like 
Gibson's,  expanded  chiefly  within 
the  sphere  of  his  art.  He  spent  a 
considerable  sum  on  the  pictures 
and    classic    remains     which     he 


[Janiiary 


bestowed  on  his  native  city ;  and 
his  time,  even  when  most  pressed 
with  work,  was  placed  at  the  ser- 
vice of  young  artists  who  could  profit 
by  his  counsel.  Gibson  pays  to  his 
senior  in  the  profession  the  following 
tribute : — 

It  is  time  for  me  to  aclcnowlcdgn  the 
great  obligations  I  owe  to  the  late  Cara- 
liere  Thorwaldsen.  He,  like  Canova,  was 
most  generous  in  his  kindness  to  yonng 
artists,  visiting  all  who  requested  his  ad- 
vice.  I  profited  greatly  by  the  knowledge 
which  this  splendid  sculptor  had  of  In^s 
art.  On  every  occasion  when  I  was  modelling; 
a  new  work  he  came  to  me,  and  corrected 
whatever  ho  thought  amiss.  I  also  often 
went  to  his  studio  and  contemplated  his 
glorious  works,  always  in  the  noblest  style, 
full  of  pure  and  severe  simplicity.  His 
studio  was  a  safe  school  for  the  young,  and 
was  the  resort  of  artists  and  lovers  of  art 
from  all  nations.  The  old  man*s  person 
can  never  be  forgotten  by  those  who  saw 
him.  Tall  and  strong:  he  never  lost  a 
tooth  in  his  life :  he  was  most  veneraWe- 
looking.  His  kind  countenance  was  marked 
with  hard  thinking,  his  eyes  were  grey,  and 
his  white  loclus  lay  upon  his  broad  shoulders. 
At  great  assemblies  his  breast  was  covered 
with  orders. 

Gibson,  under  the  date  of    De- 
cember  4,  1841,  again  writes : — 

On  Sunday  morning  I  went  to  Thor- 
waldsen, not  having  seen  him  for  weeks. 
He  was  ill.  After  waiting  a  little  I  was 
told  by  the  maid  to  proceed  on.  I  had 
never  seen  a  maid-servant  there  before,  and 
as  I  went  through  the  rooms,  I  observed 
order  and  cleanliness  which  were  equally 
as  strange.  The  Baroness  von  Stampo 
met  me— Thorwaldsen*8  countrywoman— 
who  had  come  from  Co{>enha^en  with  him. 
She  conducted  me  to  his  bedroom,  where 
she  sat  at  her  needlework.  *  Ha !  I  am  so 
so  glad  to  see  you,*  said  he,  giving  me  both 
hands.  Nothing  could  be  more  benign.  We 
sat  down,  three  together — the  Baroness, 
the  old  Cavaliere,  and  myself.  There  waa 
not  only  reform  in  all  the  rooms,  but  tlie 
old  man  himself  was  made  new.  A  new 
green  velvet  cap,  beautifully  worked  and 
ornamented — a  superb  dressing-gown- 
Turkish  slippers— his  large  person— strong 
deep  expression — his  silvery  hair — his 
glittering  gold  earrings— he  looked  like  a 
grandee  of  Persia ;  no  longer  the  careless, 
clay-bedaubed  Thorwaldsen  in  the  midst  of 
confusion.  What  meddling  creatures  wo- 
men are!  thought  I.    *  Gibson,*  said  he, 


1873] 


Thanoaldeen  in  Copenhagen  and  in  Borne'. 


•Itm  UI,  HDd  theie  docton  torment  my 
life  ouu  Here  is  a  blister  on  my  lireast, 
and  one  on  my  ann,  yon  see.  I  iiave  no 
penence  vith  them.  Illness  is  come  now 
aponme.  Hal  itisoldage!'  He  dropped 
his  head,  elosed  his  fist,  compressed  nis 
lips,  nnd  there  was  a  dead  silence. 

Thorwaldscn  was  then  aged  71, 
and  had  bat  two  more  years  to 
live.  Gibson  had  reached  the  age 
of  50.  Ganova  had  been  dead  20 
years. 

A  comparison    saggested  more 
than  once  in  the  preceding  pages 
between  Tborwaldsen  and  Gibson 
may  be  made  in  a  few  words.    The 
style  of  each,  as  we  have  seen,  was 
strictly  based  on  the  classic,    jet 
with   a    difference.     Gibson    was, 
among   all    the    men    whom    the 
wnter  has  known,  distingoished  by 
singleness  of  aim  ;   he  set  before 
him  an  ideal  whic^  could  only  be 
approached  slowly,  reverently.   The 
patient  persistence  with  which  he 
matured  a  conception  and  perfected 
a  figure  is  sJmost  without  parallel. 
With  singular    strength    of   will, 
even  with  obstinacy,  he  pursued  the 
one  mission  of  his  life— that  of  re- 
TiTing  Greek   art    in    its    purity, 
beauty,  and  perfection.     The  me- 
mory of  this  true  artist  is  dear  to 
the  writer.    Pursuing  the  compari- 
son between  the  two  contempora- 
ries, it  may  be  said  that  Thorwald- 
sen  carried  ont  a  conception  with 
less  singleness  of  aim,   with  less 
consistency,  with  less  strictness  in 
the  elimination  of  foreign  elements 
and  conflicting  accidents.     In  the 
generalising  &culty  he  was  the  in- 
ferior, just  as  in  the  individualising 
power  he  was  the  superior.   Gibson 
was  more  of  the  Greek,  Tborwaldsen 
more  of  the  Teuton.    The  Dane,  as 
we  have  seen,  was  prolific  in  crea- 
.  tion ;  he  had  the  versatility  and 
umTcnality  which  attach  to  genius. 
On  the  whole  it  is  hard  to  pronounce 
either  sculptor  superior  or  inferior 
I     to  the  other ;   each  was  strong  in 
turns  and  in  his  own  way.    Thus 
Gihson's    Cupid    is    superior    to 

VOL.  YII.— -so.  XXXVII.  KEW  SERIES. 


Thorwaldsen's  Cupid  ;  on  the  other 
hand  Thorwaldsen's  Venus  is  su- 
perior to  Gibson's  Venus.  The 
Hunter  of  the  one  and  the  Mercury 
of  the  other  have  about  equal  rank. 
Passing  to  the  sphere  of  Christian 
sculpture,  there  is  little  to  choose 
between  the  two  masters.  With 
indifference  to  creeds,  and  under 
the  one  endeavour  to  attain  a  beauty 
without  taint,  and  a  truth  without 
alloy,  were  approached  in  impartial 
spirit,  Jehovah  and  Jupiter,  the 
Christian  Christ  and  the  Pagan 
Apollo.  One  day  a  lady  entered 
the  Welshman's  studio  when  a 
Christian  bas-relief  was  on  view. 
*  You  see,  madam,'  said  Gibson,  *  I 
can  do  justice  to  a  Christian  sub- 
ject, though  I  do  not  go  to  church.' 
In  like  manner  Tborwaldsen  when 
asked  how  he,  as  an  indifferentist, 
could  expect  to  succeed  in  Christian 
art,  replied :  '  Have  I  not  modelled 
the  gods  of  Greece  ?  and  yet  I  do 
not  believe  in  them.'  But  the  final 
verdict  is  that  Gibson  and  Tbor- 
waldsen are  not  at  their  best,  nor 
within  their  appropriate  sphere, 
when  they  essay  Christian  art. 

The  styles  of  Tborwaldsen  and  of 
Canovalie  almost  too  widely  dis- 
severed to  admit  of  comparison. 
The  art  of  Canova  may  be  said  to 
resemble  modem  Italian  melodies, 
the  music  of  Bellini  or  Verdi  ;  his 
figures  dance  on  tiptoe,  his  dra- 
peries float  lightly  to  the  graceful 
movement  of  swelling  limbs,  his 
execution  is  sofb,  his  sentiment  ro- 
mantic to  extreme.  The  style  of 
Tborwaldsen  is  comparatively  harsh, 
even  his  *  Graces '  lack  grace,  his 
Unes  of  composition  are  sometimes 
unrhythmical,  his  execution  is  dis- 
tinguished by  vigour  rather  than 
by  delicacy. 

The  writer  knew  Rome  when 
Gibson  was  the  last  survivor  of  an 
illustrious  company :  Canova^  Tbor- 
waldsen, Wyatt,  had  been  taken 
away,  GKbson  alone  remained,  and 
to  him  seemed  committed  the  old 
traditions,   which    to  the  last    he 

r 


64 


ThorwaJdam  w»  Copenlkagen  <md  in  Borne, 


[January 


guarded  fiadthfully.  With  slow,  firm 
voice  hewafi  aocaBtomed  to  insist 
on  the  absolute  perfection  of  Greek 
art,  and  in  listening  to  his  earnest 
teadiing  the  mind  reverted  to  the 
day  when  Thorwaldsen  was  ani- 
mated by  a  like  £uth.  Thorwaldsen, 
it  is  said,  used  to  walk  throngh  the 
Vatican  as  one  lost  m  reverie;  pre- 
sent time  was  not,  the  historic  past 
became  to  him  present.  Had  Thor- 
waldsen and  Gibson  not  forsaken 
their  native  lands,  their  art  pro- 
bably would  never  have  command- 
ed the  attention  of  Europe.  They 
both  loved  Rome ;  they  could  not 
be  induced  to  live  or  labour  else* 
where.  Thorwaldsen  and  Gibson 
became  such  fixtures  in  Home;  as 
to  be  almost  immovable  bodily  or 
mentally. 

Thorwaldsen  visited  his  native 
ciiy  more  than  once.  He  had  left 
Copenhagen  in  poverty  and  obscu- 
rity— ^he  returned  crowned  with 
honours.  On  re-entering  the  city 
of  his  birth  he  was  fitted ;  the 
horses  were  taken  from  his  car- 
riage; subsequently  he  was  ap- 
pointed Councillor  of  State;  the 
Court  made  things  pleasant  for  him. 
Still  he  seems  never  to  have  been 
quite  comfortable  while  severed 
&om  his  associations  in  Italy.  His 
better  half  was  lefb  behind  so 
long  as  his  works  and  other  roba 
remained  in  Rome.  Thorwaldsen 
returned  once  more  to  Italy,  but  at 
length  a  frigate  sent  by  the  Danish 
Government  carried  the  sculptor 
with  all  his  belongings  to  the  city 
which,  his  cradle  once,  was  soon  to 
be  his  grave.  Copenhagen  honours 
'Thorwaldsen*8  genius.  The  royal 
palace  of  Christiansborg,  which  has 
an  extent  and  magnificence  more  in 
keeping  with  a  first-rate  power 
than  with  a  diminutive  kingdom, 
is  proud  in  the  possession  of  the 
famous  bas-relief  *  The  Triumph  of 
Alexander ;  *  the  Frauen  Kirche,  by 
the  presence  of  '  Christ  and  the 
Twelve  Apostles,'  has  become  a 
place  of  pilgrimage;  while  the  Thor- 


waldsen Museum  stands  as  the 
most  impressive  memorial  erected 
to  any  one  man  in  moderm  times. 

The  Thorwaldsen  Museum  is  al- 
most too  well  known  to  noed 
lengthened  description.  The  struc- 
ture raised  by  the  commune  of 
Copenhagen  with  the  aid  of  public 
subscription,  is  solid  and  sombre  as 
best  befits  a  sculpture  gallery,  and 
it  is  fitly  made  massive  and  sha- 
dowy as  an  Etruscan  sepulchre,  for 
the  coiurt-yard  in  the  centre  holds 
the  ashes  of  the  sculptor.  The 
design  both  inside  and  outside  is, 
like  the  majority  of  the  public  build- 
ings in  Copenhagen,  heavy,  unin- 
viting,  and  common-pla€».  Yet 
the  interior  has  the  one  merit  of 
showing  sculpture  to  advantage ; 
the  waJls  coloured  deep  maroon 
throw  into  relief  the  plaster  or 
marble  of  the  figures,  and  the  floors 
laid  with  a  rough  geometric  mosaic 
comport  well  with  the  plain  and 
substantial  character  of  the  struc- 
ture. The  Museum  as  a  whole  is 
well  arranged;  indeed  the  Danes 
have  a  faculty  for  organisation  ;  in 
no  city  are  art  treasures  better  dis- 
posed or  systematised  than  in 
Copenhagen.  Thorwaldsen  during 
his  lifetmie  was  consulted  by  the 
Government  on  these  matters,  and 
especially  as  to  the  best  means  of 
difiusing  taste  among  the  people. 
As  to  the  Museum,  the  Govern- 
ment of  late  years,  though  actua- 
ted by  the  best  intentions,  have 
fallen  into  error.  Commissions 
are  &om  time  to  time  given  to  ill- 
trained  and  necessitous  artists  to 
execute  in  marble  figures  which 
Thorwaldsen  bequeamed  to  his 
country  only  in  plaster,  hence  the 
vigorous  Dane  has  been  made  re- 
sponsible for  much  impotent  hand- 
ling. Accordingly,  French  sculp- 
tors, when  they  visit  Copenhagen, 
ask  whether  this  weak,  awkward 
manipulation  can  be  the  work  of 
Thorwaldsen. 

The  Thorwaldsen  Museum  is  in 
more  senses  than  one  the  creation 


18/3] 


Thorwaldsen  in  Copenhagen  and  in  B,m)ie, 


65 


of  Thorwaldsen  himself.  The  build- 
ing was  commenced  in  his  life- 
time; he  manifested  personal  in- 
terest in  its  progress,  and  he  made 
sore  the  bequest  to  his  country  of 
his  models  and  art  qollections.  It 
is  related  how  Thorwaldsen,  on 
reaching  Ck>penhagen  in  1841,  im- 
mediately repaired  to  the  baildrng, 
how  he  ran  through  the  chambers 
with  enthusiasm  tiU  he  reached  the 
ceniral  court,  where  he  arrested 
his  steps  suddenly.  Standing  on 
die  spot  which  was  soon  to  be 
his  sepulchre,  he  bent  down  his 
head  and  remained  for  some  mo- 
ments in  silent  meditation.  Speedily, 
however,  the  soul  of  the  artist  re- 
Tived  within  him  ;  he  lived  once 
more  in  the  midst  of  his  works. 
And  now  Thorwaldsen  is  gone,  these 
his  creations  abide.  The  visitor 
enters  as  it  were  a  populous  soli- 
tude, he  is  in  the  presence  of  an 
august  assembly,  and  in  the  silence 
of  the  cool  sepulchral  chambers 
these  solemn  figures  seem  to  speak ; 
they  tell  of  a  life  of  lofty  aim,  of 
unceasing  effort,  of  a  labour  that 
never  relented,  of  a  steadfastness  of 
purpose  that  seldom  fell  short  of  the 
goal.  The  writer  has  known  the 
studios  or  the  collected  works  of 
Tenerani,  Gibson,  and  Wyatt  in 
Rome;  of  Schwanthaler  in  Munich; 
of  Ranch  in  Berlin,  of  Chantrey  in 
Oxford;  but  as  a  memorial  to  a 
devoted,  laborious  life,  the  Thor- 
waldsen Museum  in  Copenhagen 
transcends  all  parallel  collections. 

The  Eraueu  Kirche,  like  the  Mu- 
seum, is  in  architectural  keeping 
with  the  sculpture  it  enshrines. 
Thorwaldsen  after  the  fire  which 
destroyed  the  old  structure  was 
consulted  as  to  the  design  for  the 
new  church.  He  suggested  that 
the  figures  and  bas-reliefs  through- 
out should  embody  in  a  connected 
series  the  life  of  Christ.  The  idea 
has  been  consistently  and  impres- 
sively carried  out ;  on  either  side  of 
the  nave  stand  the  Twelve  Apostles, 
and  at  the  communion  table  Christ, 


with  outstretched  arms,  looks 
benignly  on  the  people.  The 
architecture,  though  poor  as  poor 
can  be,  has  one  merit  in  common 
with  that  of  the  Museum,  that  it 
does  not  militate  against  Thor- 
waldsen's  statues.  Furthermore, 
the  general  aspect  of  the  whole 
interior — architecture  and  sculp- 
ture combined — ^may  be  commended 
for  its  simpHcity — a  simplicity  no 
doubt  favoured,  if  not  imposed,  by 
the  Lutheran  faith.  One  point  is 
specially  worthy  of  observation : 
that  whereas  in  any  Roman  Catho- 
Kc  church  dedicated  to  the  Virgin, 
the  chief  altar  would  be  reserved  to 
the  *  Queen  of  Heaven ; '  here,  in 
Lutheran  Denmark,  the  ^ladonna 
scarcely  finds  a  place  anywhere. 
Christ  in  the  sight  of  the  peo- 
ple reigns  in  His  Church,  undis- 
puted King.  On  the  whole  we 
incline  to  think  that  Protestantism 
has  nowhere  obtained  a  more  cog- 
nato  art-manifestation  than  in  the 
famous  Frauen  Kirche  of  Copen- 
hagen. 

Thorwaldsen's  position  ^  as  a 
Christian  sculptor  has  been  stoutly 
contested.  In  Rome  '  the  Pietists,' 
or  ^Nazarenes,'  as  they  were  called, 
led  by  Overbeck,  put  themselves,  as 
a  matter  of  course,  in  deadly  anta- 
gonism to  Thorwaldsen  as  chief  of 
the  classic  or  pagan  propagandists. 
This  hostility  found  full  vent  when 
Cardinal  Gonsalvi,  on  the  death  of 
Canova,  handed  over  to  Thorwald- 
sen, an  alien  in  blood  and  religion, 
the  monument  to  Pius  VII.,  in 
St.  Peter's.  This  tomb,  even  after 
material  emendations  in  the  original 
design,  has  not  been  considered  a 
master  work.  Thorwaldsen's  posi- 
tion, then,  as  a  Christian  sculptor, 
rests  mainly  on  the  works  executed 
for  the  Frauen  Kirche.  On  ap- 
proaching the  church  the  pediment 
is  found  to  be  occupied  by  the 
Preaching  of  St.  John.  The  Baptist 
is  here  rightly  modelled  not  as  an 
ideal  but  as  an  actual  man,  and  his 
hearers  are  evidently  gathered  from 

F  2 


6G 


ThorwaMsen  in  Copenhagen  and  in  Rome. 


[Jannajy 


the  common  people.  Thorwaldsen 
makes  no  attempt  to  elevate  his 
subject :  the  style  is  animated  and 
picturesque,  homely  stnd  unpretend- 
ing. On  entering  the  church  it  be- 
comes evident  that  Thorwaldsen 
has  striven  to  clothe  the  Twelve 
Apostles  in  Christian  dignity  and 
quietude.  Raphael  may  have  been 
his  exemplar ;  indeed,  one  or  more 
of  these  Apostles  might  claim  a 
place  in  the  cartoons.  It  is  said 
that  Thorwaldsen,  oppressed  by 
commissions,  found  time  to  work 
in  the  marble  only  on  the  St.  Peter 
and  St.  Paul,  the  two  figures  that 
hold  the  place  of  honour  next  to 
the  Saviour.  These  Twelve  Apostles 
it  were  in  Copenhagen  sacrilege  to 
speak  against,  yet  they  ai*e  far  from 
divine  in  any  sense  of  the  word. 
By  the  Sea  of  Galilee  they  never 
walked;  they* are  clad  as  Soman 
senators  or  Greek  philosophers: 
they  may  have  been  disciples  of 
Socrates  but  not  of  Christ.  Yet  the 
Saviour  commands  reverence.  The 
figure,  from  an  art  point  of  view, 
does  not  belong  to  the  early  Christian 
period;  it  does  not  correspond  to 
types  in  the  Catacombs,  or  in  the 
Mosaics  of  Ravenna  and  Rome :  it 
pertains  rather  to  the  style  of  Da 
Vinci  and  Raphael.  The  Saviour, 
with  outstretched  arms,  invites  all 
to  come  unto  Him  who  are  weary 
and  heavy  laden ;  the  Apostles  stand 
among  the  people  as  when  their 
Master  taught  and  fed  the  multi- 
tude. The  other  day,  as  we  listened 
to  the  singing  of  a  hynm  by  a 
crowded  congregation  within  this 
church,  Christ  and  the  Twelve 
seemed  present.  Yet  the  marble 
lived  not,  the  figures  did  not  speak, 


so  true  is  it  that  sculpture  is  a 
silent  art,  an  art  which  rests  in  high 
abstraction,  removed  from  the  ac- 
tuality and  the  turmoil  of  life. 

Into  this  church,  one  day  in  the 
month  of  March  1844,  the  body  of 
Thorwaldsen  was  bome,and  solemnly 
and  silently  did  the  figures  of  Christ 
and  the  Twelve  Apostles  look  down 
upon  the  cofl&n  when  lowered  to  the 
grave.  The  venerable  scnlptor  had 
died  suddenly,  full  of  years  as  of 
honours,  and  his  townsfolk  deter- 
mined  to  give  him  distinguished 
burial.  The  body  lay  in  state  in 
the  hall  of  the  Academy,  surrounded 
by  classic  master  works;  the  face 
was  uncovered,  the  head  crowned 
with  laurels.  On  the  coffin-lid  had 
been  traced  the  portrait-statue,  mal- 
let in  hand,  now  in  the  Museum; 
upon  the  black  pall  rested  the  sculp- 
tor's chisel. 

When  walking  the  other  day 
along  streets  the  gayest  and  bu- 
siest in  Copenhagen,  our  thoughts 
naturally  reverted  to  the  fhneral 
cortege  which  a  quarter  of  a  cen- 
tury before  had  been  borne  by 
artists,  accompanied  by  singers,  to 
the  door  of  the  Frauen  Kirche. 
The  body  remained  four  years  in 
the  church  awaiting  the  completion 
of  the  final  sepulchre.  Now  in  the 
Thorwaldsen  Museum  all  that  is 
mortal  of  the  great  sculptor  rests, 
surrounded  by  his  life's  labours, 
and  twice  or  oflener  in  each  week 
the  doors  of  the  Museum  are  thrown 
open,  and  the  people  from  town  and 
country  come  in  crowds  to  visit  the 
grave  of  the  dead,  and  to  look  on 
the  works  by  which  Thorwaldsen 
remains  as  a  living  presence  in  the 
city  of  his  birth. 

J.  Beavinoton  Atkinson. 


1873] 


67 


OP  ALIENATION. 


TiniAT  are  tho  main  cbaracter- 
Y  Y  istics  of  human  life  in  ad- 
vancing years  ? 

There  are  several,  which  would 
be  better  away. 

The  natural  thing,  as  one  goes  on 
through  life,  is  to  be  going  down- 
hill. We  are  leaving  behind  us 
our  better  days.  We  grow  less 
warm-hearted  and  more  crusty  :  less 
confiding  and  more  suspicious :  less 
cheerful  and  hopeful.  It  is  with  us 
as  we  know  it  to  be  with  certain  of 
our  humbler  fellow-creatures.  How 
mach  less  amiable  a  being  is  your 
stiff  old  dog  of  twelve  years,  rheu- 
matic, fret&l,  listless,  snappish,  not 
to  be  touched  without  risk  of  a  bite, 
than  the  gay,  playful,  frisking, 
sweet-tempered  creature  he  used  to 
be!  That  hnmbler  life  runs  its 
coarse  faster  than  we  run  ours,  but 
the  conrse  is  the  same.  I  look  at 
mjonamiable  fellow-creature,  and 
think  There  is  what  I  shall  be. 

Bat  a  distinction  must  be  sharply 
made,  which  is  oftentimes  not  made. 
This  is  Uie  distinction  between  pass- 
ing moods  which  come  of  little  phy- 
sical causes  and  which  go  quite 
away,  and  the  downhill  progress 
which  is  vital,  essential,  and  ir- 
retraceable. Dyspepsia  and  nerve- 
weariness  may  for  a  day  or  a  week 
simulate  the  confirmed  despondency 
aad  testiness  which  will  come  when 
&e  machinery  is  breaking  down 
finally.  We  must  distinguish  be- 
tween the  passing  summer-cloud, 
and  the  drear  December.  There 
are  people  who  begin  too  soon  to 
regard  themselves  as  old :  to  watch 
for  the  signs  of  age,  and  to  claim 
its  onamiable  prerogatives.  It  is 
not  80  with  others.  I  find  it  stated 
in  Cockbum's  Life  of  Jeffrey,  that 
the  judge  and  Edinburgh  re- 
viewer at  a  certain  period  came 
^  the  conclusion  that  he  must, 
in  some  sense,  make  up  his 
mind  that  he  had  become  an  old 


man.  Looking  to  the  top  of  the 
page,  I  read,  JEt.  70.  I  rapidly  re- 
call a  well-known  assertion  of 
Moses :  and  think  Lord  Jeffrey  was 
not  a  day  too  early  in  coming  to 
that  conclusion.  But  one  has  known 
those  who  very  soon  after  forty, 
think  of  themselves  as  old.  Now 
at  that  period,  it  will  not  do  to 
yield  to  the  invasion  of  impatience, 
irritability,  despondency.  It  is 
merely  that  you  have  got  for  the 
time  into  what  golf-players  call  a 
hunker :  and  you  must  get  out  again. 
Some  day  you  may  get  into  the 
bunker,  and  abide. 

Before  going  on  to  the  main 
topic  to  be  thought  of,  let  a  word 
be  said  of  a  tendency  much  to  be 
guarded  against,  which  comes  with 
advancing  years.  It  is  the  ten- 
dency to  be  less  kind  and  helpful 
to  other  people  than  you  have  been 
heretofore.  I  do  not  mean  merely 
through  lessening  softness  of  heart : 
but  for  a  more  tangible  reason. 
You  are  a  fortunate  mortal  indeed, 
if,  as  yonr  life  lengthens,  you  do 
not  find  that  you  here  and  there, 
receive  an  evil  return  for  much 
kindness  you  have  shown  to  others. 
Some  man,  whom  you  have  helped 
in  many  ways,  who  has  many  times 
eaten  your  salt,  to  advance  whoso 
ends  you  have  taken  much  trouble 
in  ways  most  unpleasant  to  your- 
self, turns  upon  you  and  disappoints 
you  sadly  at  some  testing  time. 
Some  such  man,  under  no  special 
pressure  of  temptation,  proves  him- 
self both  malignant  and  untruthful. 
Personal  offence  you  readily  forgive 
and  forget :  but  doings  which  indi- 
cate character  cannot  be  forgotten. 
If  a  man  have  told  a  manifest  false- 
hood once,  it  must  be  long  before 
you  trust  him  any  more.  And, 
thus  disappointed  in  people  you 
have  known,  you  will  be  aware  of  the 
temptation  to  look  suspiciously  on 
new-comers:   to   resolve  that  you 


68 


Of  Alienatiaiu 


[Jannaiy 


sbalL  not  waste  kindness  on  those 
who  will  by  and  hy  turn  npon  you. 
For  we  are  too  apt  to  take  the 
worst  we  have  known,  for  our 
samples  of  the  race; 

Of  course,  unless  you  are  to  al- 
low yourself  to  settle  down  into 
misanthropy,  youmust strive  against 
all  this.  If  you  look  diligently,  you 
will  commonly  discern  some  ex- 
cuse for  the  wrong- doing  which 
disappointed  you.  I  do  not  mean 
that  you  ought  to  persuade  your- 
self that  the  wrong  was  right :  but 
that  you  should  admit  pleas  in  miti- 
gation of  judgment.  And  you 
ought  to  remember  a  most  certain 
fact,  which  is  practically  forgotten 
on  a  hundred  occasions  :  to  wit, 
that  in  dealing  with  human  nature 
you  are  dealing  with  imperfect  and 
warped  material,  and  you  must 
make  the  best  of  the  crooked  stick 
and  not  expect  that  it  will  act  as  if 
straight.  It  is  human  to  go  wrong, 
as  we  all  learnt  in  our  Latin  Gram- 
mar :  yet  we  all  tend  sometimes  to 
be  not  merely  angry  but  surprised 
when  we  find  that  i^e  fact  is  so. 

Then,  progressing  through  life, 
the  flavour  of  all  things  grows 
fainter.  They  have  not  the  keen 
relish  they  used  to  have.  And 
when  we  make  believe  very  much, 
and  try  to  keep  up  the  dear  old 
way,  this  will  sometimes  make 
us  bitterly  feel  that  we  are  practis- 
ing upon  ourselves  a  transparent 
delusion.  Let  the  name  of  Christ- 
mas be  said :  it  will  suggest  many 
things.  The  truth  is,  we  use  up 
our  capacities.  Our  moral  senses 
get  indurated  and  blunted.  And 
the  only  way  to  save  our  capacities 
is  not  to  use  them.  As  sure  as  they 
are  used,  they  must  wear  out.  It 
is  singular  to  see,  now  and  then, 
an  example  of  unused  capacities  of 
feeling  abiding  in  their  first  fresh- 
ness in  people  who  are  old.  An 
aged  bachelor,  marrying  late,  finds 
a  fresh  delight  in  his  children's 
ways  which  looks  strange  to  a  man 


who  married  at  a  normal  period  of 
his  life,  and  who  has  got  quite  ac- 
customed to  all  this.  I  defy  any 
mortal  to  be  always  in  a  rapture 
with  what  you  have  about  you 
every  day.  But  over  all  these 
notes  of  advancing  Ufe,  let  one  be 
named,  which  in  the  writer's  judg- 
ment is  its  main  characteristic :  It  is 
Alienation. 

You  come  to  care  little  for  things 
and  people  for  whom  you  used  to 
care  much.  When  one  stops,  in 
the  pilgrimage,  for  a  little  while, 
and  tries  to  estimate  the  situation, 
and  to  think  how  it  is  with  one, 
many  (I  believe)  would  say  that 
here  is  the  thing  which  most  strikes 
them. 

Did  we  sometimes  wonder,  as 
children,  if  we  should  ever  come 
not  to  care  at  all  for  our  native 
scenes  ?  Did  we  not,  as  boys  and 
girls,  look  at  the  trees  and  fields  we 
knew,  and  the  little  river,  and  -won- 
der if  we  should  live  to  have  been 
for  years  far  away  from  them ;  and 
yet  not  care?  Did  we  wonder  if 
we  should  come  at  last  not  to  care 
for  our  father  and  mother,  and  onr 
little  brothers  and  sisters:  to  be 
separated  from  them  for  months 
and  years  and  not  mind  ?  A  cha- 
racteristic of  advancing  years,  I 
fear,  is  a  growing  selfishness  :  a 
shrivelling  up  of  all  the  real  inte- 
rests of  life  into  the  narrow  com- 
pass of  one's  own  personality.  Not 
indeed  in  all  cases,  but  in  many 
cases  it  is  so.  I  remark  how  men 
with  large  families  do  not  mind  a 
bit  though  their  children  are  scat- 
tered,  far  away.  I  used  to  wonder 
how  they  bore  it,  the  severance  of 
the  little  circle,  the  lessening  con- 
fideuce  as  the  little  creatures  grew 
older :  I  wonder  yet.  But  it  seems 
plain  that  there  are  men  and  wo- 
men, not  bad  men  and  women^  either 
as  the  world  goes,  who,  if  their  own 
worldly  comforts  are  provided  for, 
do  not  care  at  all  about  their 
children.  Sore  and  humbling 
alienation ! 


18/3] 


Oj  AlieiUtiion* 


69 


Hie  infericH'  animitla  are  deyoted  to 
their  young  ones  with  an  affection 
which  transcends  hnmaa  deyotion, 
so  long  as  the  young  ones  need  tiieir 
affection.     When  the  yonng  ones 
come  not  to  need  them  any  longer, 
they  oome  not  to  oare  at  all  for 
those  yonng  ones :  even  not  to  re- 
cognise them  as  snch.    This  morn* 
bgy  being  in  a  Highland  glen,  I 
beard  from  the  hill  on  the  other 
side  of  the  riyer,  a  piteous  and 
heart-broken    bleating     of    many 
sheep.    Their  lambs  had  been  taken 
away  ftom  them.    What  an  amount 
of  misery  was  on  that  heathery  hill ! 
It  is  Tery  strange  and  perplexing  to 
think  how  these  poor  creatures  are 
not  only,  like  ns,  sensitive  to  phy- 
sical pain  from  material  causes,  but 
know   spiritual     sorrow,     coming 
through   the    affections.       I  have 
always  felt  that  the  argument  for 
immortalify,  drawn  from  the  im- 
nttteriaHty  of  that    in   us   which 
thinks  and  feels,  is  just  as  good  to 
prove  the  immortality  of  the  soul 
of  a  dog  or  a  sheep,  as  of  the  soul 
of  a  man.     And  I  have  often  wished 
that  one  could  look  into  the  heart 
of  some  suffmng  animal,  not  endur- 
ing pain  but  enduring  sorrow,  and 
anderstand  what  it  is  like.      As 
the  desolate  bleatings  went  on  all 
day,  it  was  sad  to  think  that  the 
poor  creatures  must  just  get  over 
their  sorrow*     They  would  never 
see  their   lambs  again.     And   in 
a  few  days  they  would  not  miss 
t^em.    Just  the  like  you  may  see, 
many  times,  in  human  beings.     The 
hmnan  being  gets  over  things  more 
slowly,  but  just  as  entirely.     The 
mother  thai  carefully  wrapped  up 
a  lock  of  her  little  boy's  hair,  and 
kept  it  amid  her  treasures,  possibly 
after  five  and  twenty  years,  the  boy 
bmg  grown  up  and  having  married 
some  one  she  did  not  like,  develops 
iato  tiie  nqr^nting  persecutor:  of 
her  son.    The  UUle  .boy  that  goes 
away  to  Sf^ipol,  homesick  andhef^rtf 
brok^,  '.Hy^  to  outgrow  all  that 
tenderness  of  feeling,-~not  a  sham 


cynic,  which  is  silly,  but  a  real  one, 
which  is  hateful.  Brothers,  once 
always  together  in  lessons  and  in 
play,  are  set  down  in  life  far  apart, 
and  get  out  of  the  way  of  writing  to 
one  another,  and  become  little  o&er 
than  strangers.  A  lad  goes  out 
from  his  home,  away  to  another 
country,  to  make  his  way  in  life : 
how  biUer  a  price  we  pay  in  part- 
ings  for  our  Indian  empire !  But 
year  after  year  goes  over :  and  he 
lives  on  in  the  distant  place,  with  a 
life  quite  severed  from  the  old  life 
of  home  :  the  short  perfunctory 
letters  showing  sadly  to  the  ageing 
parent's  heart  what  a  severance 
time  and  space  have  made.  I  re- 
member how  as  a  boy  I  used  to 
wonder  that  a  jocular  puffy  old 
gentleman  could  live  on  quite 
jovially,  while  one  boy  was  in  India, 
another  in  New  Zealand,  another 
in  Jamaica.  I  thought  of  rosy  Httle 
faces,  with  curly  hair,  gathering  at 
the  father's  knee  by  the  winter  fire- 
side to  hear  a  story ;  not  trusted 
for  an  hour  out  of  sight :  running 
to  their  mother  with  every  little 
trouble.  While  the  fact  was  of  hard 
worldly  countenances  with  the  big 
moustache  and  the  grizzling  hair 
and  the  indurated  h^art;  of  men 
who,  coming  home,  would  have 
found  father  and  mother  a  bore,, 
and  treated  them  with  thinly 
disguised  impatience:  of  souls  in- 
troduced into  a  region  of  new  carea 
and  thoughts,  of  which  parents 
knew  nothing,  and  of  which  they 
never  would  be  told.  The  rift 
must  come,  must  widen  with  ad- 
vancing time :  Not  more  really  were 
the  sheep  and  their  lambs  separated, 
than  parents  and  children,  in  most 
cases,  by  sad  necessity  must  be. 
And  it  used  to  seem  to  me  strange]^ 
still,  when  news  came  to  the  parents 
in  Scotland  that  their  boy  had  died, 
far  away:  when  one  asked  how 
many  years  had  parsed  since  they 
saw  him  last,  and  was  told  eight, 
jben,  fifteen  years.  How  little  they 
knew  what  the  man  was  like  that 


70 


0/  AUenatian. 


[January 


died !  The  son  they  knew  had  died 
out  of  this  world  long  before :  and 
there  was  a  hord-featored  stranger 
in  his  place,  engaged  in  some  bnsi- 
ness  of  which  they  understood  little, 
and  perhaps  with  a  great  hoasehold 
of  children  of  whom  the  old  parents 
at  home  hardly  knew  the  names. 
Death  had  -barely  increased  the 
alienation  which  continaing  life  had 
.  made.  Let  us  think,  whose  little 
ones  are  still  around  ns,  of  our  boys, 
far  away,  walking  in  streets  we 
never  saw,  coming  and  sitting  down 
by  firesides  quite  strange  to  us  :  It 
is  humbling,  bat  it  is  trae,  that  we 
are  alienated  from  onr  children 
almost  as  the  inferior  animals  from 
their  young.  We  have  sense  to  see 
how  sad  the  fact  is,  and  we  strive 
against  it  in  divers  ways :  but  the 
fact  is  there. 

You  may  not  like  to  admit  it, 
'but  you  are  alienated  from  anyone 
when  you  are  able  to  go  out  and  in, 
and  get  through  your  day's  work, 
tie  being  absent  and  you  not  missing 
him.  That  is  alienation.  And  if 
so,  how  much  of  it  there  is  in  this 
world !  We  can  do  without  almost 
anybody.  We  have  all  frequently 
met  a  fellow-creature  who  could  do 
without  anybody  except  himself. 
The  affections  that  cling  to  parents 
and  home  die  in  some  folk,  very 
early.  And  there  are  those  who 
think  they  hare  got  rid  of  a  some- 
what discreditable  weakness,  when 
these  dwindle  and  go.  There  is 
something  touching  and  pleasant, 
when  we  find  men  remain  unsophis- 
ticated in  this  respect,  even  to  ad- 
vanced years :  and  even  when 
sufficiently  world-hardened  in  many 
respects.  Nothing  in  Brougham's 
life  gives  one  so  kindly  an  idea  of 
his  heart,  as  the  hct  that  when 
away  from  her,  in  London,  he  wrote 
a  letter  to  his  mother  every  day. 
Savage  reviewer,  demagogue  (not 
in  a  bad  sense).  Member  for  York- 
shire, counsel  in  a  host  of  great 
causes  and  some  historical  ones, 
swaying  by  pure  force  the  House 


of  Commons,  Lord  Chancellor,  still 
the  day  never  passed  on  which  the 
expected  letter  did  not  go,  did  not 
come.  Those  who  when  another 
Scotch  Chancellor  died,  malignantly 
vilified  him  before  he  was  cold  in  his 
grave,  did  not  (it  is  to  be  hoped) 
know  anything  of  Lord  Campbell 
unless  by  rumour :  did  not  (surely) 
know  how  through  his  early  strug- 
gles, and  his  first  years  at  the  Bar, 
and  on  till  he  was  burdened  with 
the  work  and  care  of  the  Attorney- 
General,  he  wrote  regular  and  long 
letters  to  the  good  old  minister  of 
Cupar,  setting  out  in  minute  detail 
how  it  was  faring  with  his  absent 
son.  The  rising  lawyer  had  risen 
no 'higher  when  his  feither  died: 
but  it  would  have  been  just  the 
same  (if  it  could  have  been)  when 
he  was  Chief  Justice.  And,  to  ge 
to  a  different  kind  of  man,  Dr. 
James  Hamilton  (whose  Life  is  worth 
reading),  amid  a  good  deal  that  was 
narrow  there  was  the  loveable  about 
the  letters  he  wrote,  till  he  died  a 
man  of  fifby-three,  to  My  dear 
Mamma.  One  feels  that  it  would 
have  seemed  like  a  breaking  away 
from  the  dear  old  ways  of  child- 
hood, to  have  varied  the  manner 
in  which  the  young  lad  at  College 
began  his  first  letters  home. 

Thinking  of  the  inevitable,  or 
all  but  inevitable,  aHenation  of 
parents  and  children,  one  is  not 
thinking  of  savage  brutes,  like  Mr. 
Thackeray's  Osborne,  nor  of  proud 
men  like  Mr.  Dickens'  Dombey, 
nor  of  heartless  monsters  like  the 
latter  author's  Sir  John  Chester, 
nor  of  utter  devils  like  Lord  Crabs : 
not  of  men  one  has  known,  who 
out  off  their  sons  with  a  shilling 
because  of  some  offence  to  inordinate 
vanity;  or  who  declared,  in  place 
of  aiding  a  child  in  distress,  that  he 
had  made  his  bed  and  must  lie  on 
it :  one  is  thinking  of  fieurly  decent 
folk,  not  bad,  01^  passably  self- 
ish, passably  heartless,  indifferent 
honest:  to  whom  out  of  sights  by 
the  necessity  of  the  oase,  is  out  of 


1873] 


Of  AUenaiion. 


71 


mind ;  and  who  might  just  as  well 
fight  against  the  law  of  gravitation 
as  against  the  law  of  their  nature. 
Think  of  change  in  social  place :  and 
the  change  in  the  relations  between 
people  which  it  makes.  When  one 
hfts  known  of  a  poor  cottager  and 
his  wife,  pinching  themselves  bine 
to  send  their  clever  boy  to  a  Scotch 
University  and  push  him  forward 
into  the  Chnrch,  it  was  sad  to  think 
of  the  estrangement  which  was  sure 
to  follow  the  success  of  all  their  hard 
toUs  and  schemes.  Even  when 
the  son  is  a  worthy  fellow,  what  a 
severance  that  dear-bought  educa- 
tion must  make :  and  when  he  gets 
a  living,  and  finds  himself  among  a 
new  Bet  of  associates,  and  perhaps 
makes  a  respectable  marriage,  the 
old  parents  will  seldom  see  him : 
and  it  will  be  with  a  vague,  blank 
sense  of  disappointment  when  they 
do.  Then  he  may  not  be  a  worthy 
fellow,  but  a  heartless  humbug: 
who  designedly  draws  off  from  the 
poor  old  pair  who  did  everything  for 
him,  and  bids  his  mother  not  to 
recognise  him  when  she  meets  him 
in  the  street  with  any  of  his  genteel 
friends.  I  hate  the  word  genteel : 
bat  it  is  the  right  word  here.  I 
have  known  such  an  animal,  coming 
home  for  a  few  days'  visit,  upbraid 
his  poor  old  mother  for  not  suflB- 
dently  polishing  his  boots  :  and 
sapercHiously  smile  at  her  ignorance 
of  his  meaning  when  he  bade  her 
take  away  his  clothes  and  brush 
them. 

I  don't  say  whose  fault  it  was, 
or  whether  it  was  anybody's  fault, 
bnt  it  always  grated  on  one  pain- 
fally  to  hear  of  old  John  McLiver 
working  for  his  eighteen  pence 
^  day,  an  old  labouring  man, 
when  his  son,  not  seen  by  him  for 
many  a  day  and  year,  was  known 
to  fiune  as  Sir  Ck>lm  Campbell  and 
thm  as  Lord  Clyde.  That  eminent 
man  was  unlucky  in  the  matter  of 
luunee.  To  the  name  of  Campbell 
he  had  no  more  right  than  I  have  : 
and  his  title  was  taken  from  the 


name  of  a  river  with  which  he  had 
nothing  earthly  to  do.  Perhaps 
it  wotdd  have  been  so  awkward 
for  the  Field-Marshal  to  have  walked 
into  the  old  labourer's  cottage, 
perhaps  father  and  son  would  have 
found  so  little  in  common,  that  it 
may  have  been  wise  in  the  peer, 
instead  of  going  to  see  his  father,  to 
send  a  little  money  now  and  then 
to  the  parish  minister  to  be  applied 
to  the  increase  of  his  comforts.  No 
doubt  Berkeley  Square,  and  the 
little  island  in  the  Hebrides,  were 
not  five  hundred,  but  five  hundred 
millions  of  miles  apart.  All  I  say  is, 
that  as  a  young  man,  it  pained  one's 
heart  to  know  that  utter  alienation. 
Never  was  a  huge  ram,  with  great 
curling  .  horns,  more  estranged 
from  the  sheep  it  was  taken  from  as 
a  trembling  little  lamb  six  years 
before,  amid  piteous  bleatings  on 
either  part,  than  (by  the  very  nature 
of  things)  was  F.M.  Lord  Clyde 
from  old  John  McLiver.  If  I  were 
such  an  old  John,  I  would  rather  my 
son  did  not  become  so  great.  For 
then,  in  my  failing  days,  he  would 
cheer  me  by  kind  words  and  looks 
(better  than  the  five  pound  note  sent 
to  the  minister  to  give  me  by  instal- 
ments) :  he  would  be  by  me  when  I 
breathe  my  last,  and  he  would  lay 
my  poor  weary  head  in  the  grave. 

This  special  estrangement  which 
comes  of  social  difference  exists, 
and  is  felt,  even  where  it  is  con- 
tinually and  heartily  fought  against. 
My  friend  Smith  tells  me  that  he 
well  knew  a  certain  man,  who, 
rising  from  the  humblest  origin, 
had  attained  great  wealth  and 
standing;  and  who,  by  and  by, 
made  a  great  marriage.  To  the 
marriage  feast  his  old  father  was 
brought,  who  had  been  a  labouring 
man  through  a  long  life,  till  his  rich 
son  made  him  comfortable  in  his 
last  years.  The  tie  of  filial  affec- 
tion was  unbroken:  and  the  rich 
man  (who  was  a  good  man)  was 
proud  and  not  ashamed  of  having 
made  his  own  way :  so  the  homely 


72 


Of  AHenatioTi, 


[Janixarj 


old  working  man  was  presented 
amid  the  gathering  of  grand  folk. 
Bnt  one  felt  the  alienation  was 
there,  when  the  big  friends,  at 
home  with  the  son,  and  desiring  to 
be  most  kind  to  the  father,  yet 
gassed  npon  the  father  as  a  cnrioos 
old  phenomenon.  And  the  poor 
old  father  himself  was  not  at  his 
ease  with  his  changed  son. 

Turning  over  a  new  leaf  in  life, 
you  know  how  misty  the  old  life 
soon  grows.  One  forgets,  as  a 
reality,  the  former  way  of  life,  en- 
tering upon  the  new.  It  must  be 
a  strange  feeling,  I  think,  for  a 
man  to  find  himself  Primate  of 
the  Anglican  Church,  who  was 
born  and  brought  up  in  another 
communion.  Does  Archbishop  Tait 
cherish  any  distinct  recollection  of 
his  years  in  the  Church  of  Scot- 
land, which  he  indeed  left,  but  in 
which  his  fathers  lived  and  died  ? 
Does  he  not  find  it  awkward  to 
speak  (if  English  people  do  so 
speak)  of  the  Church  of  our  fathers  ? 
Does  he  remember,  seated  in  state 
on  the  throne  in  Canterbury  Cathe- 
dral, the  hideous  but  costly  St. 
Stephen's  at  Edinburgh  where  he 
used  to  go  as  boy  and  lad  ?  It  is 
curious  for  one  who  is  himself  a 
Scotchman  to  look  at  the  good  pre- 
late, and  listen  to  him ;  and  track 
out  the  old  thing  whence  he  rose : 
the  occasional  breaking  forth  of  the 
abandoned  Scotch  accent,  and  mani- 
fold further  traces  of  Scotch  train- 
ing in  his  youth.  A  Scot,  no  matter 
how  denationalised,  no  matter  how 
Anglified,  can  never  escape  detection 
by  a  fellow-countryman.  And  it 
is  very  amusing  when  one  finds  a 
Scot,  speaking  by  terrible  effort 
with  a  much  more  English  accent 
than  any  Englishman,  here  and 
there  betray  the  old  Adam,  by 
some  awfully  Doric  word.  Easily 
could  the  writer  give  wonderful 
examples  of  what  ho  describes. 
But  it  would  not  do.  And  it  shall 
not  be  done. 


My  friend  Smith  recently  related 
to  me  certain  facts,  indicating  how 
far  he  was  alienated  from  the  asso- 
ciations of  his  youth.  He  informed 
me  that  he  sat  next  his  old  ffw^et- 
heart  in  a  railway  carriage  for  a 
hundred  miles,  and  did  not  know 
her  at  all.  He  saw  a  fat  middle- 
aged  matron,  with  a  red  face :  but 
nothing  remained  there  of  the  airy 
sylph  of  dancing-school  days.  He 
did  not  find  out  who  she  was,  till 
some  one  told  him  at  the  journey's 
end.  Smith  was  no  more  than 
thirty-nine.  But  as  he  communi- 
cated this  information,  his  <visa^ 
was  rueful,  and  he  shook  his  head 
from  side  to  side  several  times  as 
though  there  were  something  in  it 
to  shake.  He  plainly  thought  that 
he  was  very  old. 

Most  readers  will  know  how  they 
have  forgot  old  school  companions, 
and  even  old  College  friends.  At 
school,  many  boys  sort  themselves 
in  pairs,  by  elective  affinity.  Two 
boys  are  chums :  always  together 
in  the  playground :  standing  shonK 
der  to  shoulder  against  the  world. 
At  least  it  used  to  be  so.  Do  we 
sometimes  wonder,  in  graver  years, 
if  an  old  friend  remembers  us :  if 
he  is  living  yet  ?  At  College,  one 
is  so  far  sophisticated,  that  there  is 
rarely  the  warm  attachment  of 
schoolboy  days.  Yet  there  were 
great  friends  too :  twenty,  five  and 
twenty  years  ago  !  But  young  men 
are  bad  letter- writers :  they  are 
set  in  life  far  apart:  letters  gra- 
dually cease  :  there  is  a  kind  thought 
now  and  then;  but  the  rift  has 
grown  a  river.  People  grow  worldly 
of  spirit,  too:  and  frightened.  If 
pne  had  the  chance  to  go  and  call 
for  an  old  friend,  unseen  for  a 
quarter  of  a  centuiy,  whose  home 
is  six  hundred  miles  off;  should 
not  one  hesitate  whether  to  go? 
One  does  not  know  what  reception 
one  might  meet.  A  sharp  fisuse  might 
lo>ok  at  you,  not  without  the  suapi- 
cion  that  you  designed  to  borrow 
money.    Which  you  would  not  get, 


1873] 


Of  Alienation, 


73 


It  is  a  toucliiiig  proof  bow  not 
many  years  may  sever  old  and  fast 
friends,  whicli  yon  may  find  in 
Keble's  Life :  in  the  record  how 
Newman  and  he  met  at  Keble's 
door,  and  neither  recognised  the 
other.  Newman  tells  as  he  did  not 
know  Keble,  and  Keble  asked  New- 
man who  be  was :  which  question 
he  answered  by  presenting  his  card. 
I  think  it  was  not  ten  years  since 
tbej  last  bad  met.  It  is  very  sad 
and  strange. 

There  are  many  more  things  one 
would  wish  to  say :  but  in  treating 
such  a  subject  there  is  a  temptation 
to  go  too  mncb  to  personal  expe- 
n'ence.  And  that  mnst  not  be. 
So  let  me  tear  np  some  notes  I  had 
made,  of  otber  things  to  be  said, 
and  behold  them  consume  away  in 
this  Utile  fire.  Let  it  be  said,  sum- 
mingup  matters,  that  looking  at  even 
a  hale  well-preserved  gray-headed 
old  individual,  the  thing  I  cannot 
help  thinking  of  bim  just  at  present 
Is  how  time  and  change  have  gra- 
dually alienated  bim  from  old 
things  and  old  associates:  self-con- 
centred him :  left  a  great  chasm 
all  around  bim :  isolated  him:  left 
no  one  really  near  him:  lefb  him 
alone.  K  his  wife  is  dead,  or  if  he 
were  never  married,  he  is  lonely  as 
though  in  tbe  midst  of  the  great 
Atlantic.     His  professional  friends 


and  his  club  friends  may  like  him 
well  enough :  but  who  is  fool  enough 
to  fancy  that  club  friends  and  pro- 
fessional friends  will  care  much 
when  he  dies  ?  There  is  in  truth 
a  gulf  between  you  and  such.  His 
children  are  remote,  even  though 
dwelling  in  the  same  house.  His 
own  youth,  and  early  manhood,  and 
the  main  toils  and  interests  of  his 
life,  have  receded  into  dim  dis- 
tance, and  look  spectral  there. 
Life  tends  to  converge  upon  him- 
self, and  his  own  physical  com- 
forts: and  it  is  very  wretched  to 
come  to  that.  Wherefore,  my 
friends,  let  us  keep  close  together! 
It  is  a  blessing  to  have  some  one  so 
near  you,  that  you  may  tell  (sure  of 
attentive  sympathy)  all  you  do,  all 
you  wish  and  fear,  all  you  think,  in 
so  far  as  words  suffice  to  tell  that 
And  from  such  a  one  you  will  hear 
the  same.  It  is  not  selfishness  cm* 
egotism  that  prompts  such  confi- 
dence :  it  is  the  desire  to  counter- 
work that  increasing  alienation, 
which  in  the  latter  years  tends  to 
estrange  us  from  otliers,  to  throw 
us  in  upon  ourselves,  to  make  us 
quite  alone.  Keep  as  near  as  you 
will,  there  is  still  an  inevitable  space 
between:  a  certain  distance  between 
you  and  your  best  friends  in  this 
world. 

A.  K.  H.  B. 


74  [Jamiary 

BtlAMBLEBERRIES. 


Great  Morning  strikes  the  earth  once  more, 

And  kindles  up  the  wave, 
As  many  and  manj  a  time  before, — 

And  am  I  still  a  slave? 
Gome !  let  me  date  my  years  anew ; 

This  day  is  virgin  white ; 
By  heav'n,  I  will  not  reindae 

The  rags  of  overnight ! 
I  was  a  king  by  birth,  and  who 

Is  rebel  to  my  right? 
None  but  myself,  myself  alone : 
Gonqner  myself,  I  take  my  throne ! 


10.  To  plan  a  wise  life  little  pains  doth  ask: 

To  live  one  wise  day,  troublesome  the  task. 

— Yet  why  so  hard  ?     What  is  it  thwarts  me  still  ? 

A  tainted  memory,  a  divided  will, 

A  weak  and  wavering  faith,  which,  for  mere  shows 

And  shams  of  things,  forsakes  the  truth  it  knows. 


II.        Think  you  that  words  can  save?  that  even  thought, 
Knowledge,  or  theoretic  &Ai\  does  aught  ? 
Truth  into  character  by  act  is  wrought. 
Your  life,  the  life  that  you  have  lived,  not  shamm*d. 
Is  you ;  in  that  alone  you're  saved  or  damn'd. 


12.  Glory  of  life — deep  tenderness, — 

Enigma  of  the  human  soul ! 
Set  in  this  wondrous  world  whose  dress 
Is  beauty,  whilst  the  heav'n  doth  roll 
Its  myriad  suns  around ;  where  love 

Sports  in  the  constant  shade  of  death,  ^ 

Fond  memory  sighs,  hope  looks  above, 
And  sorrow  clings  to  faith; — 
life,  all  made  up  of  hints  and  moods  and  fine  transitions, 
Great  secrets  murmur'd  low,  pure  joys  in  fleeting  visions ! 


1873]  Bramhleherries,  75 


13.  Almighty  Lord,  if  day  by  day 

From  Thee  I  further  move  away, 

0  let  me  die  to-night,  I  pray! 

Yet  no:  this  pray'r  is  idle  breath. 

1  understand  not  life  or  death. 
Nor  how  man's  course  continueth. 

Swept  in  a  wide  and  trackless  curve, 
Tho'  seeming  more  and  more  to  swerve^ 
An  orbit  it  may  still  preserve. 

I  will  not  seek  to  live  or  die ; 

Do  as  Thou  wilt,  1*11  ask  not  why. 

Keep  hold  of  me — content  am  I. 

0  Father !  grant  that  day  by  day 
My  soul  to  Thee  may  tend  alway. 
Becall  it  quickly  when  astray. 

1  hear  Thee :  hear  me  when  I  pray ! 


76 


[Janoarj 


SHAFTESBURY'S  0HABAGTERISTIG8. 


THE  third  Lord  Shaltesbnrj  is 
one  of  the  manj  writers  who 
enjoy  a  kind  of  suspended  vitality. 
His  volumes  are  allowed  to  slumber 
peacefully  on  the  shelves  of  dusty 
libraries  till  some  curious  student  of 
English  literature  takes  them  down 
for  a  cursory  perusal.  Though  gene- 
rally mentioned  respectfully,  he  has 
been  dragged  deeper  into  oblivion 
by  two  or  three  heavy  weights. 
Besides  certain  intrinsic  faults  of 
style  to  be  presently  noticed,  he  has 
been  partly  injured  by  the  evil  re- 
putation which  he  shares  with  the 
English  Deists.  Their  orthodox 
opponents  succeeded  in'iufllcting 
upon  those  writers  a  fate  worse 
than  refutation.  The  Deists  were 
not  only  pilloried  for  their  hetero- 
doxy, but  indelibly  branded  with 
the  fatal  inscription  *  dullness.'  The 
charge,  to  say  the  truth,  was  not 
ill-deserved ;  and  though  Shaftes- 
bury is  in  many  respects  a  writer  of 
a  higher  order  than  Toland,  Tindal, 
or  OoUins,  he  cannot  be  acquitted 
of  that  most  heinous  of  literary  of- 
fences. Attempts,  however,  have 
lately  been  made  to  resuscitate  him. 
His  works  have  recently  been  re- 
published in  England,  and  a  vigo- 
rous German  author,  Dr.  Spicker, 
has  appealed  against  the  verdict 
which  would  consign  him  finally  to 
the  worms  and  the  moths.  To  an 
English  student  there  is  something 
rather  surprising,  and  not  a  little 
flattering,  in  this  German  enthu- 
siasm. We  are  astonished  to  see 
how  much  can  be  elicited  by  dex- 
terous hands  from  these  almost  for- 
gotten volumes.  A  countryman  of 
Elant  and  Hegel,  and  one,  too, 
familiar  with  the  intricacies  of  that 
portentous  philosophical  literature 
which  Englishmen,  even  whilst  they 
sneer,  regard  for  the  most  part  with 
mysterious  awe,  can  still  discover 
lessons  worth  studying  in  a  second- 
rate  English  author  of  Queen  Anne*s 


time.  To  understand  him  properly, 
it  is  necessary,  in  Dr.  Spicker's 
judgment  (so,  at  loast,  we  may  infer 
from  the  form  of  his  book),  to  cast 
a  preliminary  glance  over  the  his- 
tory of  religion  and  philosophy,  to 
study  the  views  of  Paul  and  Aqui- 
nas,  and  Kant  and  Spinoza,  and 
Schleiermacher  and  Strauss,  and  to 
plunge  into  speculations  about  the 
soul,  about  being  and  not-being, 
and  the  proofs  of  the  existence  of 
God  and  a  future  life.  When  thus 
duly  prepared,  we  may  form  an 
estimate  of  Shaftesbury's  writings, 
and  then  we  may  draw  certain  con- 
elusions  as  to  the  nature  of  the  He- 
brew genius,  the  true  use  of  the 
Bible,  the  difference  between  the 
ideal  and  the  historical  Christ,  the 
religious  problems  of  tho  future, 
and  the  Archimedean  point  of  philo- 
sophy.  With  Dr.  Spicker's  reflec- 
tions upon  these  deep  topics  we 
need  at  present  have  no  concern. 
We  may,  perhaps,  feel  a  certain 
giddiness  when  we  see  so  many  re- 
flections evolved  from  so  compara- 
tively trifling  a  source.  We  re- 
semble the  fisherman  in  the  Arabian 
Nights ;  we  have  been  keeping  our 
genie  locked  up  between  his  smoke- 
dried  covers ;  and  behold  !  at  the 
touch  of  this  magician's  hand,  he 
rises  in  a  vast  cloud  of  philosophy 
till  his  head  reaches  tho  skies  and 
his  shadow  covers  the  earth.  Would 
not  Shaftesbury,  we  are  apt  to  ask, 
have  been  rather  surprised  had  he 
known  what  boundless  potentiali- 
ties of  speculation  were  germinating 
in  his  pages  ?  May  not  his  German 
commentator,  indeed,  be  slily  laugh- 
ing at  us  in  his  sleeve,  and  making 
of  poor  Shaftesbury  a  mere  stalking- 
horse  under  whose  cover  to  bring 
down  game  whose  very  existence 
was  unsuspected  by  his  author  ?  In 
fact,  we  think  that  on  some  occa- 
sions Dr.  Spicker  has  confused  a 
little  the  treasures  which  ho  found 


1873] 


Shafiesbury^s  '  Chdracteristics.* 


77 


with  those  which  he  hronghfc.  He 
has  given  additional  fullness  of 
meaning  to  Shaftesbury's  vagne 
hints  and  inconclnsive  snatches  at 
tiH>aght;  and  though  he  may  be 
personaUy  conscions  of  the  differ- 
ence between  the  germ  and  the  fnll 
development,  his  readers  may  find 
it  difficalt  to  detect  the  real  Shaftes- 
hniy  thos  overlaid  with  modem 
theory.  Yet  Dr.  Spicker  brings 
high  authorities  for  attributing  some 
greater  value  to  Shaftesbury  than 
we  generally  allow.  Hettner,  for 
example,  calls  him  one  of  the  most  im- 
portant phenomena  of  the  eighteenth 
centniy.  Not  only  the  English,  he 
says,  but  all  the  greatest  minds  of 
the  period — Leibnitz,  Voltaire,  Di- 
derot, Lessing,  Mendelssohn,  Wie- 
bmd,  and  Herder — drew  the  richest 
nourishment  from  his  pages;  and 
he  extends  to  all  his  writings  Her- 
der's enthusiastic  description  of  The 
MoraUgU  Bs  a  dialogue  almost 
worthy  of  Grecian  antiquity  in 
fcHin,  and  &r  superior  to  it  in  con- 
tents. Have  we,  indeed,  been  en- 
tertidning  an  angel  unawares  ?  Dr. 
Spicker,  of  course,  quotes  the  old 
example  of  Shakespeare,  and  once 
more  assures  us  that  we  never  re- 
cognised the  value  of  our  national 
poet  until  his  significance  was  fully 
revealed  to  us  by  German  critics. 
There  is,  however,  a  marked  differ- 
ence between  the  cases.  Shake- 
speare, though  our  German  friends 
may  choose  to  forget  it,  was  the 
object  of  our  national  adoration 
long  before  he  became  the  idol  of 
the  whole  world.  Our  enthusiasm 
was  almost  as  unqualified  in  the 
days  of  Garrick  and  Johnson  as 
now,  and  Pope  reveals  what  was  the 
popular  creed  even  in  his  day,  when 
he  speaks  of 
Bhakfispeare,  whom  you  and  every  play- 

knue  bill 
Stjle  the  diyiae,  the  matchless,  what  you 
will. 

The  Germans  did  not  originate  our 
&ith ;  they  enabled  us,  at  most,  to 


give  a  reason  for  it.  But  if  Shaftes- 
bury is  to  be  raised  to  a  lofty  place 
in  our  Walhalla,  the  enthusiasm 
has  to  be  created  as  well  as  ex- 
plained. In  such  questions  the  vox 
populi  is  very  nearly  infallible. 
When  critics  declare  that  an  author 
does  not  deserve  the  neglect  which 
he  receives,  the  admission  of  the 
fact  is  generally  more  significant 
than  the  protest.  When,  as  some- 
times happens,  we  find  a  man  being 
still  refuted  a  century  after  his 
death,  we  may  be  pretty  sure  that 
he  said  something  worth  notice; 
and,  inversely;  when  we  find  that 
nobody  cares  to  refute  him,  it  is 
tolerably  safe  to  assume  that  he  had 
no  genuine  vitality. 

In  considering,  however,  the 
value  of  this  appeal  against  the  ver- 
dict of  posterity,  we  must  admit 
that  there  are  certain  reasons,  be- 
sides his  intrinsic  want  of  merit, 
which  may  account  in  some  mea- 
sure for  his  neglect.  They  are  rea- 
sons, too,  which  are  more  likely  to 
repel  a  native  than  a  foreign  reader. 
The  feeling  of  annoyance  which  ge- 
nei*ally  causes  a  student  to  put  down 
the  vharcLGteristics  with  a  certain 
impatience  is  more  or  less  due  to 
defects,  which  would  be  less  percep- 
tible to  a  German,  especially  to  a 
German  endowed  with  the  natural 
robustness  of  literary  appetite. 
Shaftesbury  suffered  under  two  de- 
lusions, which  are  unfortunately 
very  common  amongst  authors.  He 
believed  himself  to  possess  a  sense 
of  humour  and  a  specially  fine 
critical  taste.  Whenever  he  tries 
to  be  facetious  he  is  intolerable; 
he  reminds  one  of  that  painful  joco- 
sity which  is  sometimes  assumed  by 
a  grave  professor,  who  fancies,  with 
perfect  truth,  that  his  audience  is 
inclined  to  yawn,  and  argues,  in 
most  unfortunate  conflict  with  the 
truth,  that  such  heavy  gambols  as 
he  can  manage  will  rouse  them  to  the 
smiling  point.  The  result  is  gene- 
rally depressing.     Yet  Shaftesbury 


78 


Shafteshunfa  *  Oharaderistics.^ 


[January 


ifi  less  annojing  when  he  is  writhing 
his  grave  face  into  a  contorted 
grimace  than  when  the  muse,  whom 
he  is  in  the  habit  of  invoking,  per- 
mits him  to  get  upon  stilts.  His 
rhapsodies  then  are  truly  dismal, 
though  they  are  probably  improved 
when  they  are  translated  into  Ger- 
man. One  awkward  peculiarity 
must  disappear  in  the  process.  His 
prose,  at  excited  moments,  becomes 
a  kind  of  breccia  of  blank  verse. 
Bishop  Berkeley  ridicules  him  by 
printing  a  fragment  of  the  Soliloquy 
in  this  form ;  and  by  leaving  out  a 
word  or  two  at  intervals  it  does,  in 
foct,  very  fairly  represent  the  metre 
which  did  duty  for  blank  verse  in 
the  reign  of  Dryden  and  Pope. 
Here,  for  example,  is  a  fragment 
taken  pretty  much  at  random  &om 
The  Moralists — *  Or  shall  we  mind 
the  poets  when  they  sing  thy  tra- 
gedy, Prometheus,  who  with  thy 
stoVn  celestial  fire,  mixed  with  vile 
clay,  didst  mock  heaven's  counten- 
ance, and  in  abusive  likeness  of  the 
immortals  madest  the  compound 
man,  that  wretched  mortal,  ill  to 
himself  and  cause  of  ill  to  all?' 
No  English  critic  can  witness  his 
native  language  tortured  into  this 
hideous  parody  of  verse  without 
disgust.  Shaftesbury's  classicism 
too  often  reminds  us  of  the  contem- 
porary statues  in  which  Greorge  I. 
and  his  like  appear  masquerading 
in  the  costumes  of  Koman  empe- 
rors. His  English  prose  is  to  the 
magnificent  roll  and  varied  ca- 
dences of  Jeremy  Taylor  or  Milton 
or  Sir  Thomas  Browne  what  Con- 
greve's  versification  in  the  Ifowm- 
ing  Bride  is  to  the  exquisite  melody 
of  Massinger,  Fletcher,  or  Shake- 
speare. No  philosophising  can  per- 
suade  us  out  of  our  ears,  and 
Shaftesbury's  mouthing  is  simply 
detestable.  The  phenomenon  is  the 
more  curious  when  we  remember 
that  he  prided  himself  on  his  ex- 
quisite taste,  and  was  a  contempo- 
rary of  Swift  and  Addison.  But 
the  defect  goes  much  deeper  than 


is  indicated  by  these  occasionai 
lapses  into  a  kind  of  disjointed  amb- 
ling. Herder,  as  we  have  seen, 
admires  his  Platonic  Dialogues  :  wo 
prefer  the  judgment  of  Mackintosh^ 
a  favourable  critic,  who  admits 
his  performance  to  be  '  heavy  and 
languid,'  and  we  may  add  that  the 
excuse  made  for  him  on  the  gronnd. 
that  modem  manners  are  unsuitable 
to  this  form  of  composition  must  be 
balanced  by  the  recollection  that, 
in  spite  of  these  difficulties,  Berkeley 
was  almost  at  the  same  time  com- 
posing  dialogues  which  are  amongst 
the  most  perfect  modem  examples 
of  the  style.  The  difference  be- 
tween the  two,  from  a  purely  artis- 
tic point  of  view,  is  as  great  in  all 
other  respects  as  is  the  difference 
between  Shaftesbury's  lumbering 
phraseology  and  Berkeley's  ad- 
mirably lucid  English.  Shaftes- 
bury's desire  to  affect  a  certain  gen- 
tlemanlike  levity,  and  to  avoid  a 
pedantic  adherence  to  system,  makes 
him  a  singularly  difficult  writer  to 
follow.  He  is  never  content  vidth 
expressing  his  meaning  plainly  and 
directly.  It  must  be  introduced  to 
us  with  all  manner  of  affected  airs 
and  graces ;  the  different  parts  of 
his  argument,  instead  of  being  fitted 
into  a  logical  framework,  must  be 
separated  by  discursive  remarks 
upon  things  in  general ;  they  mast 
be  made  accepte.ble  by  a  plentiful 
effusion  of  rhetoric ;  we  must  be 
amused  by  digressions  and  covert 
allusions,  and  be  seduced  into  our 
conclusions  by  ingeniously  contrived 
and  roundabout  methods  of  ap- 
proaching the  subject.  A  skil;^ 
writer  of  a  dialogue  conceals  his 
plan,  but  never  forgets  it ;  and  if  it 
be  stripped  of  the  external  form, 
we  find  beneath  a  sinewy  and  well- 
compacted  system  of  reasoning. 
But  Shaftesbury  introduces  real 
confusion  by  way  of  effectually  con- 
cealing his  purpose ;  and  when  wo 
get  rid  of  the  tiresome  personages 
who  thrust  their  eloquence  upon  us, 
we  discover  an  argument  torn  to 


1873] 


Shaftesbury* 8  *  OhafcLcieristics.' 


79 


shreds  and  patches,  and  seeding  en- 
tire  rearrangement  before  we  can 
eatcb  his  drift.  Dr.  Spicker,  who 
does  not  speak  of  these  defects,  has 
applied  the  proper  remedy  by  re- 
ducing Shaflesbnry's  scattered  nt- 
teranoes  nnder  logical  heads,  and 
brings  out  a  £Eir  more  definite  and 
coherent  meaning  than  would  be 
discoTered  by  any  but  a  very  atten- 
tive reader.  Shaftesbury,  in  short, 
is  deficient  in  the  cardinal  virtues 
of  clearness  and  order ;  and  the 
consequence  is  that,  working  upon 
abstrnse  topics,  he  tries  the  patience 
of  his  readers  beyond  all  ordinary 
bearing.  Perhaps  this  is  a  suffi- 
cient reason  for  the  neglect  which 
has  overtaken  him,  for  the  writers 
are  few  and  fortunate  who  have 
succeeded  in  reaching  posterity 
without  the  oliarm  of  a  beaatiful 
style.  Are  we  further  justified  in 
assaming,  on  the  strength  of  the 
common  maxim,  that  the  style  in- 
dicates the  man,  and  throwing  him 
aside  without  further  notice,  or  is 
there  really  some  solid  value  in  a 
writer  who  undoubtedly  exercised  a 
powerful  influence  upon  English 
thought,  and,  as  we  see,  has  found 
Ench  wide  acceptance  in  foreign 
conntries  ? 

The  best  mode  of  answering  that 
qnestion  would  probably  be  to 
eiamine  Shaftesbury^s  writings  in 
rather  closer  connection  with  his 
historical  position  in  English  litera- 
ture than  has  been  done  by  Dr. 
Spicker.  Without  enquiring  what 
sermons  may  be  preached  from  the 
texts  which  he  supplies,  we  may 
Vik  what  the  real  man  actually 
thonght,  and  how  he  came  to  think 
it.  Iq  regard  to  the  first  question 
we  ha?e  at  least  ample  materials. 
Shaftesbury,  in  spite  of  his  desul- 
tory mode  of  exposition,  had  a 
distinct  theory  about  the  universe, 
and  has  managed  to  expound  it 
sufficiently,  though  circuitously,  in 
the  Charaderistics. 

That  book  is  a  collection  of  es- 

nys  published  within  the  few  years 

you  VII. — Ko.  ixxvn.  iiiw  sbriis. 


preceding  his  death.  The  -first  of 
these,  the  Letter  on  EnthusioBm, 
gives  Shaftesbury's  view  of  the  re- 
ligious movements  of  his  day.  The 
doctrine  which  it  contains,  with 
some  of  its  applications  to  moral 
philosophy  and  to  literary  criticism 
(the  connection,  ak  will  presently 
appear,  is  characteristic),  is  ex- 
pounded in  the  essay  called  Sensus 
Communis,  and  in  the  Soliloquy ^  or 
Advice  to  an  Author,  The  essay  on 
Virtue,  of  which  an  izAperfect  copy 
had  been  published  by  Toland, 
is  the  most  systematic  statement 
of  his  views  on  morality ;  the  Mo- 
ralists,  a  Rliapsodi/,  is  a  kind  of 
appendix  to  it,  with  an  amplifi- 
cation of  some  of  his  conclusions. 
The  Miscellaneous  Bejlections  form 
a  running  commentary  on  all  the 
preceding  essavs;  and  the  Choice 
of  Hercules,  which  completes  the 
collection,  is  an  s^sthetic  disserta- 
tion, which  may  be  compared  to 
Lessing's  Laocoon.  The  coincidence 
in  thought  is  exhibited  by  Dr. 
Spicker,  and  De  Quincey  has  pre- 
faced his  translatio9  of  Lessing's 
essay  by  a  parallel  between  the  two 
writers.  As  we  shall  not  again 
refer  to  this  subject,  it  will  be 
enough  to  say  that  Shaftesbury 
deserves  credit  for  anticipating  the 
views  of  his  more  distinguished  suc- 
cessor, though  he  has  little  to  say 
which  is  worth  the  attention  of  any 
modem  reader. 

The  remainder  of  his  writings 
all  turn  more  or  less  upon  the 
great  question  of  the  theory  of 
morals  and  their  relation  to  reli* 
gion,  and  it  is  as  the  reprcsenta- 
tive  of  a  particular  theory  of  moral 
philosophy  that  Shaftesbury  is. 
chiefly  remembered  in  England. 
His  fame,  even  in  that  province  of 
speculation,  has  become  rather - 
dim.  Professor  Bain,  in  his  recent 
Handbook  of  Moral  Philosophy^ 
exiles  him  to  a  humble  footnote; 
yet  he  exerted  a  very  powerful 
influence  upon  Butler,  Hutcheson^ 
and  other  English  moralists ;  and 


80 


Shafteshwry'g '  OharadBristics' 


[Januarj 


for  thai,  if  for  no  other  reason^ 
his  yievirs  deserve  some  attention. 
They  will  be  best  expounded  by 
starbing  from  the  consideration  of 
the  iaflaences  which  chiefly  contri- 
bated  to  his  intellectual  develop- 
ment. 

Shaftesbury,  it  need   hardly  be 
said,  was  by  birth  and  education  a 
fitting  representative  of  the  Whig 
aristocracy  iu  its  palmiest  period. 
The  grandson   of   Achitophel,  and 
brought  up  under  the  influence  of 
Locke,  he  imbibed  from  his  cradle 
the  prejudices  of  the  party  which 
triumphed    in    the    Revolution  of 
1688.     Daring    his    political    life, 
though  short    and  interrupted  by 
ill- health,  he  was  a  supporter  of  the 
Revolution   principles,    and  if   he 
diverged  from  his  party  he  professed 
to  diverge  from  them  W  adhering 
more  consistently  to  their  essential 
doctrines.     He  accepted  the  Whig 
shibboleth  of  those  days;  he  was 
in  favour  of  short  parliaments,  op- 
posed to  standing  armies,  and  ready 
to  exclude  all  pensioners  from  seats 
in  the  House  of  Commons.     Above 
all  he  Hhared  the  Whig  antipathy  to 
the  High  Church  principles  of  the 
day.  The  whole  party  from  Atterbury 
to  Sacheverell  was  utterly  hateful  to 
him.     The  Church  of  England  had 
been  deprived  by  the  Revolution  of 
the  power  of  persecution,  but  it  still 
regained  ezdusire  privileges.    Dis- 
senters though  not  liable  to  punish- 
ment, were  not  admitted  to  full 
citizenship.       Sound    Churchmen, 
though  compelled  to  accept  tolera- 
tion, clung  all  the  more  anxiously 
to  the  remnants  of  their  old  supre- 
macy.    To  all  Ruoh  claims  Shaftes- 
bury was  radically  opposed.     He 
vfBA    not  indeed,    as  without    an 
Anachronism    he  could    not    have 
been,  opposed  to  a  State  Church. 
On  the  contrary,  he  regarded  it  as 
a  valuable  institution,  but  valuable 
not,  as  justifying  the  pretensions  of 
priests;  but  a^  tying  their  hands. 
He  held  substantially  the  opinion 
which  is  oominon  amongst  a  very 


large  body  of  Jaymon  at  the  present 
day.  A  Church,  in  strict  sabordi« 
nation  to  the  power  of  the  laity,  is 
an  admirable  machinery  for  keeping 
priestly  vagaries  within  bounds. 
With  a  contemptuous  irony  he 
professes  (Mis,  V.  §  3)  his  *  steady 
orthodoxy,  resignation,  and  entire 
submission  to  the  truly  Christian 
and  Catholic  doctrines  of  pur  holy 
Church,  as  by  law  established.*  He 
held  in  the  popular  phrase  that  the 
Thirty-nine  Articles  were  articles  of 
peace ;  that  is  to  say,  that  they  were 
useful  to  make  controversialists 
hold  their  tongues,  though  it  woald 
be  quite  another  thing  if  one  were 
asked  to  believe  them.  For  their 
own  sakes,  he  loved  Dissenters  as 
little  as  Churchmen,  and  despised 
them  more ;  his  ideal  was  sn  era  of 
general  indifference,  in  which  the 
ignorant  might  be  provided  with 
dogmas  for  their  amusement,  and 
wise  men  smile  at  them  in  secret. 
The  doctrines  of  all  theologians,  in 
fact,  were  inflnitely  contemptible  in 
the  eyes  of  cultivated  persons ;  bat 
the  attempt  to  get  rid  of  them 
would  cause  a  great  deal  of  useless 
disturbance.  The  best  plan  was  to 
keep  the  old  institution  in  peace 
and  quiet,  and  to  allow  it  to  die  as 
quietly  as  might  be. 

In  all  this  there  was  nothing 
peculiar  to  Shaftesbury,  nor  even 
to  Shaftesbury's  era.  So  far  he 
might  have  been  an  ordinary  repre- 
sentative  of  the  great  Revolution 
families,  who,  when  their  position 
was  once  secure,  were  content  with 
keeping  things  tolerably  quiet  so 
long  as  they  could  divide  plsci^s 
and  profit.  He  might  have  drunk 
to  the  glorious  and  immortal 
memory  of  our  deliverer,  and  have 
become  a  candidate  for  office  under 
Oodolphin  or  Harley.  Circum- 
stances, however,  led  to  his  imbib- 
ing doctrines  of  a  less  commonplace 
character.  He  remsined  a  member 
of  the  English  aristocraoy-r-at  a 
time,  it  must  be  added,  when  the 
Bngliah  anatooraey  not  only  go. 


1873] 


Shaftesbury^a  * Charaeterlstics.* 


81 


vented  the  oauntry,  bat  was  qoali* 
fied  to  gOTem  bj  a  more  liberal 
spirit  than  that  which  animated  the 
class  immediately  below  it.  But  in 
him  the  English  aristocrat  was 
covered  hj  a  polish  derived  from  a 
peculiar  fining.  At  an  early  age 
he  had  been  sent  to  Winchester. 
The  proverbial  generosity  and  high 
spirit  of  an  English  pnblic  school  ex- 
hibited itself  by  making  the  place 
too  hot  to  hold  him,  as  some  retri- 
botion  for  the  sins  of  his  grand- 
father. Perhaps  he  had  to  learn 
the  meaning  of  '  tnnding.'  He  had 
already  acquired  a  familiarity  with 
tJje  classical  languages  by  the  same 
method  as  Montagne,  nnder  the 
guidance  of  a  learned  lady,  a  Mrs. 
Birch,  and  was  able  to  enjoy  read- 
ing Greek  and  Latin  literature  in- 
stead of  having  small  doses  of 
grammar  pressed  upon  him  by 
scholastic  drillmasters.  At  a  later 
period  he  made  one  of  those  con- 
tinental tours  from  which  yonng 
men  of  promise  and  position  must 
sometimes  have  derived  a  training 
Ttttiier  different  from  that  which 
ialU  to  the  lot  of  the  modem  tourist. 
In  Italy  he  learnt  to  have  a  ta^te, 
and  his  writings  are  coloured,  and 
sometimes  to  an  unpleasant  degree, 
by  the  peculiar  phraseology  of  the  ar- 
tistic connoissenr.  In  Holland  he 
made  the  acquaintance  of  the  lead- 
era  of  European  criticism,  Bayle 
and  Leclerc.  He  learnt  that  Eng- 
land was  not  the  whole  world,  and 
discovered  that  the  orthodox  dogmas 
did  not  entirely  satisfy  the  demands 
of  the  enquiring  minds  of  the  time. 
He  acquired,  in  shorty  certain  cos- 
mopolitan tendencies.  'Our  best 
policy  and  breeding,'  he  complains 
(if«.  HI.  ch.  i.),  *  is,  it  seems,  to 
look  abroad  as  little  as  possible; 
contract  our  views  within  the  nar- 
rowest possible  compass,  and  despise 
all  knowledge, leaming,and manners 
which  are  not  of  home  growth.' 
Had  the  term  been  popularised  in 
his  day,  he  would  have,  complained 
o£  flia.  Philistine^  tendencies  of  hia. 


countrymen,  and  insisted  upon  that 
unfortunate  provincialism  which  is 
characteristic  even  of  our  best  wri- 
ters. He  has  little  hopes,  he  tells  us 
(Mis.  III.  ch.  i.),  of  being  relished 
by  any  of  his  countrymen,  except* 
'  those  who  delight  in  the  open  and 
free  commerce  of  the  world,  and 
are  rejoiced  to  gather  views  and 
receive  light  from  every  quarter.' 
He  is  always  insisting  upon  the 
importance  of  cultivating  a  reGned 
taste,  as  .the  sole  guide  in  art  and 
philosophy.  *  To  philosophise  in 
a  just  signification  is  but  to  carry 
good  breeding  a  step  higher '  (ib.). 
'  The  taste  of  beauty  and  the  relish 
of  what  is  decent,  just  and  amiable, 
perfects  the  character  of  the  gentle- 
man and  the  philosopher.'  The 
person  who  has  thoroughly  learnt 
this  lesson  is  called,  in  his  old- 
fashioned  dialect,  the  '  virtuoso  ; ' 
and  the  various  phrases  in  which 
he  expounds  his  doctrines  may  be 
translated  into  modern  language, 
by  saying  that  he  is  a  prophet  of 
culture,  a  believer  in  '  Geist,'  and 
a  constant  preacher  of  the  advan- 
tages of  sweetness  and  light.  In 
short,  Lord  Shaftesbury  was  the 
Matthew  Arnold  of  Queen  Anne's 
reign.  Mr.  Arnold,  indeed,  pos- 
sesses what  Shaftesbury  only  ima- 
gined himself  to  possess — an  ele-* 
gant  style;  and  the  modern  re- 
presentative of  the  school  would 
be  unworthy  of  his  predecessor  if 
he  had  not  profited  by  the  later 
triumphs  of  modem  thought.  Yet, 
making  allowance  for  the  difference 
of  their  surroundings,  the  analogy 
is  as  close  as  could  be  wished,  and 
may  serve  to  render  Shaftesbury's 
opinions  more  intelligible  to  modern 
readers. 

Imagine,  then,  Mr.  Arnold  trans- 
planted backwards  for  a  century 
and  a  half.  In  what  way  would  he 
regard  the  contemporary  currents  of 
thought?  The  answer  will  give 
a  rough  approximation  to  Lord 
Shaftesbury's  views,  though,  of 
coiunie^  it-would,  be  un&ir  to  insist 

G  a 


82 


Shaftesbury* u  *  CharacierUtics.' 


[JaxuMTf 


too  strongly  upon  the  resemblance, 
and  we  may,  without  any  help  ^m 
such  indirect  methods,  interrogate 
Shaftesbnry  himself. 

His  first  two  treatises  give  us  his 
view  of  contemporary  theologians. 
^he  Letter  concermng  Enthimaamyfza 
provoked  by  the  strange  perform- 
ances of  the  French  prophets,  who 
were  holding  revivals  and  working 
miracles  in  London  amidst  an  un- 
believing population.  The  old  spirit 
of  Puritanism  was  at  its  very  lowest 
ebb.  The  generation  of  Dissenters 
which  had  produced  Baxter  and 
Bunyan  had  passed  away;  that 
which  was  to  produce  Wesley  and 
Whitefield  was  still  in  its  cradles. 
Nothing  remained  but  a  grovelling 
superstition,  unlovely  in  its  mani- 
festations, and  ridiculous  to  the 
cultivated  intellect  of  the  time. 
Shaftesbury  speaks  of  their  per- 
formances as  a  Saturday  Reviewer 
might  speak  of  an  American  camp- 
meeting.  Their  supposed  miracles 
are  explained  by  the  natural  con- 
tagion of  an  excited  crowd  of 
fanatics.  '  No  wonder  if  the  blaze 
rises  of  a  sudden;  when  innu- 
merable eyes  glow  with  the  passion, 
and  heavmg  breasts  are  labouring 
with  inspiration;  when  not  the 
aspect  only,  but  the  very  breath 
and  exhalations  of  men  are  infec- 
tious, and  the  inspiring  disease  im- 
parts itself  by  immediate  transpira- 
tion.* {ETdhusiobsm^^  6,)  For  such 
a  disease  there  is  one  complete 
panacea.  Ridicule  is  the  proper 
remedy  for  &naticism.  Persecution 
would  fan  the  flame.  These  char- 
latans would  be  grateful  if  we 
would  only  be  so  obliging  as  to 
break  their  bones  for  l^em  'after 
their  (the  French)  country  fashion, 
blow  up  their  zeal,  and  stir  afresh 
the  coals  of  persecution.'  (lb,  §  3.) 
We  have  had  the  good  sense  instead 
of  burning  them  to  make  them  the 
subject  of  a  '  puppet-show  at  Bar- 
t'lemy  fair  *  (t5.)  ;  and  Shaftesbury 
ventures  to  suggest  that  if  the 
Jews  had  shown  tilieir  malice  seren* 


teen  centuries  before,  not  by  cruci- 
fixion, but  by  '  sucb  puppet-shows 
as  at  this  hour  the  Papists  are  act- 
ing* (tft.),  they  would  have  done 
much  more  harm  to  our  religion. 

The  evil  which  lay  at  the  bottom 
of  these  displays  was  that  delusion 
to  which  our  ancestors  gave  the 
name  of  enthusiasm.  In  appro- 
priating that  word  exclusively  to 
its  nobler  meaning,  we  have  lost 
something,  though  the  change  is  sig- 
nificant of  some  desirable  changes ; 
for,  in  truth,  enthusiasm,  as  Shaftes- 
bury defines  it,  is  an  ugly  pheno- 
menon. 'Inspiration,*  he  saya,  'is 
a  real  feeling  of  the  Divine  presence, 
and  enthusiasm  a  false  one '  {ih,  §  7), 
to  which  he  adds  significantly  that 
the  passions  aroused  are  much  alike 
in  the  two  cases.  To  mistake  our 
own  impulses  for  the  immediate 
dictates  of  our  Creator  is  indeed  a 
grievous  blunder,  and  when  the 
mistake  is  made  by  a  passionate 
and  ignorant  fanatic,  it  is  especially 
offensive  to  the  man  of  culture. 
Shaftesbury,  however,  is  careful  to 
point  out  that  enthusiasm  was  not 
confined  to  ignorant  Dissenters.  It 
supplied  also  the  leverage  by  which 
the  imposing  hierarchy  of  Rome 
forced  their  dominion  upon  an 
unenlightened  world.  Enthusiasm 
may  appeal  to  the  senses  as  well  as 
the  spirit.  With  the  marvellous 
skill  which  wise  men  have  admired, 
even  whilst  revolted  by  its  results, 
the  priests  of  that  august  and  vene- 
rable Church  succeeded  in  turning 
to  account  all  the  weaknesses  of 
mankind.  Instead  of  opposing  the 
torrent,  they  ingeniously  forced  it 
into  their  service.  To  provide  for 
enthusiasm  of  the  loftier  kind,  they 
allowed  *  their  mysticks  to  write 
and  teach  in  the  most  rapturous  and 
seraphic  strains.*  {Mis.  II.  ch.  2.) 
To  the  vulgar  they  appealed  by  tem- 
ples, statues,  paintings,  vestmenti^ 
and  all  the  gorgeous  pomp  of  ritual. 
Allowing  a  full  career  to  all  the 
thaumaturgical  juggleries  of  monks 
and  wandering  friars,  they  also  per- 


1873] 


Sha/Ushuri^'B  ^  OharacterUtics.* 


8B 


mitted  '  ingenious '  writers '  to  call 
these  ?ronders  in  question '  in  a  civil 
manner.'  No  wonder,  he  exclaims, 
if  Rome,  the  seat  of  a  monarchy 
resting  on  foundations  laid  so  deep 
b  haman  nature,  appeals  to  this  day 
to  the  imagination  of  all  spectators, 
thoogh  some  are  charmed  into  a  de- 
sire for  reunion,  whilst  others  con- 
ceive a  deadly  hatred  for  all  priestly 
domiDion. 

Sbaflesbury,  of  course,  belongs 
to  the  latter  category.  For  this,  as 
for  its  twin  form  of  enthusiasm,  he 
still  bad  recourse  to  the  remedy  of 
ridicaie.  He  maintained  as  a  general 
principle,  and  thereby  bitterly  of- 
fended many  solemn  theologians, 
that  raillery  was  the  test  of  truth. 
Tnith,  he  says,  ^  may  bear  all  lights ' 
{WU  afid  Humour f  Pt.  I.  §  i),  and 
one  of  the  principal  lights  is  cast  by 
ridicule.  He  compresses  into  this 
axiom  the  theory  practically  exem- 
piiiied  by  the  Deists  and  their  pupil, 
Voltaire,  and  he  gives  the  best  de- 
fence that  can  be  made.  Satire,  we 
know,  is  the  art  of  saying  every- 
tliing  in  a  country  where  it  is  for- 
bidden to  say  anything.  Ridicule 
i*  the  natural  retort  to  tyranny. 
^  Tis  the  persecuting  spirit  that  has 
raised  the  bantering  one.'  (16.  §  4.) 
The  doctrine  should,  perhaps,  be 
qo^fied.  When  men  are  sufiBciently 
in  earnest  to  fight  for  their  creeds, 
they  are  too  much  in  earnest  for 
laughter.  It  is  at  a  later  period, 
when  the  prestige  has  survived  the 
power,  when  priests  bluster  but 
cannot  bum,  when  heterodoxy  is 
stiil  wicked  but  no  longer  criminal, 
that  satire  may  fairly  come  into 
play  The  dogmas  whose  founda- 
tioDs  have  been  sapped  by  reason, 
^  are  still  balanced  in  unstable 
eqnilibrinm,  can  be  toppled  over  by 
the  shafts  of  ridicule.  Its  use  is 
not  possible  till  freedom  of  dis- 
cussion is  allowed,  and  not  be- 
coming when  free  discussion  has 
produced  its  natural  fruit  of  setting 
all  disputants  on  equal  terms.  Bidi- 
cole  clear*  the  airland  disperses 


the  miste  of  preconceived  prejudice. 
When  they  have  once  vanished,  the 
satirist  should  give  place  to  the 
calm  logician.  Shaftesbury,  thongh 
an  advocate  of  the  use  of  ridicule, 
was,  as  we  have  said,  very  unskil- 
ful in  its  application ;  nor  is  he  to 
be  reckoned  amongst  the  Deists  who 
made  an  unscrupulous  use  of  this 
rather  questionable  weapon.  He 
does  not  aim  at  justifying  scoffers, 
but  rather  desiderates  that  calm 
frame  of  mind  which  is  appropriate 
to  the  cultivated  critic.  In  his  own 
dialect,  he  is  in  favour  of  'good 
humour '  rather  than  of  a  mocking 
humour.  *  Grood  humour  is  not  only 
the  bestsecurity  against  enthusiasm,* 
he  tells  us, '  but  the  best  foundation 
of  piety  and  true  religion . '  (Enth ei- 
siasm,  §  3.)  Good  humour  is,  in  fact, 
the  disposition  natural  to  the  philo- 
sopher when  enthusiasm  has  been 
exorcised  from  religion.  Shaftes- 
bury's ideal,  as  we  shall  presently 
see,  is  a  placid  and  contented  atti- 
tude of  thought,  resting  on  a  pro- 
found conviction  that  everything  is 
for  the  best,  and  a  perception  of  the 
deep  underlying  harmonies  which 
pervade  the  world.  The  sour  fana- 
tic and  the  bigoted  priests  are  at 
the  opposite  poles  of  disturbance, 
whilst  he  dwells  in  the  temperate 
latitudes  of  serene  contemplation. 
He  shares  with  the  Deists,  and,  in- 
deed, with  all  the  ablest  thinkers  of 
his  time,  with  Locke  and  Clarke,  as 
well  as  with  Collins  and  Tindal,  the 
fundamental  dogma  of  the  ration- 
alists, the  necessity  of  freedom  of 
discussion ;  but  he  wishes  for  free- 
dom, not  to  enable  him  to  attack 
the  established  creeds,  but  to  adapt 
the  intellectual  atmosphere  to  a 
gradual  spread  of  philosophical 
sentiment. 

This  tendency  of  Shaftesbury  dis- 
tinguishes him  from  the  ordinary 
Deist.  The  difference  of  his  temper 
is  indeed  so  marked  that  Mr.  Hunt 
{Religioua  Thought  m  England^  Vol. 
II.  pp.  342  seq.)  scruples  to  reckon 
him    amongst   them.      Mr.    Hunt 


84 


Shc^iethmy's  *■  Gharaeteristies.* 


[JanuBry 


is,  it  seems  to  me^  uvaeoessarily 
anxioas  to  defend  tb&  Deists,  ia 
general  trom  the  charge  of  Deism. 
It  Qiatters  little  whether  Shaftesn 
bury  carod  to  veneer  his  ratiooalisai 
ivith  Christian  phraseology  or  not. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  believe  him 
to  have  bjen  consciously  a  Deist ; 
and  a  comparison  of  the  passages 
brought  together  by  Dr.  Spicker 
will,  I  think,  establish  the  charge,  if 
it  must  be  called  a  charge.  Nothing, 
however,  could  be  farther  from 
his  intention  than  to  adopt  an  atti* 
tude  of  unequivocal  hostility  to  that 
vague  body  of  amiable  doctrine 
which  was  then  maintaiaed  by  the 
latitudinarian  divines,  and  which, 
in  our  days,  is  reflected  in  what  is 
called  '  unsectarian  Christianity.' 
It  suited  his  purpose  very  well ;  and 
so  long  as  priests  were  well  nnder 
the  heel  of  the  secular  power,  why 
trouble  oneself  too  much  about  their 
harmles-)  crotchets  ?  At  one  place 
he  sets  himself  to  prove  three  points: 
first,  that  '  wit  and  humour  are  cor- 
roborative of  religion  and  promotive 
of  true  faith ; '  secondly,  that  they 
have  been  ui^ed  by  *the  holy  founders 
of  religion ; '  and  thirdly,  that  *  we 
have,  in  the  main,  a  witty  and  good 
humoured  religion.'  (Mis,  11.  ch. 
3. )  He  passes  with  suspicious  light- 
ness over  the  proof  of  the  last  head  ; 
bat  the  phrase,  ''in  the  main,'  is 
evidently  intended  to  exclude  a  vast 
body  of  doctrine  which  generally 
passed  for  orthodox,  but  which,  in 
his  opinion,  was  the  product  of 
splenetic  fanaticism.  So  long,  how- 
ever, as  religion  makes  no  unplea- 
sant demands  upon  him,  he  will 
not  quarrel  with  its  clauses.  He 
'speaks  with  contempt  of  the 
mockery  of  modem  miracles  and 
inspiration;'  he  regards  them  all 
as  *  mere  imposture  or  delusion ; ' 
on  the  miracles  of  past  ages  he 
resigns  his  judgment  to  his  supe- 
riors, and  on  all  occasions  *  submits 
m()st  willingly,  and  with  full  con- 
fi.lence  and  trust,  to  the  opinions 
by    law    established.'      (Mis.    II. 


chi  2.)  It  would  be  hard  lo 
speak  more  plainly.  A  miracle 
which  happened  1700  years  ago 
hurt  nobody;  but  any  pretence  to 
discovering  Divine  action  in  the^ 
modem  world  must  be  rejected 
with  contempt  as  so  much  im- 
posture. He  is  quite  ready  to  take 
off  his  hat  to  the  official  idols  of  the 
day ;  but  it  is  on  condition  of  their 
keeping  themselves  quiet,  and  work- 
ing no  more  miracles.  The  dogma 
that  miracles  have  ceased  Ls  the 
best  guard  against  modem  fanatics 
and  sectaries ;  and  our  belief  mast 
rest  not  upon  signs  and  wonders, 
but  on  the  recognition  of  uniform 
order  throughout  the  universe.  - 
With  such  views,  the  chief 
temptation  to  shock  the  sensibilitaes 
of  orthodox  writers  was  afforded  by 
the  Jews.  The  bare  mention  of 
that  barbarous  and  enthusiastic  race 
was  enough  to  startle  every  Dei^t, 
open  or  concealed,  out  of  his  pro* 
priety.  They  were  the  type  of 
everything  that  was  hateful  in  his 
eyes,  and  their  language  was  im- 
movably associated  with  the  most 
recent  outbreaks  of  enthusiasm. 
The  idol  of  the  Puritans  was  the 
bugbear  of  the  Deists.  Shaftesbury 
hated  them  with  the  hatred  of 
Voltaire.  When  writing  as  a 
literary  critic,  his  examples  of  sub- 
jects totally  unsuitable  for  poetic 
treatment  are  taken  from  Scripture 
history.  No  poet,  as  the  friend  of 
Bayle  naturally  thinks,  could  make 
Dnvid  interesting.  '  Such  are  some 
human  hearts  that  they  can  hardly 
find  the  least  sympathy  with  t-hat 
only  one  which  had  the  character 
of  iuing  after  the  pattern  of  the 
Almighty.'  (Advice  to  an  Auihor^ 
Pt.  III.  §  3.)  When  writing  as 
a  novelist,  again,  he  illustrates  the 
bad  influences  of  superstition  as 
opposed  to  genuine  religion  from 
the  same  fertile  source.  If  there  i-4 
anytuirig,  he  says,  in  a  system  of 
worship  '  which  teaches  men  treach- 
ery, ingratitude,  or  cruelty*  by 
Divine  warrant,  or  nnder  ooloar  and 


1873] 


Shafteahwry's  *  Gharacterietics,* 


85 


pretence  of  aaj  present  ov  fntare 
pood  to  mankind ;  if  there  be  any- 
thing which  teaches  how  to  per- 
secute their  friends  through  love ; 
or  to  torment  captives  of  war  in 
sport ;  or  to  offer  hnman  sacrifice, 
or  to  torment,  macerate,  or  mangle 
themselves,  in  a  religions  zeal,  be- 
fore their  God ;  or  to  commit  any 
sort  of  barbarity  or  bmtality,  as 
amiable  or  becoming,'  such  prac- 
tices, whether  sanctioned  by  custom 
or  religion,  mast  remain  *  horrid 
depravity.'  (Virtue,  Boqk  I.  Pt. 
11  §  3.)  A  deity,  he  presently 
adds,  who  is  furious  and  revenge- 
fal,  who  punishes  those  who  have 
not  sinned,  who  encourages  deceit 
and  treachery,  and  is  partial  to  a 
few,  will  generate  similar  vices 
among  his  worshippers.  (lb,  Pt. 
IV,  §  2.)  The  reference  to  the 
Jews  in  these  passages,  sufficiently 
plain  in  itself,  is  more  explicitly 
pointed  in  his  subsequent  writing^. 
The  remark  npon  human  sacrifices, 
for  example,  is  explained  by  refe- 
rence to  the  story  of  Abraham  and 
Isaac  (Mis.  II.  ch.  3),  and  the 
origin  of  enthusiasm  is  discovered 
in  priest-ridden  Egypt,  whence  it 
was  derived  by  the  servile  imitation 
of  the  Jews.  Shaftesbury  was  cer- 
tainly a  Theist ;  but  it  is  equally 
plain  that  he  was  not  a  worshipper 
of  Jehovah.  Whether  the  form  of 
belief  which  is  generated  by  purify- 
ing Christianity  of  its  Judaising  and 
Romanising  elements  may  &irly  be 
called  Deism,  is  a  question  of  no 
great  importance ;  whatever  its 
proper  name,  it  would  roughly 
describe  Shaftesbury's  religious 
theories. 

Meanwhile,  Shaftesbury  was  anx- 
ious to  reconstruct  as  well  as  to  de- 
Btroy,  or  at  any  rate  to  save  from 
the  wrecks  of  the  old  creed  enough 
to  make  a  tolerable  refuge  for  the 
CQlta?aied  human  soul.  Suppose, 
he  says,  that  we  had  *  lived  in  Asia 
at  i^  time  when  the  Magi,  by  an 
egregious  imposture,  had  got  poa. 
Beeaioa  of  the  empire;'   imagine 


that  their  many  cheats  and  abuses 
had  made  them  justly  hateful ;  bat 
imagine  forther  that  they  had  en- 
deavoured to  recommend  themselves 
by  establishing  the  best  possible 
moral  maxims :  what  would  be  the 
right  course  to  pursue  ?  (  Wit  and 
Hummr,  Pt.  II.  §  i.)  Would  you 
try  to  destroy  both  the  Magi  and 
their  doctrines ;  to  repudiate  every 
moral  and  religious  principle,  every 
natural  and  social  affection,  and 
make  men,  as  much  as  possible, 
wolves  to  each  other?  That,  he 
says,  was  the  course  pursued  by 
Hobbes,  who,  both  in  politics  and 
religion,  went  on  the  principle  of 
'  magophony,'  '  or  indiscriminate 
slaughter  of  his  opponents.  The 
reaction  against  old  opinions  was 
carried  by  that  great  thinker, 
the  man  who  did  more  than  any 
other  to  stimulate  English  thonglit 
during  the  century  which  followed 
his  death,  to  an  extravagant  excess. 
Shaftesbury  had  been  profoundly 
influenced  by  Hobbes's  chief  oppo- 
nents, the  Cambridge  Platonists, 
and  even  wrote  a  preface  to  a  volume 
of  sermons  published  by  Whicbcot, 
one  of  their  number.  His  ambition 
was  to  confine  the  destructive 
agency  represented  by  Hobbes 
within  due  limits,  and  to  prese've 
what  was  good  in  the  old  creed 
whilst  sympathising  with  the  as- 
sault  upon  the  '  Mngi,'  who  had 
made  their  own  profit  out  of  the 
perversions  of  the  religions  instinct. 
But  how  was  this  desirable  object 
to  be  accomplished  ?  The  writers 
who  in  that  age  corresponded  to 
the  modem  Broad  Churchmen  af- 
fected a  kind  of  metaphysical  theo- 
logy* Clarke,  the  ablest  rationalist 
amongst  the  clergy,  formed  his  sys- 
tem from  the  fragments  of  Des 
Cartes,  Spinoza,  and  Leibnitz. 
Clarke  occupied  towards  them  the 
same  position  which  Dean  Mansel 
occupied  towards  recent  German 
metaphysicians.  He  hoped  to  soften 
down  their  philosophy  sufficiently 
to  press  it  into  the  service  of  Chris- 


86 


Shafleslmry*s  '  CfiaraderintLCs,' 


[January 


tianitj.  His  chief  book  aims  at 
being  a  kind  of  theological  Euclid, 
starting  from  certain  primary  ax- 
ioms as  to  matter,  force,  and  causa- 
tion, and  proving  the  existence  and 
attributes  of  Ood  as  Euclid  proves 
the  relations  between  the  sides  and 
angles  of  a  triangle.  Should  Shaftes- 
bury associate  himself  with  writers 
of  this  class  P  His  cosmopolitan 
training  told  him  that  their  day 
was  already  past.  Then,  as  more 
recently  in  Germany,  metaphysi- 
cians had  erected  a  vast  tower  of 
Babel,  intending  to  scale  heaven 
from  earth.  Like  the  work  of  the 
ancient  labourers  on  the  plains  of 
Shinar,  their  ambitious  edifice  was 
all  falling  to  ruins,  and  its  sole 
result  had  been  to  create  a  jargon 
detestable  to  all  intelligent  men. 
Shaftesbury  uniformly  speaks  of 
metaphysics  with  a  bitter  contempt. 
The  study  represented  to  him  no- 
thing but  a  set  of  barren  formulas 
£tted  only  for  the  pedants  of  the 
schools.  .Their  doctrines  were,  in 
the  German  phrase,  a  mere  Hmi" 
geftpinnat — a  flimsy  cobweb  of  the 
brain.  The  philosophers  are  'a 
sort  of  moonblind  wits,  who,  though 
very  acute  and  able  in  their  way, 
may  be  said  to  renounce  daylight 
and  extinguish,  in  a  manner,  the 
bright  visible  outside  world,  by  al- 
lowing us  to  know  nothing  besides 
what  we  can  prove,  by  strict  and 
.formal  demonstration.'  (Mis,  IV. 
ch.  2.)  He  ridicules  the  philo- 
sophical speculations  about  'forma- 
tion of  ideas,  their  compositions, 
comparisons,  agreement  and  dis- 
agreement.' (Soliloquy,  Pt.  IV.  §  i.) 
Philosophy,  in  his  sense,  is  nothing 
but  the  study  of  happiness  (UoraU 
ists,  III.  ch.  3),  and  all  these  discus- 
sions as  to  substances,  entities,  and 
the  eternal  and  immutable  value  of 
things,  and  pre-established  harmo- 
nies, and  occasional  causes,  and 
primary  and  secondary  qualities, 
are  so  much  empty  sound.  'The 
most  ingenious  way  of  becoming 
fooh'sh,*  as  he  very  truly  says,  *  is 


by  a  system '  (Soliloquy,  Pt.  III. 
§  i) ;  and,  in  truth,  the  sys- 
tems then  existing  w«re  rapidly 
going  the  way  of  many  that  had 
preceded  and  of  many  that  were  to 
follow  them.  But  should  Shafles- 
bury  follow  the  thinkers  who  were 
preparing  their  downfall,  such  as 
his  own  preceptor  Locke,  or  en- 
deavour to  anticipate  Berkeley  and 
Hume?  From  any  such  attempt 
he  was  precluded  both  by  his  op- 
position to  purely  sceptical  specu- 
lation, and  by  a  want  of  metaphysi- 
cal acuteness.  The  first  is  shown 
by  his  condemnation  of  Locke,  and 
the  second  by  the  fact  that  whilst 
repudiating  the  metaphysical  theo- 
rists, he  really  takes  from  them  the 
central  support  of  his  own  doc- 
trines. 

Thus  far  we  have  traced  Shaftes- 
bury by  his  antipathies.  Repre- 
senting the  objects  of  his  enmity 
by  modem  names,  we  might  com- 
pare him  to  a  modern  thinker  who 
should  be  opposed  to  Mr.  Mill's 
experiential  philosophy,  to  Dean 
Mansel's  adaptation  of  German  me- 
taphysics, to  Dr.  Newman's  Catho- 
licism, and  to  Mr.  Spnrgeon's  Pro- 
testantism ;  who  should  agree  with 
Bishop  Colenso*s  attacks  on  the 
letter  of  the  Bible,  but  think  them 
painfully  wanting  in  breadth  of 
view ;  and  who  should  have  been 
deeply  influenced  by  the  teaching 
of  Coleridge,  and  yet  have  cast  it 
ofi*  as  too  reactionary  in  spirit.  Sub- 
stitute for  those  names  Locke, 
Clarke,  Bossuet,  the  French  pro- 
phets, Collins  and  Cudworth,  and 
we  have  a  very  fair  repetition  of 
Shaftesbury's  position.  The  re- 
semblance between  the  state  of  opi- 
tion  then  and  now  is  probably  the 
cause  of  the  interest  still  attached 
by  Dr.  Spicker  to  Shaflesbury'a 
teachings. 

The  deluge  is  rising  higher  than 
of  old  ;  and  the  ark  in  which  later 
metaphysicians  promised  to  save  a 
select  few  shows  ominously  symp- 
toms   of    foundering    altogether. 


1873] 


Shaftesbury's  ^  Charaeterig  tet.' 


87 


Whilst  it  is  jet  time,  cannot  we 
pot  together  some  rafl  from  the 
floating  wreck,  which  may  in  time 
bring  ns  to  the  new  and  happier 
world  ? 

Shallesbaiy's  first  effort  was  to 
cast  ov^board  certain  Jonahs  in 
the  shape  of  dogmatic  divines.  To 
be  less  metaphorical,  he  endeavoured 
to  render  morality  independent  of 
the  old  theology.  He  opposes  new 
theories  to  the  theological  concep- 
tions of  the  universe,  of  human  na- 
ture, and  of  motives  to  virtue.  A 
belief  in  God  is  indeed  an  essential 
part  of  his  system;  but  the  God 
whom  He  worships  is  hardly  the 
God  of  Christians,  any  more  than 
Ue  is  the  God  of  the  Jews.  The  be- 
lief in  justice  must,  as  he  urges, 
precede  the  belief  in  a  just  God. 
{Virhu^  Book  I.  Pt.  ni.  §  2.) 
Theism  follows  from  moraliiy,  not 
morality  from  Theism.  And  thns 
'  religion '  (by  which  he  means  a 
belidf  in  Grod)  *  is  capable  of  doing 
great  good  or  great  harm,  and 
Atheism  nothing  positive  in  either 
way.'  A  belief  in  a  bad  deity  will 
produce  bad  worshippers,  as  a  be- 
lief in  a  good  deity  produces  good 
ones.  Atheism,  indeed,  implies  an 
unhealthy  frame  of  mind,  for  it 
means  a  belief  that  we  are  *  living 
in  a  distracted  uniyerse,*  which  can 
prodnce  in  us  no  emotions  of  re- 
verence and  love,  and  thns  it  tends 
to  embitter  the  temper  and  impair 
*  the  very  principle  of  virtue,  natu- 
ral and  kind  affection.'  (lb,  Pt. 
III.  §  3.)  A  belief  in  God, 
on  the  other  hand,  means  with 
Shaftesbury  a  perception  of  harmo- 
nions  order,  and  a  mind  in  unison 
with  the  system  of  which  it  forms  a 
part.  Atheism  is  the  discordant, 
and  Theism  the  harmonious,  utter- 
ance given  out  by  our  nature  ac- 
cording as  it  is  or  is  not  in  tune 
with  the  general  order. 

ir  at  times  he  uses  language 
which  would  fit  into  an  orthodox 
seruum  about  a  '  personal  God*  (see 


MoraltstSf  Pfc.  II.  §  3),  he  more  fre- 
quently seems  to  draw  his  inspira- 
tion from  Spinoza. 

At  the  bottom  of  all  Shaftesbury's 
eloquence  lies  the  doctrine  of  optim- 
ism, which  he  shares  with  Leibnitz, 
•Whatever  is,  is  right,'  as  Pope 
expressed  the  lesson  which  he  per- 
haps learnt  from  Shaftesbury,  or  in 
the  phrase  of  Pangloss,  'Everything 
is  for  the  best  in  this  best  of  all 
possible  worlds.'  He  opens  the. 
Enquiry  irdo  Virtue  by  arguing  that 
there  is  no  real  ill  in  the  universe. 
All  that  is  apparently  ill  is  the 
mere  effect  of  our  ignorance.  The 
weakness  of  the  human  infant,  for 
example,  is  the  cause  of  parental 
affiection;  and  all  philanthropical 
influences  are  founded  on  the  wants 
of  man.  *What  can  be  happier 
than  such  a  deficiency  as  is  the 
occasion  of  so  much  good  ? ' 
{Moralists,  Pt.  II.  §  4.)  If  there 
be  a  supremely  good  and  all-ruling 
Mind,  runs  his  argument,  there 
can  be  nothing  intrinsically  bad. 
An  inversion  of  the  logic  would 
correspond  more  accurately  to  his 
state  of  mind.  He  believes  in 
God  because  he  will  not  believe  in 
the  reality  of  evil.  The  Deity  gives 
him  the  leverage  of  repelling  all 
ill  from  the  world.  Christians,  it 
is  sometimes  said,  are  forced  to 
believe  in  a  Devil  as  the  antithesis 
of  the  good  principle ;  tbey  require 
a  scapegoat  to  b^  the  responsi- 
bility of  our  sins.  Shaftesbury 
abolishes  the  Devil  and  sin  together. 
He  refuses  to  look  at  the  dark  side 
of  things,  and  declares  it  to  be 
mere  illusion. 

In  conformity  with  this  view,  he 
expends  all  his  eloquence  upon  the 
marvellous  beauties  of  the  universe. 
We  can  perceive,  he  says,  a  universal 
frame  of  things,  dimly  indeed,  and 
yet  clearly  enough  to  throw  us  into 
ecstasies  of  adoration.  He  invokes 
the  Muses,  and  sings  prose  hymns 
to  nature  in  the  attempt  to  expand 
the  words  of  Dryden*s  hymn : — 


68 


Shafi^lmy'i  ^Oharaeteristies: 


[January 


F^m  hiinnony.  iiy>iii  b^renly  bannoa;, 

This  universal  t'rame  began, 

From  harmony  to  harmony 
Tbrongb  all  the  compass  of  the  notes  it  ran. 
The  diapason  closing  full  in  man. 

Harmony  is  Shaftesbary's  catch- 
word. On  that  te;ct  he  is  never 
tired  of  dilating.  If  in  the  general 
current  of  harmony  there  are  some 
discords,  they  are  to  be  resolved 
into  a  fuller  harmony  as  onr  intelli- 
gence rises.  If  we  complain  of 
anything  useless  in  nature,  we  are 
like  men  on  board  a  ship  in  harbour, 
aTid  ignorant  of  its  purpose,  who 
might  complain  of  the  masts  and 
sails  as  useless,  encumbrances.  He 
dwells,  however,  less  upon  metaphors 
of  this  kind,  which  suggest  Paley's 
view  of  the  Almighty  as  a  supreme 
artificer,  than  upon  the  general 
order  and  harmony  (for  that  word 
is  never  far  from  his  lips)  percepti- 
ble throughout  the  universe.  God, 
we  may  almost  say,  is  the  harmony, 
though  be  does  not  explicitly  adopt 
Pantheism.  Theocles,  the  expounder 
of  his  theory  in  Tfie  Moralists^  sets 
forth  this  view  in  a  set  hymn  to 
nature,  which,  in  spite  of  its  fomu 
aJities  and  old-fashioned  defects  of 
style,  is  at  times   really  eloquent. 

*  O  mighty  nature  1 '  he  exclaims, 

*  wise  substitute,  of  Providence, 
empowered  creatress !  Oh,  thou  em- 
powering Deity,  supreme  Creator! 
thee  I  invoke  and  thee  alone  adore  1 
To  thee  this  solitude,  this  place, 
these  rural  meditations  are  sacred  ; 
whilst  thus  inspired  with  harmony 
of  thought,  though  unconfined  by 
words  and  in  loose  numbers,  I  sing 
of  nature's  order  in  created  thinsrs, 
and  celebrate  the  beauties  which 
revolve  in  thee,  the  source  and 
principle  of  all  beauty  and  perfec- 
tion. '  There  is  beauty  in  the  laws 
of  matter,  in  sense  and  thought,  in 
the  noble  universe,  in  earth,  air, 
water,  light,,  in  the  animal  crea- 
tion and  in  natural  scenery. 
.(M^iralistSy  Pt.  III.  §1..)  Pope 
or  Wordsworth — for  the  two.  have 
some  points  in  common — ^may  ex- 


•  pound  his  views  in  rhetorical  irerae 
and  in  lofly  poetry.  We  need  not 
pursue  him  into  details. 

From   the   conception  thus  ex- 
pounded, all  Shaftesbury's  views  of 
morality  and  religion  may  be  easily 
deduced.  His  quarrel  with  the  theo- 
logians of  his  day  rests  on  &r  deep- 
er grounds  than  any  mere  quarrel 
about  Hebrew  legends  or  Christian 
miracles.     His  objection  to  belief  in 
the  letter  of  Scripture  is  a  corollary 
from  his  theory,  not  its  foundation. 
We  need  not  enquire  whether  the 
charges  which  he   brings   against 
divines  are  founded  on  a  misappre- 
hension of  the  true  spirit  of  Chrikiti- 
anity,  or  whether  upon   the  aoci- 
dental  or  the    essential   doctrines. 
To  one  great  school  of  divinity,  at 
any  rate,  he  is  wholly  opposed.   He 
charges  the  divines,  in  substance, 
with  blaspheming  Qod,the  universe, 
and  man.      They  blaspheme   God 
because    they    represent    Him    as 
angry  witli  His  creatures,  as  punish- 
ing the    innocent  for  the    guilty, 
and  appeased  by  the  sufferings  of 
the  virtuous.     They  blaspheme  the 
universe  because,'  in  their  zeal  to 
*  miraculise  everything,'   they  rest 
the  proof  of  theology  rather  upon 
the  interruptions  to  order  than  upon 
order  itself.    (Aforalt'sU,  Pt.  II.  §  4) 
They  paint  the  world  in  the  darke^^t 
colours  in  order  to  throw  a  futare 
world  into  relief,  and  thus,  as  Bo- 
linsTbroke  afterwards   put   it,  the 
divines  are  in  tacit  alliance  with 
the  Atheists.     Make  the  universe  a 
scene  of  hideous  chaos,  and  is  not 
the  inference  that  there  is  no  God 
more  lesfitimate  than  the  inference 
that  a  God  exists  to  provide  com- 
pensation   somewhere  ?       Shaftes- 
bnry's  view  may  be  compared  with 
Butler's,  whose  writings  bear  many 
traces  of  his  influence.  Shaftesbary, 
like  Butter,  insists  upon  the  neces- 
sity of  regardini^  the  universe  as  a 
half-understood  scheme.  We  cannot, 
he  says,  understand  the  part  without 
a  competent  knowledgeof  the  wholo. 
The  spider  is  made  for  the  fly,  and 


187S] 


Shafitslmy^B  *  CharaeterisHee.* 


the  fly  ibr  tlM»  spider.  The  web  and 
the  wing  are  nniied  to  each  other. 
To  anderstand  the  leaf  we  i&aat  gO 
to  the  root.  (Virtue,  Pt.  II.  4  i.) 
Every  nataralist  mast  anderstand 
the  oi^ganiaation  in  order  to  explain 
the  organs.  ( Jforoiurfo,  Pt.  II.  §4.) 
Bat  in  Ba tier's  view,  the  world  of 
sense  is  imperfect  and  anintelligible 
except  as  a  preparation  for  a  fatare 
world.  Earth  is  the  ante-room  to 
keaten  and  hell.  It  is  the  8eed*plot 
of  the  harvest  that  can  only  be 
ivaped  in  eternity.  If  man,  to 
adopt  ShaHesbary's  familiar  illas* 
tnUion,  is  the  fly,  the  Devil  is  the 
spider.  In  Shaftesbnry's  view,  on 
the  other  hand,  there  is  no  Devil 
and  no  spider  beyond  the  limits  of 
the  aui verse.  The  world  is  a  com- 
plete whole  in  itself.  The  harmony 
is  perfect  withoat  the  choras  of 
the  angels.  The  planets  sing  as 
they  shine,  *  the  hand  that  made  as 
is  Dirioe ; '  bat  they  do  not  require 
the  interpretation  of  a  snpemataral 
revelation.  The  Divinity,  he  thoaght, 
had  heen  exiled  from  the  aniverse, 
aiid  it  was  his  parpose  to  reclaim 
for  the  world  aronnd  as  the  trea- 
sures of  beanty  which  divines  had 
removed  to  heaven. 

Bat,  most  of  all,  divines  had  bias- 
phemed  man.  The  dogmas  which 
assert  the  oorraptton  of  oar  natare 
are  radically  opposed  to  Shaftes- 
bai7*8  theory.  Here,  again,  the 
same  delasion  was  to  be  enconn- 
lered.  In  their  zeal  to  vindicate 
G<>d,  the  divines  had  pronoanced 
all  oar  own  qoalities  to  be  essen- 
tially vile.  They  had  given  oar 
virtaes  to  Ood,  and  lefl  to  us  merely 
the  refnse  of  selfiHhness  and  sensa- 
ality.  This  is  the  explanation  from 
aoother  side  of  his  doctrine  of  en- 
thusiasm. Yon  call  year  own  im- 
polaea  Divine  inspiration,  he  says  in 
efect^  when  they  are  essentially 
hnman.  With  an  affectation  of  self- 
ahasement  yoa  are  really  indalgpng 
ill  bhisphemons  arrogance.  The  de- 
lasions  from  ^bich  you  saffer  are  the 
natatal  effect  of  the  miseoaeeption. 


Ood:  has  endowed  man'with  his  viri- 
taoas  as  well  as  with  his  indifferent 
and  his  vicioos.impalses^  By  arbi- 
trarily dividing  hamaniiy,  you  fall 
into  abject  saperstition,  for  yoa  are 
as  apt  to  make  yoar  Ood  oat  of 
the  vicioas  as  of  the  virtaoas  qaa- 
lities.  This  doctrine  brings  Shaftes* 
bnry  into  collision  with  the  whole 
theory  of  future  rewards  and  punish* 
ments.  He  believes,  indeed,  in  an 
immaterial  soul;  and  he  does  not 
explicitly  deny  the  existence  of  a 
hell,  or,  at  least,  he  does  not  deny 
that  a  belief  in  hell  has  its  advan- 
tages— for  the  vulgar.  But  he 
labours  energetically  to  show  that 
hopes  and  fears  of  a  future  state 
are  so  far  from  being  the  proper 
motive  to  virtue,  that  they  are 
rather  destructive  of  its  essential 
character.  Not  only  may  such 
weapons  be  pressed  into  the  service 
of  an  evil  deity,  but  they  are  radi- 
cally immoral.  The  man  who  obeys 
the  law  under  threats  is  no  better 
than  the  man  who  breaks  it  when 
at  liberty.  *  There  is  no  more  of 
rectitude,  piety  or  sanctity  in  a 
creature  thus  reformed  than  there 
is  of  meekness  or  gentleness  in  a 
tiger  strongly  (Gained,  or  inno- 
cence and  sobriety  in  a  monkey 
under  the  discipline  of  the  whip.^ 
The  greater  the  obedience,  the 
greater  the  morality.  The  habit  of 
acting  from  such  motives  strength- 
ens self- love,  and  discourages  the 
disinterested  love  of  Ood  for  His 
own  sake.  (Virtue,  Book  I.  Pt.  III. 
§3.)  In  short,  'the  excellence  of 
the  object,  not  the  reward  or  punish* 
ment,  should  be  our  motive,'  though, 
where  the  higher  motive  is  inade- 
quate, the  lower  may  be  judiciously 
brought  in  aid.  (Moralists,  Pt,  iL 
§3.)  *A  devil  and  a  hell,'  as  he 
elsewhere  puts  it,  'may  prevail 
where  a  gaol  and  gallows  are 
thought  insnflicient;'  but  such  mo- 
tives, he  is  careful  t^  add,  are  suit- 
able to  the  vulgar,  not  to  the  Uiberal, 
polished,,  and  refined  pari  of  .man- 
kind/ who  are  apt  to  show  that  they 


90 


Shaftesbury's  *  Characteristics,' 


[January 


hold  such  'pious  narrations  to  be  in- 
deed no  better  than  children's  tales 
or  the  amusement  of  the  mere  vul- 
gar.' (M«.IlI.ch.2.)  Hell,  in  short, 
is  a  mere  outpost  on  the  frontiers 
of  virtue,  erected  by  judicious  per- 
sons to  restrain  the  vulgar  and  keep 
us  from  actual  desertion,  but  not  an 
aniniating  and  essential  part  of  the 
internal  discipline.  It  need  not  be 
pointed  out  how  far  this  diverges 
from  Butler's  theory  of  our  present 
life  as  a  *  probationary  state.' 

Shaftesbury's  theory  of  virtue 
brought  him  into  collision,  not 
merely  with  the  divines,  but  with 
fiome  of  their  bitterest  opponents. 
The  doctrine  of  hell,  in  the  hands 
of  vulgar  expositors,  implies  a  be- 
lief in  the  utter  selfishness  of  man- 
kind. We  are  essentially  vicious 
*  tigers'  or  'monkeys,'  to  be  kept 
in  awe  by  the  chain  and  the  whip. 
The  cynics  of  the  time,  of  'whom 
Mandeville  was  the  most  pi*ominent 
representative,  accepted  this  theory 
of  humau  nature,  whilst  abolishing 
the  doctrine  founded  upon  it.  In 
their  view,  expanded  iuto  a  philo- 
sophy by  Hobbes,  the  arch-enemy, 
end  crystallised  into  maxims  by 
Rochefoucauld,  man  was  selfish,  and 
all  his  virtues  mere  modifications 
of  selfishness.  Mandeville  tried  to 
show  that  public  spirit,  honour, 
chastity,  and,  benevolence  were  sim- 
ply vices  in  disguise.  They  were 
not  the  less  useful  because  tbunded 
on  hypocrisy,  but  they  were  mere 
hollow  shows.  Shaftesbuiy's  attack 
upon  this  doctrine  was  that  which 
chiefly  commended  him  to  his  con- 
temporaries. They  would  accept 
«ven  a  Deist  as  an  ally  against  a 
deadlier  enemy.  The  term  '  moral 
sense,'  which  he  invented  to  ex- 
plain his  doctrines,  was  turned  to 
account  by  his  successors.  Hut- 
cheson  worked  up  the  theory  with 
little  alteration  into  nn  elaborate 
system.  In  Butler  the  moral  sense 
is  transformed  into  a  conscience,  a 
word  more  appropriate  to  his  theo* 
logical  conoeptionB.    Hartley  tried 


to  explain  the  moral  faculty  by  the 
laws  of  association,  and  Adam  Smith 
by  resolving  it  into  sympathy.  In 
oue  shape  or  another  it  played  an 
important  part  in  the  controversies 
of  the  century.  For,  in  fact,  when 
the  old  supports  of  morality  were 
fiilling  into  decay,  men  naturally 
attached  supreme  importance  to  a 
bold  assertion  of  the  truth,  that  be- 
nevolence is  not  a  coldblooded  cal- 
culation of  our  private  interests. 
Shaftesbury  was. the  leader  in  the 
struggle  against  that  grovelling  form 
of  utilitarianism.  Without  tracing 
the  connection  of  ideas  more  elabo- 
rately, it  is  enough  to  refer  to  the 
passage  in  which  Shaftesbury  gives 
his  own  view  most  pointedly.  His 
writings  are  everywhere  fuU  of  the 
same  doctrine.  Should  anyone  ask 
me,  he  says,  why  I  would  avoid 
being  nasty  when  nobody  was  pre- 
sent, I  should  think  him  a  very 
nasty  gentleman  to  ask  the  ques- 
tion. If  he  insisted,  I  should  reply, 
Because  I  have  a  nose.  If  ho  con- 
tinued, What  if  you  could  not  smell  ? 
I  should  reply  that  I  would  not  see 
myself  nasty.  But  if  it  was  in  the 
dark  ?  *  Why,  even  then,  though  1 
had  neither  nose  nor  eyes,  my  sense 
of  the  matter  would  still  be  the 
same :  my  nature  would  rise  at  the 
thoughts  of  what  was  sordid ;  or  if 
it  did  not,  I  should  have  a  wretched 
nature  indeed,  and  hate  myself  for 
a  beast.' 

Our  hatred  to  vice,  in  short, 
is  a  primitive  instinct.  Shaftes- 
bury, indeed,  is  rather  apt  to  cut 
the  knot.  As  he  summarily  de- 
nies the  existence  of  evil,  be  is 
almost  inclined  to  deny  the  real 
existence  of  vicious  propensities; 
aud  he  rather  shirks  than  satisfac- 
torily answers  the  difficulty  arising 
from  the  possible  collision  between 
interest  and  virtue.  He  declares 
roundly  that  it  does  not  exist.  *  To 
be  wicked  or  vicious  is  to  be  miser- 
able;' and  'every  vicious  action 
must  be  self- injurious  and  ill.' 
Why,  then,  one  is  disposed  to  ask, 


ISiii] 


Shaftesbury' if  '  GharacteriBtieB* 


91 


is  Tirtae  so  bold  ?  Bat,  indeed,  to 
be  an  optimist  one  most  learn  the 
lesson  of  how  to  shut  one's  eyes. 

Shaftesbury's  theory,*  however, 
fails  in  with  his  general  system. 
What,  after  all,  is  this  moral  sense 
of  which  he  speaks  ?  What  arc  the 
special  actions  which  it  approves? 
How  do  we  know  that  its  approval 
is  final  ?  What  is  the  criterion  of 
morality,  and  what  the  sanctions 
which,  in  fact,  oblige  ns  to  obey  its 
dictates?  To  some  of  these  ques- 
tions Shaftesbury  gives  a  suffi- 
ciently vagae  reply,  but  his  main 
iQswer  cannot  be  doubtful.  The 
moral  sense  is  merely  a  particular 
case  of  that  sense  by  which  we  per- 
ceive the  all-pervading  harmony. 
That  harmony,  as  revealed  to  our 
imagination,  produces  the  sense  of 
the  beautifal;  as  partially  appre- 
hended by  our  reason  it  producea 
philosophy;  and  as  intellect,  in  the 
workings  of  human  nature,  it  gives 
rise  to  the  moral  sense. 

The  aesthetic  and  the  moral  per- 
ceptions are  the  same,  the  only 
di {Terence  being  in  the  object  to 
which  they  are  applied.  *  Beauty 
aad  good,  with  you,  Theocles,'  he 
saTs,  '  are  still  one  and  the  same.' 
(iLiralisls,  Pt.  III.  §  2.)  Or, 
as  be  says  elsewhere,  *  What  is 
beaatifal  is  harmonious  and  pro- 
portionable ;  what  is  harmonious 
and  proportionable  is  true  ;  and 
what  is  at  once  both  beautiful  and 
troe,  is  of  consequence  agreeable 
and  good.'  (Mis.  III.  ch.  2.) 
It  would  be  superfluous  to  trace  the 
association  of  Shaftesbuiy^s  ideal 
from  the  classical  moralists,  who 
were  his  favourite  study,  or  from 
their  interpreters,  the  Cambridge 
Piaionists.  One  consequence  fol- 
lows, horn,  which  Shaftesbury  does 
not  shrink.  If  the  good  and  the 
beaQtifd  are  the  same,  the  faculty 
of  moral  approbation  is  the  same 
faculty  which  judges  of  the  fine  arts. 
We  recognise  a  hero  as  we  recognise 
a  poet  or  a  painter.  And  thus 
Shaflesbniy'a  last  word  is,  Cultivate 


your  taste.  Criticism  is  of  sur- 
passing importance  in  his  eyes, 
because  criticism  is  the  art  of  form- 
ing accurate  judgments,  whether 
of  religion,  or  art,  or  morality.  He 
divides  human  passions  into  the 
natural  affections,  which  lead  to  the- 
good  of  the  public  ;  the  *  self-afiec- 
tions,  which  lead  only  to  the  good 
of  the  private ;'  and  those  which,  as 
simply  injurious,  may  be  called  the 
*  unnatural  affections.'  {Virtue^ 
Pt.  I.  §  3.)  To  eliminate  the 
last,  and  to  establish  a  just  harmony^ 
between  the  others,  is  the  problem 
of  the  moralist ;  and  he  will  judge 
of  the  harmonious  development  of 
a  man  as  a  critic  would  judge  of  the 
harmony  of  a  painting  or  a  piece  of 
music.  Man,  again,  can  be  fully 
understood  only  as  part  of  the  gi*eat 
human  family.  He  will  be  in  har- 
mony with  his  race  when  so  deve- 
loped as  to  contribute  in  the  greatest 
degree  to  the  general  harmony. 
He  is  a  member  of  a  vast  choir,  and 
must  beat  out  his  part  in  the 
general  music.  Hence  he  dwells 
chiefly  on  the  development  of  the 
benevolent  emotions,  though  ex- 
plicitly admitting  that  they  may 
be  sometimes  developed  in  excess. 
The  love  of  humanity,  however, 
must  be  the  ruling  passion.  He 
meets  the  objection — one  often 
made  to  Comte — that  one  may  love 
the  individual  but. not  the  species, 
which  is  '  too  metaphysical  an  ob* 
ject'  {Moralists^  II.  §  i),  by 
maintaining  that  to  be  a  *  friend  to- 
anyone  in  particular  it  is  necessary 
to  be  first  a  friend  to  mankind.' 
(16.  §  2.)  He  has  been  in 
love,  he  says,  with  the  people  of 
ancient  Borne  in  many  ways,  but 
specially  under  the  symbol  of  •  a 
beautiful  youth  called  the  Qenius  of 
the  People.'  Make  such  a  figure  of 
mankind  or  nature,  and  he  will 
regard  it  with  equal  affection. 
(Moralists,  Pt.  IT.  §  2.)  The 
answer  is  the  hymn  to  nature,, 
already  quoted. 
Amongst  various  comments  upon 


^ 


Shafieshury^s  ^  GharacterisUcs* 


[Janiiary 


Shaflesbaryt  this  part  of  his  system 
was  *  selected  for    epeeial    attack. 
The  iDorah*8ts,  generally  known  as 
the  Intellectnal  school,  maintained 
that  it  made  all  morality  arbitrary. 
Price,  for  example,  in  his  system  of 
morality,  argaes  that  as  there  is  no 
disputing  about    tastes,    a    moral 
theory  which  rests  upon  taste  would 
allow    of    an    infinite    variety   of 
fluctuating  standards.    Shaftesbury 
had  anticipated  and  endeavoured  to 
refute  the  objection.     Ho  declared 
that  the  maxims  drawn  from  poli- 
tical theories  as  to  the  balance  of 
power  were  *as  evident  as  those  in 
mathematics'   {Wit  and  Uumour, 
Pt.   III.    §    i),   and  inferred  that 
moral  maxims  founded  on  a  proper 
theory   of  the  balance  of  passions 
would  be  equally  capable  of  rigid 
demonstration.      The  harmony  of 
which  he  spoke  had  an  objective 
reality,  and  did  not  reside  in  the 
•ear  of  the  hearer.      The  cultivation 
of  the  moral  sense  was  necessary 
to  enable  us  to  catch  its  Divine 
notes ;  but    the   judgment  of   all 
cultivated    observers    would    ulti- 
mately be  the  same.     If  a  writer  on 
music  were  to  say  that  the  rule  of 
harmony  was  caprice,  he  would  be 
ridiculous.     *  Harmony  is  harmony 
by  nature,  let  men  judge  ever  so  ri- 
diculously of  music'  Symmetry  and 
proportion  are  equally  founded  in 
nature,  'let  men's  fancy  prove  ever 
80  barbarous  or  their  fashions  ever 
80  Gothic  in  their  architecture,  sculp- 
ture, or  other  designing  art.      'Tis 
the  same  case  where  life  and  man- 
ners are  concerned .     Virtue  has  the 
same  fixed  standard.      The  same 
numbers,  harmony  and  proportion, 
will  have  place  in  morals  ;  and  are 
discoverable  in  the  character  and 
affections  of  mankind ;  in  which  are 
laid  the  just  foundations  of  our  i.rt 
and  science,  superior  to  every  other 
of  human  practice  and  comprehen- 
sion.'     (Soliloquy,  Pt.   III.  §    3.) 
Shaftesbury  is  in  his  own  language, 
a  *  realist '  in  his  Theism  and  his 
morality.    Virtue  is  a  l*e^lityy  and 


can  be  discovered  by  all  who  will 
go  through  the  necessary  process 
of  self-cuitnre. 

Of  Shaftesbury's  theories,  false 
or  true,  it  may  safely  be  said  that 
they  were  of  high  value  as  pratests 
against  the  materialising  tendencius 
of  his  age.  It  was  good  that  men 
should  hHve  a  loftier  theory  of  re- 
ligion put  before  them  than  that 
which  made  heaven  and  hell  the 
sole  motive  powers,  and  aspired  to 
erect  a  trained  and  deliberate  Kelf- 
ishness  into  the  place  of  all  the 
virtues.  If  his  explanations  were 
not  satisfactory,  they  helped  to 
raise  men  above  the  teach ing.^  of 
the  metaphysicians  and  the  cynics. 
The  two  theories  which  were  in 
possession  of  the  field  when  he 
wrote,  appeared  to  imply  that 
morality  was  a  branch  of  pure 
mathematics  or  of  mechanic-'. 
Neither  would  bear  inspection,  aii<l 
both  sanctioned  the  selfishness  of 
the<  prevailing  theological  dogmas. 
Shaftesbury's  protest  was  needel, 
and  the  spirit  of  his  practical 
morality  was  elevated  if  rather 
wanting  in  force.  In  spite  of  bis 
confused  and  pedantic  style,  there 
struggle  to  light  in  his  pages  many 
indications  of  a  really  noble  spirit, 
a  wide  cultivation,  and  a  sympathy 
with  the  chief  intellectual  cuirents 
of  his  time. 

And  yet  it  is  not  to  be  denied 
that  there  is  something  flimsy  in  his 
speculations.  They  crumble  in  cor 
hands.  When  we  would  come  to 
close  quarters  with  him  he  with- 
draws, like  a  Homeric  god,  into  a 
cloud  of  rather  unsubstantial  elo- 
quenue.  He  has  been  accused,  and, 
in  spite  of  Dr.  Spicker's  protest,  I 
think  truly  accused,  of  what  may 
be  called  superfine  philosophy.  His 
morality  is  meant  for  the  cultivated 
gentleman  and  '  virtuoso,' :  not  for 
the  ordinary  man  at  death-grips 
with  the  evils  of  the  world.  He 
calmly  leaves  hell  for  the  vulgar, 
and  holds  in  a  new  sense  that  snch 
a.  place  sl^ould  not  be  meniioued 


im] 


8hafteshury*B  '  Charaeteriiiics.' 


93 


to  ears  polite.  He  would  so  far 
approve  the  sentiment  aboat  Qod 
thiukiog  twice  before  damning  a 
person  of  qnality,  that  he  wonid 
oertaioly  consider  snch  a  raeasnre 
snperflaons.  Cnltivation  of  the 
tiste  is  a  very  excellent  thing,  but 
Dot  qaite' applicable  to  ploughmen 
ftod  sempstresses.  Yet  the  plongh- 
men  and  the  sempstresses  require 
the  aids  of  religion  as  ma  ch  as  their 
Deij^hboars ;  and,  indeed,  a  morality 
which  abandons  the  task  of  reach- 
ing the  poor  and  ignorant  is  bnt 
poor  btulfat  bottom.  When  Shaftes- 
bury contemptuously  turned  over 
the  vulgar  to  be  kept  in  order  by 
threats  of  hell,  he  was  in  fact  aban- 
dooing  the  real  power  over  mankind 
to  the  priests,  whom  ho  despised, 
bat  who  knew  how  to  work  that 
terrible  machinery.  Underljing 
this  weakness,  however,  there  is,  as 
Dr.  Spicker  well  proves,  a  far  deeper 
one.  Optimism  is  a  very  pleasant 
theoiy,  but  it  cannot  be  made  to 
work.  Candlde  will  get  the  better 
of  PangToss  when  their  theories  are 
tested  by  experience.  There  are 
biJeoas  thinga  in  the  world  which 
caDnot  be  hid  from  sight  or  left  out 
of  oar  account  in  drawing  up 
Bcbemes  of  morality.  Poverty  and 
starvation  and  disease  may  be 
blessings  in  disguise,  but  the  diu- 
goise  will  last  our  time.  To  say 
that  they  are  r^ot  real  evils,  is  use- 
Ie^«<  for  Shaftesbury's  purpose.  We 
bave  to  assume  their  reality,  whether 


or  not  we  may  be  able  to  discover 
Bome  day  that  they  are  ultimately 
mere  shams.  Nobody  in  jgrief  or 
serious  temptation  would  be  in- 
fluenced by  Shaftesbury's  plausible 
philosophising.  To  the  statement  that 
there  cannot  be  evil,  they  reply  only 
too  confidently  there  is.  To  bear 
up  against  it,  and  to  fight  our  way 
to  a  better  state  of  things,  is  our 
great  duty  in  this  world ;  and  we 
shall  not  overcome  our  enemies  by 
blandly  denying  their  existence. 
The  error  into  which  Shaftesbury 
fal's  is  something  like  the  ordinary 
misconceptions  of  Berkeley's  theory. 
Because  there  is  said  to  be  no 
such  thing  as  substcmce,  we  are  to 
knock  our  heads  against  a  post. 
Because  there  is  no  cure  for  evil  in 
Shaftesbury's  metaphysical  system, 
we  are  to  act  in  this  world  of  hard 
facts  as  if  it  were  a  mere  fancy.  It  is 
better  to  take  things  as  they  are, 
and  make  the  best  of  them  without 
vain  repinings  in  an  equally  vain 
attempt  to  retreat  into  a  dreamland 
of  philosophy. 

To  complete,  however,  the  view 
of  Shaftesbury's  influence  on  his 
time,  and  to  detect  the  causes  of 
its  failure  and  success,  it  would  be 
necessary  to  consider  the  theories  of 
some  of  his  opponents.  The  most 
complete  antithesis  to  Shaftesbury 
was  Mandeville;  and  on  a  future 
occasion  we  may  endeavour  to  draw 
his  portrait  by  way  of  pendant  to 
that  of  his  noble  antagonist. 

L.  S. 


94 


[Janitaij 


A  SKETCH  OF  M.  THIERS. 


LOUIS  ADOLPHE  THIERS 
was  bom  at  Marseilles,  April 
1 6, 1 79 7.  His  mother,  whose  family, 
once  wealthy  by  commerce,  had 
fallen  into  poverty,  was  married 
to  a  mechanic,  a  locksmith  by 
trade.  M.  Thiers  thus  began  life 
without  any  adventitious  aid  from 
fortune,  either  of  birth  or  purse. 
He  has  become  an  historian  of 
celebrity;  he  has  taken  the  fore- 
most rank  in  politics  as  well  as  in 
literature.  Amongst  the  number- 
less decorations  and  titles  of  honour 
held  by  him  at  various  times,  are 
those  of  President  of  tbe  Council, 
Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs,  Minis- 
ter of  the  Interior,  Member  of  the 
French  Academy,  Orand  OflScer  of 
the  Legion  of  Honour,  and,  at  the 
last,  to  crown  his  life,  we  see  him 
in  his  present  exalted  position. 
We  must  acknowledge  that  this 
man,  who  began  his  career  without 
a  penny  piece,  with  no  name,  in 
person  of  mean  appearance,  without 
a  patron  or  friends,  owes  more  to 
himself  than  to  fortune.  Nature's 
gifls  to  him  -^ere  great  talents,  and 
no  less  ambition,  indomitable  force 
of  will,  and  great  tenacity  of  pur- 
pose. Young  Thiers  commenced 
his  education  at  the  imperial  lycSe 
of  Marseilles,  having  won  a  scho- 
lai*ship,  and  being  partly  as&isted 
by  his  maternal  relatives.  Here 
he  worked  hard  until  the  age  of 
eighteen,  when  in  18 15  he  went  up 
to  Aix  to  study  law.  At  Aix  he 
formed  a  friendship,  continued 
through  life,  with  M.  Mignet,  who, 
like  himself,  had  come  up  to  Aix 
from  the  imperial  lycee  at  Avignon, 
and  whose  name,  as  an  historian 
and  publicist,  rivals  that  of  his  more 
politically  famous  fellow-student. 
Both  the  youths,  while  studying 
the  Digest  and  the  Civil  Code  for 
their  examinations,  gave  themselves 
up  with  ardour  to  the  pursuit  of 


literature,  philosophy,  histoiy,  and 
politics.  Thiers  soon  became  the 
leader  of  a  party  amongst  the 
students,  and  at  their  meetings 
used  to  denounce  in  violent  lan- 
guage the  Gk)vemment  of  the  Re- 
storation, was  for  ever  *  spouting ' 
against  it,  and  rehearsing  the  glo- 
rious memory  of  the  Republic  and 
of  the  Empire.  In  tliis  way  he  got 
into  disgrace  with  the  professor.^ 
who  loved  peace  and  quiet,  and 
became  an  abouHnation  in  the  eyes 
of  the  commissary  of  police,  while 
his  comrades  adored  him. 

In  spite,  however,  of  all  opposi- 
tion, he  carried  off  the  prize  for 
eloquence:  and  a  good  story  is 
told  of  the  way  in  which  he  won  it. 
Young  Thiers  sent  in  an  essay  for 
a  prize  offered  by  the  Academy  of 
Aix ;  his  name,  however,  was  di- 
vulged, and  the  learned  Areopagites, 
rather  than  assign  the  prize  to  the 
little  Jacobin,  which  his  efforts  had 
entitled  him  to,  determined  to 
postpone  the  adjudication  of  the 
prize  to  the  following  year.  At 
the  time  appointed  the  manu- 
script of  M.  Thiers  reappear- 
ed, but  meanwhile  an  essay  had 
come  from  Paris  which  distanced  all 
the  others,  and  gained  the  crown, 
while  that  of  M.  Thiers  was  placed 
second.  Great  was  the  grief  of 
the  Academicians  of  Bouches-du- 
Rhdue  when,  on  unsealing  the 
motto  of  the  laureate  from  Paris,  it 
was  found  to  belong  to  M.  Thiers, 
who'  had  maliciously  amused  him- 
self with  mystifying  the  honourable 
Academicians  by  treating  the  subject 
of  the  prize  from  another  point  of 
view,  having  his  manuscript  copieii 
by  a  strange  hand,  and  forward- 
ing it  to  Paris,  whence  it  was 
sent  to  Aix.  He  thus  won  both 
the  prize  and  the  prorime  accessU. 

Having  donned  the  legal  robe,  M. 
Thiers  soon  saw  tliat,  in  a  town 


18/3] 


A  Sketch  of  M,  Thiers. 


95 


where  name  and   connections  had 
mach  to  do  with  the  snccess  of  a 
man,  it  would  be  difficult  for  him 
to  emei^  from  the  obscurity  in 
which  he  happened  to  have  been 
born.    He  therefore  determined  to 
seek  his  fortune  in  Paris,  whither 
>I.  Mignct  accompanied  him,  and 
the  comrades  arrived  there    rich 
enongh  in  talents  and   hope,   but 
with  a  verj  light  purse.     An  eye- 
witness thus  describes  their  modest 
apartment     'I  climbed  up  to  the 
top     of     a     dingy     hotel     garni, 
situate    at    the    end   of  the    dark 
and    dirty    passage    Montesquieu, 
which  is  one  of  the  most  poptdous 
and  noisy  quarters  of  Paris.  Having 
reached  the  fourth  storey,  I  opened 
the  door  of  a  little   smoky  room, 
the  furniture  of  which  consisted  of 
a  small  chest  of  drawers,  a  wooden 
i)edstcad,  with  white   dimity  cur- 
tains, two  chairs,  and  a  little  black 
tahic,  very  shaky  on  its  legs.' 

The  poor  provincial  lawyer,  ob- 
>cnre  and  unknown,  did  not  waste 
his  time  in  waiting,  with  crossed 
arms,  for  fortune  to  come  to  him. 
In  the  beginning  of  1825,  during 
theVillele  Ministry,  M.Manuel,  the 
liberal  orator,  was  expelled  from 
the  Chamber.  M.  Thiers,  the  am- 
bitions plebeian,  saw  at  a  glance 
the  part  to  take  up  under  an  aris- 
tocratic Government,  and  at  once 
called  on  M.  Manuel,  who,  like  him- 
Eelf,  was  from  the  South.  M.  Thiers 
was  received  with  open  arms,  and 
introduced  to  M.  Laffitte,  and  placed 
on  the  list  of  writers  for  the  Oon- 
''I'tutiiynneL  M.  Thiers  understood 
how  to  turn  the  opportunity  to  ac- 
count. Eminently  gifted  by  nature 
for  polemics,  he  b^ame  noted  for 
the  power  and  boldness  of  his  pen, 
^d  the  young  journalist  soon  ob- 
tained the  entry  to  the  houses  of 
the  chiefis  of  the  Opposition,  MM. 
laffitte,  Caeimir  Perier,  De  Fla- 
^^t,  the  Baron  Louis,  and  M.  de 
Talleyraud,  the  last-named  by  no 
loeans  a  man  easy  of  access,  but 

.  VOL.  VII.— »0.  XXXVII.      NEW  SEBIBS.  ' 


who  quickly  divined  the  powers  of 
the  young  Southerner. 

M.    Thiers    to    his    marvellous 
facility  of  style  joined  a  wonderful 
memory,  a  prodigious  fluency,  and 
no  less   powers  of  quick  compre- 
hension.    He  found  time,   in  the 
midst   of  his  work   for  the  daily 
press,  to   make  visits,   talk    with 
everybody,  hear  everything,  and  to 
store  up  for  meditation  and  study 
the  fruit  of  his  conversations  with 
the  principal  actors  in  the  revolu- 
tionary drama ;  men  who  had  for- 
merly sat  in  the  Legislative  As- 
sembly, or  at  the  Council  of  the 
Five  Hundred,  or  had  been  Mem- 
bers of  the  Corps  Legislatif,  or  of 
the  Tribunate,   Girondins,  Monta- 
gnards,  old  generals  of  the  Empire, 
diplomates,  financiers,  men  of  the 
pen,   men  of  the   sword,   men   of 
brains,  men  of  physical  force.     Such 
were  the  various  men  with  whom 
M.  Thiers  daily  conversed,  question- 
ing   one,   button-holding    another,, 
giving  an  ear  to  all ;  and  then  he 
would    go    home,    weave    up    the 
broken  fragments,  and,  spending  the 
night  over  the  pages  of  the  Maniteur, 
add  another  leaf  to  his  History  of 
the  Revolution.     This  work,  which 
placed  M.  Thiers,  at  least  tempo- 
rarily, in  the  first  rank  of  literature, 
is  dedicated  to  the  glorification  of 
one  of  the  greatest  events  that  have 
occurred  in  the  world.    The  pictures 
of  men  of  the  day,  the  financial  and 
political  studies,  are  always  striking. 
The  military  part  is  treated  with 
a    clearness    of    strategical    expo- 
sition   and    firmness  of   handling 
wonderful   for   a    man    who   had 
never  seen  fire,  and  the  descriptions 
of  the  campaigns  in  Italy  are,  in 
the  opinion  of  competent  judges, 
real    chefs-d'oeuvre.     On  the  other 
hand,  many  think  the  work  has  a 
fundamental  taint,  the  result  of  the 
variety  of  impressions  the  author 
received  on  his  mind.     M.  Thiers 
starte  from    a   fatalistic   point   of 
view ;  he  admires  a  man  so  long  as 

H 


96 


A  Sketch  of  M.  Thiers. 


[January 


he  is  snccessfal,  and  an  institntion 
nntil  it  crombles  away  and  falls  to 
the  ground.      With  M.  Thiers  he 

•  who  wins  is  always  right,  he  who 
loses  always  wrong.     It  is  a  system 

"of  complete  indifference — the  apo- 
theosis of  success. 

About  this  period  M.  Thiers  was 
introduced,  through  a  poor  book- 
seller,  by  name  Schubai^h.  to  the 
great  lord  and  millionaire  of  the 
publishing  world,  the  Baron  Cotta. 
The  Baron  conceived  an  enthusiastic 
admiration  fbr  M.  Thiers,  andshowed 
his  sympathy  in  the  practical  form 
of  a  present  of  a  share  in  the  Go^i- 
stitutionnel  paper,  at  that  time  of 
considerable  value.  Now  M.  Thiers 
descended  from  his  fourth  floor  and 
became  the  dandy,  frequented  Tor- 
toni's,  and  rode  in  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne. 

By  and  by  M.  Thiers  became 
dissatisfied  with  the  threadbare, 
monotonous  Voltait-eism  of  the  Gcm^ 
diiuilonnel.  He  thought  this  organ 
of  old-fashioned  Liberalism  behind 
the  times,  and  that  something 
younger  and  more  democratic  was 
wanted.  In  1828  M.  Thiers  started 
the  National,  under  the  financial 
patronage  of  the  leading  men  in 
the  Chamber,  being  assisted  by  M. 
Armand  Carrel  and  the '  cleverest 
men  of  the  most  advanced  party. 
Now  commenced  that  fierce  attack 
which  M.  Thiers  ably  and  pcrse- 
veringly  led  against  the  Govern- 
ment of  the  Restoration.  Day  after 
day  M.  Thiers  mounted  the  breach 
and  fought  M.  Polignac ;  he  ha- 
rassed the  Minister  unceasingly; 
he  blamed  him  for  what  he  did  and 
for  what  he  did  not  do,  giving  him 
neither  credit  nor  quarter.  The  re- 
sult was  the  Ordinances  of  July, 
the  reconstruction  of  the  Chamber 
of  Deputies,  and  the  barricades  on 
the  inoifning  of'  the  26th  of  July, 
1830.  All  the  journalists  met  at 
the  office  of  the  National,  M.  Thiers 
was  at  his  post ;  a  collective  protest 
was  drawn  up,'to  which  he  was  tiie 


first  to  attach  his  name — an  act 
of  undoubted  courage,  as  all  who 
signed  did  so  at  the  risk  of  their 
heads.  On  the  27th  of  July  the 
people  also  made  their  protest  in 
the  streets  by  the  barricades,  and 
signed  it  with  musket  shots.  M. 
Thiers,  probably  thinking  that  the 
pen  was  the  only  arm  he  could 
wield  with  advantage,  went  awaj 
to  take  a  stroll  beneath  the  oaks  at 
Montmorency,  and  re-entered  Paris 
on  the  29th,  when  the  fighting  was 
over.  The  story  goes  that  Mont- 
morency  being  not  a  great  way 
from  Neuilly,  M.  Thiers  made  a 
little  excursion  in  that  direction 
during  the  three  days. 

On  the  establishment  of  the  Go- 
vernment of  the  9th  of  August — that 
of  Louis  Philippe — M.  Thiers  wa< 
named  a  Privy  Councillor,  and  dis- 
charged  the  duties,  though  without 
the  title,  of  General  Secretary  of 
Finance,  under  tJie  Baron  Lonis. 
It  was  not  long  before  the  Ministry 
of  July,  which  was  made  up  of  in- 
compatible elements,  fell  to  pieces. 
One  section  desired  to  advance, 
another  to  remain  in  statu  quo ;  thi^^ 
party  urged  repressive  measures, 
that  propagandism;  The  liberals 
carried  the  day,^  and  M.  Laffitt* 
became  President  of  the  Council 
It  has  been  alleged  that  about  this 
time  the  King  offered  the  Portfolio 
of  Finance  to  the  young  Privy 
Councillor,  and  that  he  refused  it 
on  the  ground  of  his  youth,  not 
wishing  to  become  Minister  before 
his  time.  The  fact  requires  con- 
firmation. Be  it  as  it  may,  M. 
Thiers  now  received  the  official 
title  of  Under  Secretary  of  State, 
and,  under  M.  Laffifcte,  supported 
one  of  the  most  terrible  financial 
crises  France  had  known. 

M.  Laffitte  being  absorbed  with 
the  functions  pertaining  to  the  Pre* 
sident  of  the  Council,  the  Adminis- 
tration of  Finance  was  actoally 
directed  by  M.  Thiers,  who  showed, 
by  his  writings  upon  Law's  system, 


im] 


A  Sketch  of  M.  Thiers, 


97 


thA6  he  had  stfadied  the  satjeot 
deeply. 

M.  Thiers  iras  at  this  time  named 
Deputj.for  the  town  of  Aix,  and 
made  hie  d^nU  as  ft  speaker  in  the 
GhaznberB^  but  was  received  with 
stroog  marks  of  general  disf&Tonr. 
Saturated  with  the  memoriea  x)f  the 
ConveotioD,  M.  Thiers  posed  him- 
self a  la  Danton,  and  nuuie,  ose  of 
'taUtsJk.'  'He  would  save  PoJand; 
he  would  pass  the  Rhine,,  and  de- 
mociatisB  the  world  1 '     These  war- 
like ideas  frightened  the  timid^  and 
iiis  inrgid  deliveiy  fatig^ned  every- 
body.   On  the  Ml  of  M.  Laffitte, 
M.  Casimir  Perier  became  Minister 
(March  15,   183 1),  and  his  policy 
was  Uie  direct  contrary  to  that  of 
bis  predecessor.     The   Opposition,, 
which  rallied  round  M.  Laffitte,  ex- 
pected to  count  M..  Thiers  in  their 
ranks,  but  his  first  speech  was  a 
Timlent   attack,  upon    their    pro- 
gramme.   This  sudden  transfbrma^ 
don  wouDded  M.  Laffitta  deeply, 
embanaBsed  his  party,  and  asto- 
nished everybody.     The  friends  of 
M.   Thieis  explained  the  brusque 
change  on  the  plea  of  patriotism:—^ 
*^L  Thiers  had  thought  it  his  duty 
to  sacrifice  personal    convictions, 
friendship,    and    sympathy,     that 
France  ndght  have  repose. '    Hence^ 
forth  there  was  a  marked  coolness 
between  the  ex-President  of   the 
Conndl.  of  the  5th .  of  November 
and  tiie  ally  of  the  Ministry  of  the 
15th  of  March. 

Throughout  the  sessiou  M.  Thiers 
the  innovator  cared  for  no  more 
fiovaities;  M.  Thiers  the  martialist 
^^  I»x)pagandist  abhorred  both 
var  and  propagandism,  while  he 
^dly  proclaimed  the  necessity  of 
^^isxxi  and  peace. 

When  the  question  of  an  horoT 
ditary  peerage  came  on,  M.  Thiers 
alone  defended  ity  for  the .  Govern, 
ment,  fearing  the  strength  of  the 
Opposition,  gave  way.  Onthisocca* 
won  M.  Thiers  altered  his  style  of 
^P^^^l^ ;  froman  orator  he  became  a 


politician;  his  former  gesticulation 
and  bombast  were  chajigedfora  style 
r^imple,  lively,  and  rapid,  that  suc- 
.oeedi^d  marvellously.  The  heredi- 
tary peerage  was  lost,  bat  M.  Thiers 
-rose.to  a  Jevel  with  the  best  speakers 
in  the  House,  and  ho  has  known 
Jbow  to  maintain  his  position. 

..Casimir  Perier  died  shortly  after 
.this,,  and  .on  October  ii,  1831,  M. 
-Thiers  arrived  at  Jast  at  the  Minis- 
try of  the  Interior,  Marshal  Soult  be- 
ing President,     The  position  of  tho 
.Government  was  very  alarming.  La 
.Vendee  was  in  a  bjaze.  Belgium  was 
threatened.  Irritation  was  uiiiversaL 
31.  Thiors.without  hesitation  turned 
towards  the  West,  as  the  point  of 
greatest  danger.     The  Duchess  of 
JBecri  was  arrested  and  the   civil 
war  extinguished.     Then   tho  Go- 
vernment, by  a  bold  stroke,  seized 
tho  citadel  of   Antwerp,   and  as- 
sured the  tranquillity  of  Belgium. 
The  session  opened,   and  on    the 
strength  of  these  two  acts  the  Mi- 
nistry of  October    ij    obtained   a 
large  mc^ority  in  the.  Chambers. 
.    M.  Thiers,  disgusted,  it  is  said, 
by  the  police  business  attached  to 
the  Ministry  of  the   Interior,  exi- 
changed  it  for  the  portfolio  of  Gom- 
jDaeroe  and  Public  Works.  Ho  began 
in  his  new  post  by  asking  for  a 
credit  of  .100  millions  of  francs  to 
carry  out   great  works  of  public 
utility.     The  credit  was  granted; 
the  statue  of  Napoleon  was  replaced 
on  its  column,  the  Arc  de  Triomphe 
de    r£itoile    was    completed,    the 
works  at  the  Madeleine  were  ac- 
tively prosecuted,  the  palace  of  the 
Quai  d'Orsay  was  raised,  the  roads 
were  put  into  repair,   the  canals 
cleared,  thousands  of  workmen  were 
employed,  and  Industry  began  to 
raise  her  head. 

The  storm,  however,  soon  ga- 
thered again*  In  the  beginning  of 
1834 .  signs,  of  violent  agitation  by 
the  Republican  party  induced  the 
Government  to  bring  forward  the 
law  against  associations.    M.  Thiers 

H  2 


98 


A  Sketch  of  M.  Thiers. 


[January 


gave  li  his  sirenuous. support,  not 
meivly  as  a  temporary  expedi- 
ent, but  as  n  permanent  principle 
for  the  bi^nefit  of  public  order  and 
safety.  Being  considered  the  most 
active  and  energetic  of  the  Minis- 
ters, }m  wfte  Roon  restored  to  his  old 
post  uf  Minister  of  the  Interior.  A 
few  day  a  later  the  insurrection  broke 
out  at  Lyon  iia  ad  at  Paris.  M.  Thiers 
now  had  (jct-'a^oa  to  show  true  phy- 
sical bravery,  for  Captain  Rey  and 
young  Arm  and  de  Vareilles  were 
shot  at  his  b;ide  at  the  barricades, 
by  buUtiLs  aimed  at  the  Minister. 
The  insatTei:tion  was  quelled.  When 
the  trials  uanitj  on,  M.  Thiers,  at  the 
council  board,  opposed  the  interposi- 
tion of  the  Chamber  of  Peers  as  inop- 
portune and  mischievous,  but  con- 
sented to  bow  to  the  decision  of  the 
majority*  Soon  grave  discussions 
arose  in  tbo  Cabinet  of  October  ii. 
Mars  hal  S  on  1 1  and  M.Thiers descend- 
ed  to  ffross  pei'sonalities,  and  fell  to 
disp  utin  gins  tt^ad  of  discussing.  The 
old  hem  of  Toulouse  ended  by  ap- 
plying a  coarse  epithet  to  his  young 
colleague,  nuich  to  the  gratification 
of  the  lattei',  and  the  Marshal  re- 
tired. Marshal  Gerard  was  called 
upon  to  take  his  place,  but,  finding 
himself  m  dii'ect  opposition  to  M. 
Tluors^  oTv  the  amnesty  question,  he 
also  retired.  M.  Thiers,  not  yet 
daring  to  aspii-e  to  the  President- 
ship, and  unable  to  find  a  President, 
sent  in  his  own  resignation. 

Then  followed  the  comedy  of 
the  Bassano  Ministry,  which  lasted 
three  dajH.  At  last  Marshal  Mor- 
licr  dcvnted  Inniself,  and  M.  Thiers 
took  hack  again  the  portfolio  of  the 
Interior. 

WlicD  the  session  of  1835  opened, 
the  amnesty  question  reappeared, 
M.  Thiers  .still  opposing  it  as  before. 
A  few  days  hiter  he  took  part  in  a 
wholly  peaceful  ceremony,  being 
atlmitt^d  a  member  of  the  French 
Acadcoiy. 

ilarshal  Mortier  soon  wearied  of 
playing  a   mere    nominal  part  as 


President,  and  resigned.  A  fresh  im- 
hroglio  followed.  M.  Guizot  would 
not  have  M.  Thiers  for  Presi- 
dent. M.  Thiers  would  not  have 
M.  de  Broglie,  and  like  Achilles 
retired  to  his  tent,  but  ended  by 
accepting  M.  de  Broglie.  M.Thiers 
was  at  the  side  of  the  King  when 
Fieschi*s  infernal  machine  exploded 
at  the  fetes  of  July.  Grave  results 
followed  this  unhappy  occurrence. 
The  Chambers  were  called  together. 
New  laws,  brought  forward  in  Sep- 
tember, restrictmg  the  functions  of 
juries  and  the  freedom  of  the  press, 
were  carried  by  a  large  majority ; 
and  these  strong  measures  were 
supported  by  M.  Thiers. 

By  and  by  the  struggle  between 
M.  Thiers  and  M.  Guizot  waxed 
hotter,   and   the   latter  retired  io- 

fsther  with  M.  de  Broglie.  M. 
hiers  then  became  Minister  of  Fo- 
reign Affairs  and  President  of  the 
Council.  Suddenly  matters  became 
serious  in  Spain.  The  question  of 
intervention  was  raised  at  the  coun- 
cil board.  M.  Thiers,  desiring  in- 
tervention, found  himself  in  direct 
opposition  to  the  Crown,  and  acting 
independently  sent  in  his  resigna- 
tion. Then  the  Ministry  of  April  1 5, 
with  Count  Mole  as  President,  was 
formed.  M.  Thiers  during  the  re- 
cess made  a  pleasure  tour  in  Italy, 
and  having  kissed  the  Pope's  toe, 
returned  laden  with  Roman  medals, 
mediaeval  caskets,  and  arguments 
for  the  Left  Centre. 

Presently  the  storm  rose  against 
the  Ministry,  and  about  the  middle 
of  1838  the  Coalition  was  formed. 
Men  of  the  most  opposed  parties 
abjured  their  mutual  resentments, 
and  joined  together  to  fight  side  by 
side  for  the  moment,  but  afterwards 
to  dispute  about  the  victory.  Thus 
the  Ministry  of  the  1 5th  of  April 
fell,  and  for  two  months  dociri- 
naireSf  men  of  the  Right  Centre,  men 
of  the  tierS'parti,  men  of  the  Left 
Centre,  grasped  at  the  Ministerial 
hdton^  and  wasted  their  strength  in 


1873] 


A  Slcekli  ofM.  Thiers. 


90 


comfaiiiations  which  proved  abortive 
ss  soon  as  thej  were  conceived. 

M.  Thiers,  who  led  the  Coalition, 
became  the  temporary  idol  of  that 
very  Opposition  press  he  had  just 
before  treated  so  badly.  He  was 
aoable  to  form  a  Cabinet  by  himself, 
ftnd  would  not  accept  Marshal  Soult 
as  President  except  on  the  condi- 
tion  of  holding  the  portfolio  of  Fo- 
reign Affairs,  which  his  old  colleague 
of  October  ii  refused  to  grant. 
Pat  forward  as  a  candidate  for  the 
Presidentship,  M.  Thiers  found 
himself  stranded.  The  events  of 
31ay  1 2  soon  solved  the  crisis,  and 
M.  Thiers,  after  sitting  on  the 
Ministerial  bench  for  seven  years, 
found  himself  back  again  in  the 
Opposition,  a  simple  deputy,  with- 
out office,  as  at  the  dawn  of  the 
Revolution,  and  nearer  to  M.  Laffitte 
than  he  had  been  since  Casimir 
Pmer  was  Minister.  But  though 
without  office  he  was  still  the 
most  eloquent  man  after  his  man- 
ner, and  a  centre  of  attraction.  A 
clever  writer*  thus  describes  him  in 
tlie  House  at  this  period : — 

On  entering  the  Chaniber  of  Deputies  on 
a  parliamentary  field  day,  ^e  may  sen  in 
the  tribane  a  little  man  in  a  state  of  violent 
aeitatioD.  His  head  is  only  just  visible 
abore  the  marble  rail  that  tops  the  narrow 
cage  from  nrhence  each  speaker  in  his  tnm 
perorates.  The  fiice  that  belongs  to  that 
head  is  a  rery  plain  one,  and  as  it  were 
huQg  behind  a  hn^e  pair  of  spectacles,  but 
the  featnree  are  lively,  mobile,  expressive, 
and  original.  Now,  while  we  wait  for  the 
wbool-room  buzz  of  the  deputies  to  sub- 
side,  let  OS  look  at  the  shape  of  the  mouth. 
Tlie  lips,  thin,  capricious,  sneering  like 
VoltaireX  are  in  continual  play  with  a 
tDile  that  is  delicate,  sarcastic,  and  in- 
qaisitorial  in  the  extreme.  At  last  the 
H'D&oQiable  House  subsides  into  silence; 
the  orator  begins  to  speak;  listen,  or  if 
your  oiganiaation  is  delicate  and  musical, 
^  ywir  ears  at  first  and  open  them  by 
<i«gPB«,  for  the  voice  yon  will  hear  is  one 
of  those  shrill,  scolding,  stridulous  voices 
that  wuold  make  a  Lablache  faint  or  a 
Kobini  shudder.  It  is  a  dubious,  abnormal, 


epicene-kiad  of  a  voice,  neither  masculine 
nor  feminine,  perhaps  rather  of  the  neuter 
gender,  and  smacks  strongly  of  a  provin- 
cial accent;  and  yet  this  little  man  of  no 
appearance,  no  position,  and  with  such  a 
voice,  is  none  other  than  M.  Thiers,  one  of 
the  most  eminent  men  of  the  day,  one  of 
the  most  powerful  orators  in  the  House. 
That  shrill,  squeaking  voice  utters  words 
which  are  always  hetird  with  favour,  and 
are  often  applauded  with  frantic  enthusiasm. 
From  that  nasal  larynx  flows  out  a  speech 
clear  as  crystal,  rapid  as  thought,  weighty 
and  concise  as  meditation. 

M.  Thiers  did  not,  however,  re- 
main long  out  of  office ;  he  became 
Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs  in  March 
1840,  but  yielded  the  place  to  M. 
Guizot  in  October  of  the  same  year. 
In  1842,  as  chief  of  the  Left  Centre, 
M.  Thiers  supported  in  a  powerful 
speech  the  law  for  excluding  the 
Duchess  of  Orleans.  In  1845  ^^^ 
urged  the  adoption  of  measures  for 
preventing  the  extension  of  the 
order  of  Jesuits  in  France,  and 
they  were  expelled  again  asin  1831. 
During  these  and  the  following 
years  M.  Thiers  was  chiefly  occupied 
in  his  library,  and  contributed  to 
the  press.  In  1847  appeared  an 
article  in  the  Catisiitutionnel,  in 
which  he  declared  that  *  he  was  on 
the  side  of  the  Revolution  and 
would  never  betray  it.'  The  fall  of 
the  Monarchy  was  now  close  at 
hand,  and  on  the  prohibition  of  the 
intended  reform  baiiquet,  February 
21,  1848,  M.  Guizot  being  im- 
peached and  resigning,  the  King 
called  upon  M.  Thiers,  but  he  was 
unable  to  stem  the  revolutionary  tor- 
rent, and  Louis  Philippe  abdicated. 
On  December  10,  1848,  M.  Thiers 
voted  for  Louis  Napoleon  as  Presi- 
dent of  the  French  Republic.  Upon 
the  coup  cTetaty  when  the  Legislative 
Assembly  was  dissolved,  M.  Thiers, 
with  Changamier  and  others,  was 
arrested  ;  he  was  afterwards  con- 
ducted to  Frankfort,  and  remained 
out  of  France  until  August  1852, 


1  Galerie  dea  CanUm^poraina  iUwstrtSt  par  Un  Homme  de  Rien. 


100                                     A  Sketch  of  3f.  Thiers.  [January 

when  it  was  intimated  to  him  that  oration  on   '  the  foreign  policy  of 

he  might  rettirn.     Availing  himself  Prance.' 

of  the  permission  Iio  returned  home,  Of  the  part  M.  Thiers  has  played 

and  oceiipted  hi  in  self  in  his  literary  since  the  fall  of  the  Empire  we  have 

labours.  not  now  to  speak,  our  object  has 

In  1 863  MM.  Thiers,  OUivier  and  been  to  trace  rapidly  his  earlier  life. 

Favre  were  elected  deputies  on  the  His  celebrated  journey  to  the  Euro- 

Oppoaition  eide  of  the  House,  and  pean  Courts,  his  acts  since  he  be- 

M.  Thiers  took  a  very  active  part  came  President  of  Prance,  are  they 

in  the  discussions  on  the  various  not  written  in  the  daily  pages  of  the 

questions  bTOiig^ht  before  the  House,  papers  ? 

and  ia   JS67  he  made  his  famous  S. 


1873] 


101 


ON  PRISONS. 

?OME  OBSERVATIONS   ON    THE    INTERNATIONAL    PRISON 
HELD  IN  LONDON  FROM  JULY  3  TO   13,  1872. 


CONGRESS 


By  TfiB  RiQHT  Hon.   Sir  Walter  Crofton,  C.B. 


0 


N  the  evening  of  July  3,  1872, 
there  assembled  at  the  Middle  • 
Temple  Hall  a  large  and  import- 
sat  gathering  to  hear  the  opening 
address  of  the  Earl  of  Carnarvon, 
the  President  of  the  International 
Prison  Congress. 

Official  and  other  delegates  from 
Austria,  Baden,  Bavaria,  Belgium, 
Brazil,  Chili,  Denmark,  France, 
Germany,  Greece,  Holland,  Italy, 
Mexico,  Norway,  Prussia,  Russia, 
Saxony,  Spain,  Sweden,  Switzer- 
land, Turkey,  and  from  the  United 
States  were  there ;  and  representa- 
tives from  India,  from  our  Colo- 
nies, and  of  the  magistracy  of  the 
United  Kingdom  were  there  also. 

The  idea  of  this  great  and  im- 
portant   Congress  —  the    World's 
Congress,    aa    its    organiser.    Dr. 
Wines,  of  the  United  States,  has 
somewhere   termed   it-— originated 
in  America.       Congress,    approv- 
ing the  proposal,   authorised    the 
President  to  appoint  a    Commis- 
sioner  to    visit    Europe    for    the 
purpose  of  giving  efiect  to  it,  and 
General    Griunt  placed   the   Com* 
mission  in  the  hands  of  Dr.  Wines. 
No  person  could  have  executed  that 
very  difficult    commission    better, 
and  very  few  so  well.     His  mission 
to  Tarious  Continental   States  in 
1871  met  with    the  highest,  the 
warmest  support,  the  results  most 
abundantly  illustrating  that    this 
enoonragement  was  not  merely  an 
enconragement  of   words,   but    of 
deeds,  involving  as    it    did    each 
State  in  considerable  trouble  and 
some  expenditure. 

The  proposal  seemed,  indeed,  to 
be  most  iimoly,  for  all  nations,  in  a 
greater  or  lesser  degree,  considered 
their  treatment  of  criminals  to  be 
in  an  incomplete    and    tentative 


state.  Some  were  on  the  eve  of 
erecting  prisons  which  would  be 
governed  in  their  construction  by 
the  prison  system  it  would  be  ad- 
visable to  adopt.  Others  desired 
to  know  whether  a  system  of  pro- 
gressive classification  of  criminals 
could  be  safely  and  advantfi^;eously 
introduced,  and  how  far  it  could  be 
applied  consistently  with  different 
nationalities. 

Considering  the  vast  importance 
to  humanity  of  this  great  social 
question,  it  is  well  to  find  the  warm 
and  active  interest  evinced  by  va- 
rious Gk>vemments  with  regard  to 
it — for  it  was  not  always  so. 

In  England  we  need  not  look  back 
far  to  find  the  treatment  of  our 
criminals  erring  through  excessive 
severity  and  brutalising  conduct. 
Under  such  a  system,  if  system  it 
can  be  called,  we  manufactured 
criminals,  and  reaped  the  sure  and 
very  sad  results.  Subsequently, 
with  the  reaction  which  was  the 
inevitable  consequence  of  such  a 
state  of  things,  we  erred,  and  deeply 
erred,  on  the  side  of  excessive  lenity. 
In  either  case  we  worked  without  a 
principle,  dealing  in  a  fragmentary 
manner  with  a  very  gprave  and  com- 
prehensive question.  What  stronger 
testimony  need  be  adduced  to  con- 
firm this  statement  than  the  faot 
that  it  is  only  recently  we  have 
realised  the  necessity  by  legislation 
of  firmly  controlling  the  criminal 
classes,  and  attacking  crime  and 
its  haunts  at  the  root  P 

To  return  to  the  President's  ad- 
dress on  the  evening  of  July  3 — an 
evening  which  will  not  be  very 
easily  forgotten  by  those  present  at 
the  meeting  —  Lord  Carnarvon, 
whose  experience  on  this  subject  as 
Chairman  of  the  Committee  of  the 


102 


On  Frieons. 


[Janaarj 


House  of  Lords  on  Prison  Disci- 
pline, and  for  many  jears  as  Chair- 
man of  Quarter  Sessions  and  Chair- 
man of  Visiting  Justices  to  the 
Gaols  in  Hampshire,  gives  to  his 
opinion  considerable  weight,  indi- 
cated the  course  which  he  assumed 
the  Congress  would  follow  in  its 
discussions,  and  gave  a  brief  his- 
tory of  the  treatment  of  our  crimi- 
nals in  England. 

He  said — *  I  shall  not  overstate 
my  case  if  I  say  that  here  in  Eng- 
land we  have,  in  spite  of  many  in- 
terruptions, errors,  and  failures  of 
purpose,  entered  inte  a  period  of 
general,  though  gradual,  improve- 
ment. 

*  Three  measures,  indeed,  of  con- 
siderable magnitude  for  the  repres- 
sion of  crime  have  been  enacted 
during  the  last  eight  years — the 
Penal  Servitude  Act  of  1864,  which 
was  the  result  of  the  Penal  Servi- 
tude Commission  ;  the  Prisons  Act 
of  1865,  which  was  the  result  of 
the  House  of  Lords'  Committee  on 
Prison  Discipline,  of  which  I  had 
the  honour  to  be  Chairman;  and 
the  Habitual  Criminals  Acts  of  1869 
and  1 87 1,  which  were  the  result  of 
the  cessation  of  transportation,  and 
the  gradual  conviction  that  some- 
how means  must  be  found  or  made 
for  dealing  with  a  large  body  of 
profession^  criminals  growing 
every  year  into  more  formidable 
proportions  amidst  all  the  difficul- 
ties of  an  old  and  wealthy  and  arti- 
ficial society.  Certainly  our  prisons 
are  not  now  what  they  were  when 
Howard  first  began  his  task,  nor  do 
they  deserve  the  name  of  palaces, 
as  they  were,  I  think,  once  called 
by  Voltaire.  They  have  passed 
through  the  extremes  of  undue 
harshness  and  undue  leniencv ;  and 
they  are  approaching,  thougn  they 
have  only  in  individual  instances 
reached,  that  middle  and  whole- 
some condition  where  health  and 
life  are  cared  for,  where  all  facili- 
ties for  moral   and   religious   im- 


provement  are  given,  but  where 
labour  is  exacted  from  all,  and 
where  a  disagreeable  sense  of  per- 
sonal restraint  and  real  punishment 
is  brought  home  to  each  offender. 

'Finally,  under  the  Prevention 
of  Crime  Act  of  187 1,  which  em- 
bodied and  amended  the  Habitual 
Criminals  Act  of  1869,  some  im- 
portant  measures  have  been  adopted 
to  weaken,  if  they  have  failed  to 
break  up,  that  large  class  which 
follows  crime  as  a  trade,  and  which 
— ^at  all  times  a  cause  of  trouble 
and  grievous  expense  to  the  com- 
munity— becomes  a  source  of  grave 
danger  in  seasons  of  popular  dis- 
turbance. Re-convictions  for  felony' 
receive  a  heavier  pimishment ;  re- 
ceivers of  stolen  goods  are  brought, 
or  are  intended  to  be  brought, 
under  the  severer  action  of  the 
law  ;  a  registration  of  habitual 
criminals  and  the  use  of  photo- 
graphy have  been  attempted,  though 
T  doubt  whether  in  the  most  effec- 
tual manner.  The  police  are  en- 
abled to  deal  with  previously  con- 
victed offenders  against  whom  there 
is  reasonable  cause  of  suspicion; 
supervision,  formerly  nominal,  has 
been  made  more  real  by  enforcing 
a  monthly  report  of  the  license 
holder  to  the  police;  and  lastly, 
though  this  provision  seems  ca]3able 
of  improvement,  it  is  now  possible 
to  affect  in  some  measure  the  spring- 
head and  supply  of  crime  iteelf  by 
sending  to  industrial  schools  the 
children  of  women  who  have  been 
twice  convicted,  provided  that  they 
are  left  without  visible  means  of 
subsistence,  or  are  without  proper 
guardianship.  These,  doubtless, 
are  improvements,  and  it  is  pos- 
sible that  they  may  be  carried  yet 
further.' 

With  reference  to  progressive 
classification,  he  states — '  Such  in- 
ducements to  amendment  may  be 
promoted,  and  their  results  will  be 
best  tested  by  a  well-consideTed 
system  of  classification,  under  which 


1873] 


0»*  Prisons. 


103 


the  quantity  and  qaality  of  labour 
are  regulated,  and  the  upward  pro- 
gress of  the  prisoner  (who  himself 
becomes  the  arbiter  of  his  own 
fate)  through  each  class  in  succes- 
sion may  he  accelerated  by  industry 
and  good  conduct.  I  believe  that 
there  are  few  natures  upon  which 
the  gradual  substitution  of  lighter 
for  heavier  work,  the  concession  of 
small  privileges  for  good  conduct, 
and,  above  all,  the  sense  that  the 
duration  or  character  of  their  pu- 
nishment depends  in  a  considerable 
measure  upon  themselves  and  their 
own  exertions,  will  not  exercise  a 
wholesome  effect.  But  let  it  always 
be  remembered  that  good  conduct 
means  neither  promises  nor  profes- 
sions of  feeling,  nor  even  a  mere 
passive  compliance  with  prison 
roles;  it  means  actual  industry, 
of  which  some  evidence  can  be  given, 
and,  if  possible,  voluntary  industry 
over  and  above  the  prescribed  task. 
Sach  a  result,  though  hard  to  be 
secured  in  cases  of  short  sentences, 
is  not  impossible.' 

After  describing  the  progressive 
classification  (which  is  governed  by 
*  marks*)  in  the  convict  system, 
the  President  stated  'that  in  smaller 
gaols,  with  short  sentenced  prison- 
ers, privileges  of  an  almost  nominal 
valne  may  be  made  to  have  an  al- 
most equal  effect :  for  men  are  in- 
fiaenced  by  the  wants  and  circum- 
stances of  the  moment,  and  things 
which  in  a  state  of  personal  free- 
dom are  of  small  account,  become 
in  prison  of  the  highest  moment.' 
With  regard  to  the  *  mark  '  system, 
he  said — *I  need  hardly  add  to 
those  who  have  studied  these  ques- 
tions ihat  the  best  and  most  proved 
machinery  for  giving  effect  to  these 
ideas  is  a  scale  of  marks,  which  may 
be  made  as  simple  for  small  as  it 
can  be  brought  to  a  high  degree  of 
elaboration  for  large  prisons.  The 
opposition  to  this  system,  which 
numy  of  us  may  remember  when  it 
was  first  mtroduced  in  Ireland,  and 
afterwards  was  applied  in  England, 


has  now  passed  away;  its  vahie 
is  fully  recognised,  and  it  is  at  last 
understood  that  under  no  method 
can  the  prisoners'  work  be  more 
effectually  measured,  or  the  dili- 
gence and  fairness  of  the  prison 
officers  more  accurately  tested.' 

On  July  4  the  discussions  com- 
menced ;  the  arrangements,  order 
of  papers,  Ac,  having  been,  previ- 
ously settled  by  the  International 
Committee. 

Very  important  and  interesting 
papers  were  read  to  the  Congress, 
and  elicited  some  very  profitable 
discussion.  It  was  a  cause  of  re- 
gret to  many,  and  especially  to  the 
representatives  of  the  English  ma- 
gistracy present,  that  on  several 
subjects  of  considerable  importance 
sufficient  time  was  not  allowed  for 
their  discussion,  or  even  for  the  full 
explanations  which  were  required 
to  remove  much  misapprehension 
of  our  English  practice  which  ap- 
peared to  exist  in  the  minds  of  our 
Continental  and  American  friends. 

This  was  especially  the  case  with 
regard  to  the  subject  of  corporal 
punishment,  introduced  by  M. 
Stevens,  of  Belgium,  and  of  prison 
labour,  by  Mr.  Frederick  Hill. 

It  is  impossible  to  deny  that  the 
general  feeling  of  the  Congress  was 
extremely  hostile  both  to  the  in- 
fliction of  corporal  punishment,  and 
to  some  of  the  statutory  require- 
ments of  hard  labour,  viz.  the 
crank,  treadwheel,  and  shot  drill. 
As  indicative  of  this  feeling,  M. 
D' Alinge,  the  delegate  from  Saxony, 
to  whom  the  Congress  was  indebted 
for  much  useful  information,  has 
written  two  letters  to  the  Times 
within  the  last  few  weeks,  stating 
*  that  he  had  been  deeply  pained  by 
what  he  had  witnessed  in  some  de- 
partments of  our  penal  institutions,' 
and  found  it  necessary  to  point  '  to 
the  remaining  old  barbarities  which 
in  our  beautiful  country  still  dis- 
credit the  law^s  of  justice  and  the 
authority  of  punishment.' 

Ladies  and  gentlemen,  in  .discuss- 


104 


On  Prisons, 


[January 


ing  tbis  question,  spoke  as  if  these 
were  onr  ordinary  forms  of  punish- 
ment and  of  work,  and  most  charit- 
ably hoped  that  the  necessity  for 
such  treatment  would  no  longer  be 
apparent  to  us  now  we  had  adopted 
compulsory  education.  Bat  how 
stand  the  facts  ? 

Corporal  punishment  is  retained 
as  a  very  exceptional,  and  not  an 
ordinary  form  of  punishment,  and 
is  never  resorted  to  save  in  cases  in 
which  a  most  brutalised  nature  has 
been  evinced  by  the  offender,  and 
then  only  by  magisterial  order, 
which  must  be  supported  by  medi- 
cal approval.  Those  conversant 
witli  the  ordinary  practice  of  visit- 
ing justices  of  gaols,  before  order- 
ing the  infliction  of  corporal  punish- 
ment, will  be  amazed  at  some  of  the 
opinions  expressed  in  the  Congress, 
pleading  for  the  abolition  of  the 
power,  lest  it  should  be  abused. 
With  regard  to  this  subject,  the 
President  said,  *  One  word  more  on 
prison  punishments.  Where  there 
is  an  intractable  disposition,  which 
breaks  out  in  acts  of  insubordina- 
tion and  violence,  the  employment 
of  corporal  punishment  becomes 
sometimes  necessary.  It  is  a  re- 
source to  be  used  sparingly  and 
cautiously,  never  without  medical 
sanction,  and  always  with  discri- 
mination, both  as  to  the  cases  and 
individuals.  But  under  such  con- 
ditions. I  hold  it  to  be  an  invalu- 
able resource.  Within  my  own  ex- 
perience, I  can  scarcely  recall  the 
instance  where  it  has  failed  in  the 
desired  effect,  or  where  there  was 
room  for  the  slightest  doubt  as  to 
the  expediency  of  the  order.* 

There  is  no  person,  whose  opi- 
nion would  be  entitled  to  weight, 
who  would  in  this  country  advocate 
the  indiscriminate  use  of  corporal 
punishment.  On  the  other  hand, 
there  would  be  very  few,  with 
practical  experience,  but  would 
desire  the  retention  of  the  power,  to 
be  applicable  only  to  those  excep- 
tional and  brutalised  natures  which 


are  unfortunately  at  times  found  in 
our  gaols.  It  is  believed,  and 
rightly  believed,  that  the  retention 
of  the  power  prevents,  in  many 
cases,  the  necessity  for  its  exercise. 

It  should  be  clearly  understood 
that  the  punishment's  of  solitude, 
and  privation  of  diet,  have  in  this 
country,  under  medical  authority, 
their  limits,  and  that  we  do  not  ad- 
mit the  use  of  such  punishments  as 
the  shower  bath,  collars,  <&c. 

In  the  course  of  discussion.  Dr. 
Mouat,  who  was  for  many  years 
the  Inspector- General  of  Prisons  in 
Bengal,  pointed  out  that  he  had 
found,  in  several  instances,  the  re- 
tention of  the  power  of  inflicting 
corporal  punishment  had  been  the 
means  of  preventing  murder. 

General  Pilsbury,  of  the  United 
States,  the  able  and  humane  Gover- 
nor of  Albany  Prison,  whose  ex- 
perience of  fifty  years  and  his  own 
estimable  qualities  give  to  his  opi- 
nion considerable  weight,  made  a 
statement  to  the  same  effect ;  and, 
had  time  permitted,  these  opinions 
would  have  been  abundantly  con- 
firmed by  the  magistrates  and 
governors  of  gaols  present  at  the 
meeting. 

Very  much  misapprehension  also 
prevailed  with  regard  to  '  penal 
labour.'  It  seemed  to  be  the  im- 
pression that  it  was  confined  by 
statute  to  the  crank,  shot  drill,  and 
the  treadwheel.  This  is  not  the 
case ;  it  is  optional  with  the  magis- 
tracy to  adopt  these  forms  of  labour, 
or  others  (some  of  which  are  indi- 
cated in  the  statute  1 9th  cl.  28  and 
29  Vic.  cap.  1 26)  calculated  to  secure 
hard  bodily  labour.  Mr.  Hibbert, 
M.P.  for  Oldham,  and  Secretary  of 
the  Local  Government  Board,  nuule 
this  explanation  to  the  Congress, 
and  as  Chairman  of  the  Visiting 
Justices  at  Salford  Borough  Gaol 
showed  that,  although  the  tread- 
wheel  was  used  at  the  commence- 
ment of  sentences  of  hard  labour, 
the  industrial  profits  of  the  gaol 
exceeded  those  of  any  other  county 


1873] 


On  Pnsontt. 


105 


or  borongh    gaol    in    the  United 
Kingdom. 

The  fad  being,  that  in  Salford 
Gaol  and  in  seyeral  others,  *  penal 
labonr '  has  been  placed  in  its  proper 
order,  leading  by  good  condnct  to 
*  indnstrial  labour,'  which  is  thereby 
aK^ociated  in  the  mind  of  the  crimi- 
nal with  privilege,  a  very  important 
portion  of  his  training,  when  it  is 
considered  how  necessary  it  is  that 
he  should  learn  to  like  work.  Mem- 
bers of  the  Congress  were  justified 
in  deprecating  the  practice  pursued 
in  many  of  the  gaols  which  they 
had  visited,  in  restricting  the  work 
fo  *  penal  labour,'  such  as  the  tread- 
whet*],  shot  drill,  <fec.  Nothing 
could  be  more  detrimental  to 
amendment,  or  be  more  fatal  to  the 
promotion  of  habits  of  true  industry, 
than  such  an  absence  of  system  and 
motive  power  to  improvement. 

Bnt  we  cannot  accept  such  a 
procedure  as  an  approved  type  of 
prison  treatment  in  this  country. 

In  inviting  the  attention  of  the 
inajrmtracy  to  the  Prisons  Act  1865, 
the  Home  Secretary  pointed  out 
how  industry  and  good  behaviour 
con  Id  be  stimulatiCd  under  good  and 
systematic  arrangements—  showing 
ti»t  progressive  classification,  even 
seven  years  since,  was  expected  to 
be  the  result  of  a  course  which  he 
was  enabled  to  suggest,  but  had 
not  power  to  direct.  We  can,  how- 
ever, fortunately  point  to  several 
piols  in  which  the  intention  of  the 
Government  has  been  carried  out. 

In  turning  to  the  convict  esta- 
bliHhments,  which,  from  being  under 
the  sole  control  of  the  Government, 
may  be  considered  as  directly  re- 
ptisenting  its  views  upon  prison 
discipline,  we  find  the  system  based 
upon  progressive  classification,  with 
thertrongest  motive  power  to  amend, 
existing  in  its  different  stages. 

It  will  be  seen,  from  what  has  been 
stated,  that  the  practices  in  some 
gM>l8  which  have  been  complained 
of  by  members  of  the  Congress 
cannot  be  recognised  as  the  prison 


system  of  the  country,  but  as  the 
result  of  the  great  power  given  to 
gaol  authorities  under  the  Prisons 
Act  1865.  We  must  accept  this 
as  a  blot  in  our  procedure,  and 
trust  that,  either  by  an  early  amend- 
ment of  the  statute,  or  by  other  very 
obvious  means,  both  uniformity  of 
treatment  and  progressive  classifi- 
cation will  very  soon  be  made  im- 
perative. 

But,  in  pleading  guilty  to  this 
blot,  which,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  will 
soon  be  removed,  we  have  reason, 
as  a  nation,  to  be  proud  of  the  com- 
prehensive manner  in  which  we  deal 
with  our  criminal  classes  as  a  whole; 
and  it  is  submitted  that  a  due  con- 
sideration of  our  principles  of  pro- 
cedure will  show  that  the  whole 
course  is  tempered  with  humanity, 
whilst  duo  protection  to  the  com- 
munity is  at  the  same  time  afforded. 

The  late  Count  Cavour,  in  a 
minute  on  the  Irish  convict  system, 
recorded  *  that,  in  his  opinion,  it  was 
the  only  efficacious  means  of  dis- 
countenancing vice  and  crime,  by 
encouraging,  through  means  purely 
philanthropic,  the  reform  of  the 
criminal  without,  however,  holding 
from  him  his  punishment.* 

The  treatment  of  our  criminals 
in  this  country,  if  carefully  con- 
sidered as  a  whole,  is  now  entitled 
to  equal  approval. 

We  administer  punishment  as 
being  exemplary,  and,  if  placed  in 
its  proper  order,  as  being  both  de- 
terrent and  reformatory  to  the 
criminal  himself. 

We  offer,  in  our  progressive 
classification,  the  strongest  induce- 
ment to  amend,  and  in  the  process 
we  use  such  motive  powers  as  will 
best  secure  that  end. 

We  do  not  enfeeble  or  crush  the 
will  of  the  criminal  by  lengthened 
isolation,  but  endeavour  so  to  mould, 
and  then  to  co-operate  with  it,  aa 
to  utilise  it  in  a  new  and  a  better 
form  for  the  j^reat  battle  of  life 
which  must  be  fought  on  liberation. 
As  it  is  of  little  use  to  train  him 


106 


On  Prisons, 


[Janaary 


for  honest  employment  if  it  is 
closed  against  him,  we  prepare  him 
for  release,  and  by  our  Prisoners 
Aid  Societies,  now  numbering 
thirty-six,  we  further  his  obtain- 
ing employment. 

Reports  were  read  to  the  Con- 
gress by  Mr.  Murray  Browne,  the 
Honorary  Secretary  to  the  Metro- 
politan Discharged  Prisoners  Re- 
lief Committee,  and  by  Mr.  Ranken, 
the  Honorary  Secretary  of  the 
Discharged  Prisoners  Aid  Society 
at  Charing  Cross,  which  deals  spe- 
cially with  those  who  have  been  in 
the  convict  establishments. 

Nothing  could  be  more  satisfac- 
tory than  the  results  shown  by  these 
gentlemen,  and  it  may  be  stated 
that,  in  addition  to  the  aids  already 
mentioned,  there  are  three  female 
refuges  in  connection  with  the 
EngUsh  convict  establishments, 
which  very  materially  assist  in 
placing  the  deserving  in  employ- 
ment, and  Mrs.  Meredith's  Prisoners 
Aid  Society. 

The  Act  25  and  26  Vic.  c.  44 
not  only  sanctions  the  giving  aid 
to  dipcharged  prisoners,  but  renders 
the  formation  of  societies  for  the 
purpose  comparatively  ea.sy. 

By  the  legislation  of  recent  years 
we  have  at  last  realised  the  neces- 
sity of  stamping  out  habitual  crime 
as  a  pestilence,  and  so,  under  the 
Habitual  Criminals  Act  of  1869, 
and  the  Prevention  of  Crime  Act 
of  187 1,  the  criminal  now  finds,  on 
his  liberation,  that  the  facilities 
which  formerly  prevailed  for  the 
commission  of  crime  no  longer 
exist ;  he  is  now  convinced  that  he 
cannot  pursue  crime  with  impunity, 
and  that,  if  he  still  persists  in  fol- 
lowing it,  the  vocation  will  be  one 
of  the  utmost  hazard.  The  State 
is  thus  following  up  its  prison 
training  by  protecting  the  criminal 
against  himself,  and  lessening  his 
temptations  by  legislation  so  f^r  as 
is  practicable. 


Registration  of  criminals,,  photo- 
graphy, and  police  supervision  have 
conduced  to  this  end ;  and  those 
only  can  fully  realise  the  advan- 
tages which  have  accrued  there- 
from who  had  opportunities  of  be- 
coming acquainted  with  the  im- 
munity of  the  criminal  classes 
which  until  lately  existed. 

The  public  are  in  very  general 
accord  that  Mr.  Bruce,  the  present 
Home  Secretary,  has  given  us  good 
measures  in  the  statutes  which 
have  been  named,  but  not  many 
are  in  a  position  to  feel  their  full 
value,  and  know  from  how  much 
we  have  been  saved  by  such  timely 
legislation. 

*  Police  supervision'  has  not  Ixjen, 
as  was  anticipated  by  some  persons 
a  few  years  since,  abused ;  it  is  used, 
and  in  the  real  interests  of  the  cri- 
minal as  well  as  of  the  public. 

Concurrently  with  other  infor- 
mation of  great  value  given  to  the 
Congress  by  the  eminent  men  who 
were  present,  we  learnt  with  satis- 
faction that  Germany  had  intro- 
duced a  new  Penal  Code  which  had 
taken  effect  from  January  i,  1872,' 
and  in  it  we  find  that,  analogous  to 
the  system  jof  ticket-of-leave,  the 
Penal  Code  admits  of  a  provisional 
liberation  of  the  convict  on  the  pre- 
sumption that  he  is  a  fit  person  to 
return  to  society — that  prisoners 
sentenced  to  longer  terms  of  im- 
prisonment may  be  provisionally 
set  at  liberty,  if  they  have  con- 
ducted themselves  well  during  three- 
fourths  of  the  term  of  imprison- 
ment, not  being  less  than  one  year. 
We  also  learn  the  pains  taken  by 
the  Government  to  secure  a  careful 
and  considerate  supervision  by  the 
police,  for  the  instructions  declare 
*  the  necessity  which  exists  for  a 
carefal  discrimination  of  the  dif- 
ferent classes  of  criminals,  and  men- 
tion that  frommisguided  supervision 
reformation  becomes  frequently  im- 
possible.*  The  Minister  exhorts  the 


*  Dr.  E.  ZimmennanD.     (Triibner  &  Co.) 


1873] 


On  Prisons. 


107 


police  •  to  direcfc  all  their  powers  to 
the  fulfilment  of  his  desire,  that 
they  may  not,  by  untimely  and  in- 
considerate exercise  of  supervision, 
throw  any  impediments  in*  the  way 
of  released  prisoners  striving  to 
secure  an  honest  liveliehood.' 

It  most  be  extremely  gratifying 
to  those  who  have  long  advocated  a 
well-regulated  *  police  supervision,' 
to  find  Germany  proceeding  on  tho 
lines  which,  first  laid  down  in  Ire- 
land, have  since  been  followed  with 
snch  advantage  in  Great  Britain. 

There  was  much  interesting  in- 
formation on  the  Belgian  system  of 
prison  discipline  given  to  the  Con- 
gress by  M.  Stevens,  tho  Inspector 
of  Prisons  in  Belgium,  and  there 
can  be  little  doubt  that,  considered 
merely  as  a  system  of  discipline 
within  the  prison,  it  has  several  re- 
commendations. 

Many  experienced  persons  have 
seen  these  prisons,  and  most  highly 
commend  their  appearance  and 
order ;  bnt  it  will  be  observed,  by 
what  has  been  stated,  that  in  our 
treatment  of  criminals  we  aim  at  a 
more  comprehensive  scheme  than 
their  mere  prison  discipline,  and 
that  in  furtherance  of  this  end  we 
desire  not  onl j  to  g^ve  Hiem  correc- 
ti?e  discipline,  *and  to  keep  them 
orderly  and  cleanly,  but,  so  far  as 
may  be  possible,  to  make  their 
treatment  and  tests  of  improvement 
of  a  natural  description. 

We  endeavoar  to  smooth  their 
passage  to  an  honest  life  by  induc- 
ing persons  to  offer  them  employ- 
ment, and  we  trj  to  make  them  fit 
for  it. 

Artificial  treatment  would  in  this 
country  entirely  fail  to  attain  this 
end ;  it  is  undeniable  that  under  it 
prison  offences  might  be  diminished, 
&&d  the  responsibilities  of  manage- 
ment would  assuredly  be  lessened, 
bnt  this  is  only  one  element  in  the 
consideration  of  a  grave  social 
qnestion,  which  we  have  been  called 


upon  to  solve  under  very  consider- 
able difficulties. 

There  were  many  interesting  and 
most  instructive  papers  read  to  the 
Congress  on  the  discipline  and  in- 
dustries of  prisons,  and  reformatory 
and  industrial  schools,  which  have 
just  been  published  in  the  volume 
of  Transactions* 

It  is  certain  that  wo  are  now 
proceeding  on  principles  which  have 
satisfactorily  stood  tho  test  of  in- 
formation collected  in  a  manner 
not  possible  in  any  country  which 
does  not  register  and  supervise  its 
criminals,  and  place  them  under 
disabilities.  It  is  obviously  worse 
than  useless  to  compare  and  draw 
conclusions  from  statistics  collected 
from  different  data,  for  they  would 
entirely  mislead  the  public ;  and 
this  point  is  especially  worthy  of 
the  consideration  of  the  Interna- 
tional Statistical  Committee  ap- 
pointed to  meet  in  Brussels  during 
next  September. 

Under  the  strongest  and  most 
reliable  test  which  has  yet  been  ap- 
plied in  any  country  in  order  ta 
obtain  information  of  liberated 
criminals,  we  find  that,  notwith- 
standing the  increase  of  our  popula- 
tion, and  the  improved  machmery 
for  the  detection  of  offenders,  serious 
crime  has  very  materially  decreased ; 
we  shall  be,  therefore,  wise  in  pro- 
ceeding according  to  the  principles 
which  have  been  laid  down  by  the 
Government,  and  have  been  ap- 
proved by  the  highest  and  most 
experienced  authorities  upon  this 
subject. 

At  the  same  time,  in  developing 
these  principles,  there  will  be  from 
time  to  time  many  improvements  to* 
make,  the  value  of  which  can  only 
be  shown  by  experience.  Although 
approving  the  general  plan  of  our 
procedure,  it  cannot  by  any  means 
be  asserted  that  our  labour  in 
prisons  is  not  capable  of  improve- 
ment, or  that  our  education  in  these 


'  Transiictions,  International  Penitentiary  Congress*    (Longmans  ^  Co.) 


108 


Oil  Frisoiis, 


[January 


establiabments  is  given  in  the  best 
and  most  intelligible  form. 

Progressive  classiBcation  has 
still  to  bo  improved  and  ex- 
tended, and  must  be  made  im- 
perative upon  all  gaol,  authorities. 
B«peatod  re-convictions  with  short 
.  sentences  must  no  longer  be  practi- 
cable. The  childron  of  habitual  cri- 
minals must  be  systematicallj  taken 
from  their  parents  under  cL  14  of  the 
Prevention  of  Crime  Act,  and  placed 
in  industrial  schools.  Public  pro- 
secutors must  be  appointed.  When 
these  and  some  other  matters  iiave 
been  attended  to,  the  framework  of 
principles  laid  down  by  legislation 
and  authority  will  have  been  to 
some  extent  satisfactorily  filled  up. 

The  resolutions  adopted  by  the 
Congress  were  in  brief  these : — 

The  establishment  of  a  progres- 
sive classification  oF  prisoners  in  all 
gaols ;  that  hope  should  be  con- 
stantly sustained  in  the  minds  of 
prisoners  by  a  system  of  rewards 
for  good  conduct  and  industry — 
whether  in  the  shape  of  a  diminu- 
tion of  sentence,  a  participation  in 
eariiings,  a  gradual  .withdrawal  of 
restraint,  or  an  enlargement  of  pri- 
vilege. 

That  all  disciplinary  punishments 
that  inflict  nnuQcessary  pain  or 
humiliation  should,  be  abolished; 
and  the  penalties  should,  so  far  as 
possible,  be  tlio  diminution  of  ordi- 
nary comforts,  the  forfeiture  of 
some  privilege,  or  of  a  part  of 
the  progress  made  towards  li- 
beration. Moral  forces  and  mo- 
tives should,  in  fact,  be  relied  on, 
so  far  as  is  consistent  with  the  due 
maintenance  of  discipline,  and  phy- 
sical  fbrce  should  be  employed  only 
in  the  last  necessity.  The  true 
principle  is  to  place  the  prisoner — 
who  must  be  taught  that  he  has 
sinned  against  society,  and  owes 
reparation — in  a  position  of  stem 
adversity,  from  which  he  must  work 
his  own  way  out  by  his  owu  exer- 


tions. To  impel  a  prisoner  to  this 
self-exertion  should  be  the  aim  of  a 
system  of  prison  discipline  which  can 
never  be  truly  reformatory  unless  it 
succeeds  in  gaining  tho  will  of  the 
convict. 

That  if  a  sound  system  of  prison 
discipline  be  desirable,  it  is  no  less 
expedient  that  the  prisoner,  on  his 
discharge,  should  be  systematically 
aided  to  obtain  employment,  and  to 
return  permanently  to  the  ranks  of 
honest  and  productive  industry. 
For  this  purjMise  a  more  compre- 
hensive system  than  has  yet  been 
brought  to  bear  seems  to  be  desira- 
ble. 

Attention  is  also  called  in  the 
Report  to  the  importance  of  pre- 
ventive agencies,  such  a^  industrial 
schools. 

It  has  been  the  object  of  the 
writer  of  this  paper  to  endeavour, 
so  far  as  space  would  permit,  to 
correct  the  misapprehension  upon 
certain  points  which  prevailed  in 
the  minds  of  many  members  of  the 
International  Prison  Congress ;  ^  and 
to  show  by  extracts  from  the  ad- 
dress of  the  President,  and  by  other 
statements  referring  to  the  subject, 
that  the  prison  system  of  this  coun- 
try, as  approved  by  the  State,  is,  so 
far  as  its  legal  authority  at  present 
extends,  in  accord  with  tlio  resolu- 
tions of  the  Executive  Committefi 
of  the  International  Prison  Con- 
grcss.  But,  at  the  same  time,  in 
consequence  of  the  want  of  power 
of  tho  central  authority  to  direct 
uniformity  of  treatment  in  local 
gaols,  the  principles  approved  and 
acted  on  in  tho  establishments  under 
the  control  of  the  Grovemment  are 
in  some  of  the  county  and  borough 
gaols  in  different  stages  of  develop- 
ment, whilst  in  others,  unfavourably 
commented  on  by  member^  of  the 
Congress,  the^r  development  has, 
unfortunately,  not  even  yet  been 
attempted. 


•  These  points  are  to  be  brought  under  the  consideration  of  the  PriEon  Congress  at 
Baltimore,  U.S.,  on  January  21,  1873,  and  also  before  a  meeting  to  be  convened  early  in 
the  year  at  the  rooms  of  the  Social  Science  Association  in  London. 


1873] 


109 


DULWICH  COLLEGE. 


THE  ancient  and  pictnresque 
foandation  of  God's  Gift  in 
Dalwich  is  abont  to  nndcrgo  one  of 
those  inevitable  transformations, 
which,  however  well  adapted  to  the 
changed  requirements  of  onr  times, 
can  searoelj  be  regarded  without  a 
faint  regret.  The  publication  of  a 
new  scheme  bjthe  Endowed  Schools 
Commissioners  for  the  reorganisa- 
tion and  future  administration  of 
this  great  charitj  seems  to  furnish 
a  fitting  occasion  for  recalling  at- 
tention to  Edward  Allo3m\s  original 
designs,  to  the  manner  in  which 
they  have  been  practically  realised, 
aod  to  the  nature  of  those  larger 
and  more  ambitious  objects  to  which 
it  is  now  proposed  to  apply  his  be- 
nevolent gift. 

The  period  of  Edward  Alleyn's 
life  covers  the  golden  age  of  our 
national  drama.  Bom  in  1566,  his 
60 years  included  much  of  tlie  life  of 
Spenser,  Sidney,  Dekker,  Webster, 
and  Massinger,  and  nearly  the  whole 
of  that  of  Shakespeare,  Marlowe, 
Bacon,  and  Jonson.  Coveting  no 
name  in  literature,  he  yet  appears  to 
have  been  on  terms  of  honourable 
friendship  with  some  of  the  greatest 
writers  of  his  day,  and  to  have 
done  much  to  redeem  the  profession 
of  a  player  from  the  traditional 
discredit  which  still  clung  to  it, 
even  though  the  performances  of 
hear-wards,  minstrels,  and  players 
of  vain  interludes  were  being  fast 
historic  drama,  and 
hj  a  noble  literature.  Except  Shake- 
speare, AUeyn  is-  the  only  contem* 
porary  actor  who  is  known  to  have 
made  a  fortune  by  the  theatre ; 
and  the  rapidity  with  which  he 
added  field  to  field,  and  sought  after 
newinvestmentS)is  a  striking  proof 
of  the  favour  with  which  the  Eng- 
lish pubhc  welcomed  the  develop- 
ment of  their  national  drama,  and 
rewarded  its  professors*  Besides 
setting  up  almshouses   and  minor 


charities  elsewhere,  he  contrived  to 
purchase,  at  a  cost  of  nearly  9,000/., 
the  manor  of  Dulwich  and  adjacent 
properties,  and  on  it  to  establish  as 
his  most  enduring  monument  his 
College  of  God's  Gift.  He  had  been 
much  impressed  with  a  visit  he  paid 
to  the  foundation  of  Thomas  Sutton 
at  the  Charter-house,  and  desired  to 
emulate  his  deeds.  With  how  much 
care  and  affection  he  set  about  this 
task,  and  framed  the  statutes  for  the 
futuit)  administration  of  the  College ; 
how  thankfully  he  welcomed  the 
Lord  Chancellor  Bacon,  Mr.  Inigo 
Jones,  and  many  other  notables  to 
the  religious  services  and  banquet 
with  which  he-  distinguished  the 
great  day  of  his  life,  that  of  the 
opening  of  the  now  College  in  Sep- 
tember 16 19;  how  calmly  he  and 
his  wife  betook  themselves  for  the 
remnant  of  their  days  to  the  shelter 
of  tho  new  home  they  had  thus 
created  for  others ;  occasionally  re- 
creating themselves,  in  memory  of 
old  times,  with  the  performance  of  a 
play  by  the  boys  of  the  school ;  how 
they  subjected  themselves  to  the 
same  rules  and  lived  the  same  life 
as  -the  recipients  of  their  bounty, 
may  all  be  read  in  the  curious  nar- 
rative which  the  zeal  of  Mr.  Collier 
and  of  the  Shakespeare  Society  has 
pieced  together  from  the  fragment- 
ary documents  preserved  at  Dul- 
wich. '  I  like  well,*  said  the  Lord 
Keeper  Verulam,  *  that  Allen  play eth 
the  last  act  of  his  life  so  well.* 

Yet  to  Bacon's  foresight  and  states- 
manship the  disposition  of  his  pro- 
perty made  by  tho  player,  did  not 
seem  to  be  entirely  wise.  It  was 
natural  that  Alleyn  in  the  evening  of 
his  days  should  picture  to  himself  a 
retreat  which  should  be  a  safe  har- 
bour from  the  cares  of  life,  where, 
to  the  end  of  time,  six  poor  men 
and  six  poor  women,  under  the 
supervision  of  a  master,  warden,  and 
four  fellows,  and  with  the  help  of  a 


110 


Bulwich  College, 


[Januaij 


skilful  organist,  should  always  wor- 
ship God  together,  and 

Husband  out  life's  taper  at  the  close, 
And  keep  the  flame  from  wasting  by  repose. 

On  this  the  eleemosynary  part  of 
his  foundation,  he  evidently  be- 
stowed more  thought  than  upon 
the  provision  for  the  education  of 
twelve  boys  in  good  literature, 
whom,  nevertheless,  he  desired  to 
be  added  to  the  little  community. 
To  Bacon,  who  was  officially  cogni- 
sant of  the  proceedings  for  legal- 
ising the  appropriation  of  the  estate 
to  this  purpose,  it  seemed  that  it 
would  bo  well  to  devote  more  to 
education  and  less  to  charity.  There 
was,  he  said,  great  want  of  lecture- 
ships in  Oxford  and  Cambridge, 
foundations  of  singular  honour  and 
usefulness,  'whereas  hospitals  a- 
bound,  and  beggars  abound  never  a 
whit  less.' 

Bacon's  eflforts  to  procure  a  more 
favourable  apportionment  of  the 
estate  to  educational  objects  were 
overruled,  but  have  been  abun- 
dantly justified  by  the  subsequent 
history  of  the  foundation.  Expe- 
rience has  shown  that  a  quasi- 
monastic  community  of  old  people, 
separated  from  their  own  friends 
and  relatives,  bound,  it  is  true,  by 
no  vows,  but  subjected  to  religions 
and  other  restraints  which  are  alien 
to  the  habits  of  their  life,  is  one  of 
the  least  happy  and  restful  of  so- 
cieties ;  and  that  the  creation  of 
artificial  substitutes  of  this  kind  for 
true  homes  is  one  of  the  most 
wasteful  and  ineffective  of  all  forms 
of  benevolence.  Moreover,  as  the 
legal  estate  was  vested  in  the 
master,  warden,  and  fellows,  it  has 
happened,  as  years  went  on  and 
the  property  increased,  that  the  full 
advantage  of  the  increase  has  been 
shared  by  these  functionaries,  while 
the  comforts  of  the  almsmen  were 
not  augmented,  and  the  twelve  poor 
boys,  in  wretched  isolation  from  all 
the  influences  by  which  the  life  of 
a  good  school  is  sustained,  were  for 


many  generations  compelled  to  be 
content  with  a  charity-school  educa- 
tion of  the  most  meagre  quality. 

That  AUeyn's  work  was  one  of 
true  and  wise  beneficence  does  not, 
however,  appear  at  the  time  to 
have  been  doubted  by  anyone  bat 
Bacon.  From  grateful  dramatists 
like  Hey  wood,  from  noblemen  like 
the  Earl  of  Arundel,  even  from  a 
clergyman  like  Stephen  Gosson, 
whose  Pleasant  Invective  against 
Flayers,  Jesters,  and  svch  like  Cater- 
pillars  of  a  Commmiwealth,  had 
been  published  shortly  before,  there 
came  a  cordial  recognition  of  the 
player's  goodness,  or  oflTers  of  aid 
and  co-operation. 

On  the  other  hand,  Alleyn,  of 
course,  could  not  escape  calumny. 
There  were  those  who  described  him 
as  having  been  frightened  by  an  ap- 
parition of  the  Devil,  while  playing 
Marlowe's  Faustus,  and  so  driven 
by  remorse  for  his  share  in  a  de- 
moralising pursuit  into  acts  of  re- 
stitution and  atonement.  Others, 
such  as  the  anonymous  author  of 
the  Return  to  Parnassus,  ascribed 
his  doings  to  vulgar  ostentation — 

England  affords  these  glorioiis  vagabonds. 
That  carried  erst  their  fardels  on  their 

backs, 
Coursers  to  ride  on  through   the  gazing 

streets, 
Sweeping  it  in  their  glowing  satin  suits. 
And  pages  to  attend  their  masterships  ; 
With  mouthing  words  that  better  wits  hare 

framed, 
They  purchase  lands,  and  new  esquires  are 

named. 

Even  Fuller,  though  finding  a  place 
half  a  century  later  for  old  Alleyn 
among  his  Worthies  of  England, 
could  not  re&ain  from  a  (Juiet  sar- 
casm as  to  the  tainted  source  from 
which  the  wealth  had  been  de- 
rived. *  He  got  a  very  great  estate, 
and  in  his  old  age,  following  Christ's 
counsel  (on  what  forcible  notice 
it  belongs  not  me  to  enquire),  he 
made  friends  of  the  unrighteous 
mammon,  bxdlding  therewith  a  fair 
college  at  Dulwich,  in  Kent^  for  the 


ic<r3i 


Bvlwich  OoUege. 


Ill 


relief  of  poor  people.  Some,  I  con- 
ft^  count  ifc  built  on  a  foundered 
foaodation,  seeing,  in  a  spiritual 
8ease,  none  is  good  and  lawful 
money  save  what  is  honestlj  and 
iDdastriouslj  gotten.  But,  per- 
chance, such  who  condemn  Master 
Alleyn  herein  have  as  bad  shillings 
in  the  bottom  of  their  own  bags  if 
search  were  made  therein.*  Alley n 
had  anticipated  this  kind  of  cen- 
>Tire  when,  in  a  manly  letter  to  Sir 
Francis  Calton,  he  had  once  said, 
'  And  when  you  tell  me  of  my  poor 
t)riginal,  and  of  my  quality  as  a 
plajer,  what  is  that?  If  I  am 
richer  than  laj  auncostres,  I  hope 
I  may  be  able  to  do  more  good  with 
my  nches  than  ever  youi  aunccs- 
tres  did  with  theirs.  That  I  was  a 
plaver  I  cannot  deny,  and  I  am 
6Qre  I  will  not.  My  means  of  living 
were  honest,  and  with  the  poor 
abilities  wherewith  God  blessed 
me  I  was  able  to  do  something 
for  myself,  my  relatives,  and  my 
fiiends.  Therefore  am  1  not 
ashamed.' 

That  AUeyn's  benevolent  visions 
Lave  been  very  imperfectly  realised 
yf\\\  sarprise  no  one  who  has  studied 
with  any  care  the  history  of  chari- 
table foundations  in  England.  He 
made  no  provision  for  the  applica- 
tion of  the  increased  revenue  to 
rew  objects  of  usefulness,  and  none 
for  its  adaptation  to  the  changed 
wants  and  circumstances  of  a^er 
generations.  Accordingly,  while 
the  letter  of  his  instructions  was, 
after  a  sort,  observed,  their  spirit 
ha:4  long  since  evaporated.  Until 
within  the  last  twenty  years,  Dul- 
wit'h  was  chiefly  remarkable  as  a 
pictaresque  and  rural  oasis  in  the 
midst  of  a  large  southern  suburb, 
otherwise  given  over  to  enterprising 
liuilders.  By  later  bequests  of  Sir 
Francis  Bourgeois  and  Marguerite 
Desenfans.  tlie  College  had  also  be- 
come possessed  of  a  small  collection 
of  pictures  containing  a  few  master- 
pieces, which  often  attracted  lovers 
of  art  to  visit  the  place.     But  for 

VOL.  VII. — NO.  XXXVH.      NEW  SERIES. 


the  rest,  Alleyn's  hospital  ytbs  a 
mere  nest  of  sinecurists,  in  close 
connection  with  a  joyless  alms- 
house and  a  feeble  and  inefficient 
charity  school. 

The  Act  of  Parliament  passed  in 
1857  for  remodelling  the  entire 
foundation  was  a  somewhat  sweep- 
ing and  revolutionary  measure,  and 
has  effected  considerable  results. 
It  provided  that  the  eleemosynary 
branch  of  the  charity  should  be  en- 
titled to  one- fourth  of  the  nett  in- 
come, and  that  the  residue  should 
be  devoted  to  education.  It  consti- 
tuted an  entirely  new  governitii^ 
body,  composed  for  the  most  part 
of  nominees  of  the  Court  of  Chan- 
cery. To  this  body  was  entrusted 
the  power  to  develop  the  financial 
resources  of  the  estate,  and  to  raise 
money  sufficient  for  the  erection  of 
new  and  splendid  school -buildings. 
There  was  to  be  an  upper  and  a 
lower  school,  mainly  designed  for 
day  pupils,  but  providing  also  for 
the  clothing  and  maintenance  of 
twenty- four  foundation  scholars,  to 
be  selected  preferentially  from  the 
inhabitants  of  the  four  London  pa- 
rishes— St.  Botolph,  Bishopsgate  ; 
St.  Luke's ;  St.  Saviour's,  Soutb- 
wark ;  and  St.  Giles's,  Camber- 
well — named  by  Alleyn  in  his  will. 
Ample  provision  was  also  made 
both  for  exhibitions  tenable  in  the 
school  itself,  and  for  scholarships 
enabling  scholars  of  merit  to  pro- 
ceed from  it  to  the  University. 

Before  these  arrangements  had 
been  completed,  the  Schools  In- 
quiry Commission  of  1865  investi- 
gated the  charity,  and  made  it  tlie 
subject  of  a  special  report.  Mr. 
Fearon  visited  the  two  schools,  while 
they  were  yet  carried  on  in  the  old 
premises,  and  reported  that  there 
were  in  all  220  scholars,  of  whom 
130  were  in  the  upper  school.  The 
educational  system  prescribed  Ity 
the  scheme  was  then  undeveloped  ; 
but  since  the  opening  of  the  now 
and  magnificent  premises,  the  num- 
ber has   nearly  trebled;   and  the 

r 


112 


Didwich  College^ 


[Jannaiy 


school  has  rapidly  ailvanced  in 
reputation  and  nsefalness.  It 
might  well  appear  that  a  legislative 
ser.tlement  so  recent  onght  to  re- 
main for  a  generation  or  two,  at 
least,  nndisturbed  ;  and  the  Schools 
Inqairy  Commissioners,  in  their 
report,  approached  the  subject  with 
manifest  hesitation,  and  were 
diffident  in  recommending  farther 
changes.  Nevertheless  they  pointed 
outf^ome  defects  in  theconstitation 
of  the  school,  explained  that  the 
area  of  its  action  might  still  be 
beneficially  widened,  and  hinted 
that  80  rich  an  educational  charity 
ongbt  to  do  something  for  the  in- 
struction of  girls  as  well  as  boys. 
They  added  that  in  any  general  re- 
construction of  endowed  schools,  in 
the  light  of  the  experience  which 
they  had  collected,  Dulwich  con  Id 
not  be  omitted  without  some  in- 
justice to  other  institutions,and  some 
sacrifice  of  the  educational  interests 
of  the  community.  Accordingly, 
when  the  Endowed  Schools  Act  of 
1869  was  passed,  and  seven  great 
public  schools  were  omitted  from 
the  jurisdiction  of  the  new  Com- 
mission, on  the  ground  that  they 
had  recently  been  the  subjects  of 
special  legislation,  no  such  ex- 
emption was  made  in  favour  of 
Dulwich,  which  is  therefore  clearly 
within  the  purview  of  the  Act. 

In  these  circumstance:^,  it  appears 
that  the  Endowed  Schools  Com- 
missioners have  excogitated  a 
scheme  for  the  future  management 
of  the  institution,  and  have  recently 
published  it.  They  found  the  Col- 
lege with  sumptuous  buildings, 
erected  at  a  cost  of  6o,oooZ.,  and  with 
an  almost  unencumbered  revenue  of 
i8,oooZ.  a  year.  They  were  bound 
to  look  with  fresh  eyes  on  the 
capabilities  of  so  rich  a  foundation, 
and  to  co-ordinate  it  and  its  work 
with  other  institutions,  which, 
under  the  Act  of  Parliament,  wei  e 
being  subjected  to  revision  and 
reform.' 

We  conceive  that  there  were  three 


leading  objects  which  the  framers 
of  any  soheme  designed  to  disturb 
the  settlement  of  1857  should  have 
kept  in  view:  (i)  The  mainte- 
nance and  development  in  the 
fullest  efficiency  of  the  great  school 
at  Dulwich ;  (2}  The  extension  of 
the  area  of  the  charity  to  limits  co- 
extensive with  the  vastly  increased 
resources  of  the  foundation,  and 
especially  to  the  London  parishes 
named  by  the  founder ;  and  (3)  the 
application  of  some  substantial 
portion  of  the  educational  advan- 
tages of  the  charity  to  girls.  It 
may  be  useful  to  enquire  how  far 
each  of  these  purposes  is  served  by 
the  provisions  of  the  recently  pub- 
lished scheme. 

With  regard  to  the  eleemosynary 
branch  of  the  foundation,  the  pro- 
posed   settlement   proceeds   much 
farther  in  the  direction  of  Bacon *s 
advice  than  any  previous  arrange- 
ment.     Whereas  the  Act  of  1857 
assigned  one-fourth  of  the  nett  in- 
come to  the  Hospital,  the  present    ' 
scheme  charges  the  estate,  once  for    I 
all,  with  the  annual  sum  of  i,5oo2.,    | 
less  than  a  tithe  of  the  whole  reve- 
niie ;   and  further  provides  that  it    ' 
shall  be  in  the  power  of  the  gover-    I 
nors,  with  the  consent  of  the  vestrj    | 
of   any    one    of    the     baneficiarj 
parishes,  to  apply  a  portion  of  this 
sum  to  the  establishment  of  ezhibi-    I 
tions  tenable  by  the  children  of  the    | 
public  element aiy  schools  of  tho^  J 
parishes,  and  designed  to  encourage 
their  advancement  in  education. 

A  more  important  part  of  the 
soheme  provides  for  the  future 
maintonance  and  organisation  of 
the  great  school  at  Dulwich,  so 
recently  erected,  and  splendidly 
equipped  with  educational  appli- 
ances. It  is  proposed  that  thi.^ 
school  shall  consist  of  three  depart* 
ments — a  junior  for  boys  under  13 
years  of  age,  and  two  branches  of  the 
upper  school,  the  modem  and  the 
classical  departments  respectively. 
The  arrangements  contemplate 
about  250  scholars  in  each.     The 


im] 


Butwich  OMege. 


113 


fees  and  oonrd^  oT'insirizeticm  are 
those  proper  to  a  first-grade  school. 
The  annual  sam  of  i,8qo2.  is  per- 
manently set  apart  for  the  mainten- 
ance of  the  establishment.  It  .is 
farther  provided,  that  the  head 
master  of  the  College  shall  have  the 
sapervision  cf  the  janior  department 
tod  of  one  only  of  the  two  upper 
departments ;  the  other  high  master 
having  a  co-ordinate  and  indepen- 
deut  aathority  in  his  own  depart- 
ment. 

In  order  to  judge  of  the  wisdom 
of  these  provisions,  it  is  well  to 
recollect  that  Dulwich  is  the  only 
public  institution  in  the  South  of 
London  capable  of  taking  rank  as 
a  school  of  the  first  grade,  and  of 
sopplying  to  the  enormous  popula- 
tion of  thiat  district  a  liberal  educa- 
tion, adapted,  like  that  of  Harrow, 
Clifton,  or  Cheltenham,  to  prepare 
pupils  for  the  Universitie.^  or  for 
toe  higher  professions.  It  is  of  the 
greatest  importance  that  the  ideal 
of  instruction  presented  in  an  insti- 
tatioQ  which  will,  in  the  main,  be 
filled  with  the  sons  of  the  professiriDal 
men  and  prosperous  merchants  of 
L}ndon,  should  be  noble  and  well 
SQ-^tained.  And  to  this  end,  it  is 
essential  that  masters  of  the  highest 
repute  should  be  attracted,  and  in- 
duced to  remain  in  their  posts.  In 
most  schools  of  the  first  grade, 
hoarders  are  admitted  ;  and  the 
profits  ou  boarding  make  up  a  sub- 
Htantial  part  of  the  masters'  salaries. 
Butfince  Dulwich  is  to  be  a  day 
school  solely,  this  source  of  reve- 
nue is  absent,  an  d  nothing  but  a 
high  and  liberal  scale  of  payment 
Will,  in  the  long  run,  enable  tho 
school  to  retain  the  services  of  the 
tLb'teat  men.  We  do  not  say  that 
thesomof  i,3oo2.  from  endowment, 
in  addition  to  a  considerable  reve- 
nue from  fees,  is  at  present  in- 
sufficient to  do  this.  But  the  mere 
maiutenanee  of  so  large  a  fabric, 
and  the  payment  of  rates  and  taxes, 
will  abeoib  more  than  half  of 
this  sum ;  and  in  the  prospect  of  a 


change  in  the  yalue  of  money,  we 
greatly  doubt  whether  such  a  per- 
manent charge  will  suffice  for  the 
future  preservation  of  the  school  ia 
the  higuest  efficiency,  and  for  a 
liberal  system  of  exhibitions  and 
rewards. 

The  proposed  division  of  labour 
between  the  two  head  masters  ap- 
pears to  be  open  to  still  graver 
objection.  All  the  experience)  and 
testimony  collected  by  the  Schools 
Inquiry  Commissioners  concurred 
in  showing  the  importance  of  unity 
and  concentration  in  the  work  of 
a  school.  That  the  head  master 
should  be  entrusted  with  ample 
powers  -of  administration,  that  he 
should  be  supreme  over  the  disci- 
pline, and  empowered  to  choose  and 
to  dismiss  his  assistants,  in  short 
that  the  integrity  and  collective  life 
of  a  great  school  can  only  be  sus- 
tained by  placing  the  whole  under  . 
one  ruler,  who  shall  economise  all 
its  resources,  and  make  its  partn  fit 
each  other,  are  conclusions  set  forth 
with  much  emphasis  throughout 
the  report.  Eton  and  Harrow, 
R>ig^7«  Marlborough,  a  ad  Clifton, 
are  as  large  as  Dulwich;  bub  no 
one  who  knows  those  institutions 
can  fail  to  see  how  great  is  the  ad- 
vantage derived  from  the  supre- 
macy of  the  single  head.  The  rea- 
sons for  the  novel  and  apparently 
hazardous  experiment  proposed  in 
Dulwich  are  not  set  forth  in  the 
Commiasioners*  scheme,  but  are 
presumably  based  on  the  magnitude 
of  the  school,  the  necessity  of 
giving  full  scope  for  the  develop- 
ment of  a  modem  department — so 
often  placed  by  head  masters  in  a 
position  of  inferiority— -and  the  con- 
sideration that  a  large  day-school 
exists  for  instruction  mainly,  and 
is  therefore  less  in  need  of  special 
contrivances  to  secure  its  brganio 
unity  and  social  life  than  a  foun- 
dation chiefiy  designed  to  furnish  a 
home  for  boarders.  It  may  well 
be  doubted,  however,  whether  auy 
such  considerations  ought  io  out- 

1:2 


114. 


Ihdmck  College, 


[Jannarj 


weigh  that  ^f  the  grave  practical 
inconvemence  and  risk  attendant 
on  a  divided  government. 

As  to  the  diffusion  of  the  benefits 
of  the  charity  over  a  wider  area, 
the  scheme  is  nnquestionably  drawn 
in  a  coarageons  and  liberal  spirit. 
It  provides  that  a  second  school,  to 
be  called  AIleyn*s  Middle  School, 
shall  be  erected  in  the  neighbonr- 
hood,  and  adapted  for  the  reception 
of  300  boys  and  300  girls.  The 
coarse  of  instruction  seems  to  cor- 
respond nearly  to  that  known  as 
the  Second  Grade,  and  the  fees  are 
to  be  fixed  somewhere  within  the 
limits  of  6Z.  and  1 2^.  a  year.  A  capi- 
tal sum  of  20,000/.  is  provided  for 
the  erection  of  such  schools,  and 
besides  this  each  of  the  four  Lon- 
don parishes  already  named  is  to 
be  provided,  at  a  cost  not  exceeding 
10,000/.,  with  large  schools  for  300 
boys  and  200  girls.  These  are  to 
take  rank  as  schools  of  the  third 
grade,  but  distinctly  above  the 
elementary  schools  aided  by  the 
State,  and  to  g^ve  ordinary  English 
teaching,  with  the  elements  of  Latin 
or  French,  and  of  science,  adapted 
to  scholars  who  are  not  likely  to 
remain  under  instruction  later  than 
their  fifteenth  year.  In  all  these 
schools  provision  is  made  for  scho- 
larships and  other  encouragements 
to  merit.  And  the  total  number  of 
scholars  who  will  thus  be  supplied 
with  the  means  of  secondary  in- 
struction on  different  parts  of  Al- 
leyn*s  foundation  will  thus  be  con- 
siderably above  3,000,  viz. :  in  a 
school  of  the  first  grade,  700  or  800 
boys;  in  that  of  the  second,  300 
boys  and  300  girls ;  and  in  those  of 
the  third  grade,  1,200  boys  and  800 
girls. 

The  enumeration  of  these  figures 
suffices  to  invite  attention  to  an- 
other feature  of  the  scheme,  for 
which,  without  explanation,  it  is 
difficult  to  account.  The  Endowed 
Schools  Act  expressly  enjoins  the 
(Commissioners,  in  framing  schemes 
for  the  reorganisation  of  endow- 


ments, to  extend  their  benefits  as 
far  as  possible  to  girls.    The  drafl 
just  issaed  fulfils  this  injunction  so 
far  as  the  lower  secondary  instmc« 
tion  is  concerned ;  but  it  leaves  the 
sisters  of  the  boys  in  the  Grammar 
School,  and  all  girls  who  desire  to 
receive  a  complete  education  of  the 
highest  class,  without  any  aid  from 
Alleyn's  funds.     It  can  hardly  be 
urged  that  there  is  no   need  for 
such  a  provision.     All  experieuce 
in  relation  to  boys'  schools  proves, 
that  unless  the  higher  education  is 
well  cared  for,  the  lower  suffers.  It 
is  the  great  foundation,  manned  b? 
the  most  accomplished  members  of 
the  teacher's  profession,  which  ulti- 
mately determines  the  character  of 
the^  lower  schools,  sets  up  the  true 
standard  for  their  imitation,  stimu- 
lates their  most  promising  scholars, 
and,  above  all,  gives,  from  time  to 
time,   a  supply  of  good  teachers. 
And  the  great  defects  so  often  com- 
plained   of    in    the    education   of 
women  —  its    pretentiousness    and 
shallowness,  the  absence  from  it  of 
real  intellectual  and  scientific  disci- 
pline— can  only  be  corrected  by  the 
existence  of  a  few  places  of  educa- 
tion   to  which   the   best  teachers 
shall  be  attracted,  and  in  which  the 
fullest  and  wisest  course  of  training 
that.cnn  be  devised  shall  become 
accessible  to  girls,  and  made  to  teil 
directly  upon  an  improved  supply  of 
qualified  governesses.     It  is  very 
hopeless  to  attempt  any  substantial 
improvement  in  the  aims  or  methods 
of  feminine  instruction  by  working 
only  at  the  lower  class  of  schools, 
and    leaving    the     provision    for 
women's  education  incomplete  in 
its  higher  departments.     In  Lon- 
don   there    must    bo    many   girls 
and  young  women  who,  either  be- 
cause they  hope  to  take  an  honour- 
able rank  as  teachers,  or  because 
they  simply  aim  at  a  complete  and 
liberal  education  for  its  own  sake, 
would  thankfully  welcome  the  esta- 
blishment of  a  collegiate  school  of 
the  same  character,  mutatis  muian- 


1873] 


Duhoich  OoUege. 


115 


ditj  u  tlie  great  mstitntion  at  Dal- 
wich.  For  tliem  the  system  of 
lectures  and  detached  classes  which 
is  now  heing  so  careftiUy  developed 
in  different  parts  of  London  is 
wholly  insufficient.  Yonng  men  are 
not  asked  or  expected  to  finish  their 
edacation  in  this  haphazard,  piece- 
meal way.  Nothing  short  of  a  High 
School,  placed  nnder  the  snperin- 
tcndence  of  a  public  and  responsible 
body,  equipped  with  teachers  of 
proved  qnaiificatious,  and  supplied 
nith  a  reasonable  number  of  scho- 
hurships  and  other  encouragements 
to  SQccessful  study,  will  meet  the 
reqnirements    of   the    case.     And 


some  part  of  the  great  revenues  of 
Dulwich  would,  as  it  appears  to 
us,  have  been  usefully  expended 
in  supplying  this  great  want«  and 
in  setting  up  a  noble  ideal  of  cul- 
ture and  finished  education  for  the 
boys  and  girls  of  the  metropolis.  It 
is  not  too  late,  we  trust,  to  reconsider 
this  part  of  a  scheme  which,  in 
its  main  features,  and  especially  in 
its  broad  and  generous  provision 
for  extending  the  public  utility  of 
AUeyn's  munificent  foundation,  well 
deserves  to  be  regarded  as  a  piece 
of  constructive  legislation  of  an  un- 
ambitious but  entirely  practical  and 
serviceable  type. 

P. 


Ma 


lie 


[Jannarj 


HBREDITABT  IMPROVEMENT. 
Bt  Fbancis  Oalton. 


IT  is  freely  allowed  by  most  au- 
thorities on  heredity,  that  men 
are  jn&t  as  subject  to  its  laws,  both 
in  body  and  mind,  as  are  any  other 
animals,  bat  it  is  almost  univer- 
sally doubted,  if  not  denied,  that 
an  establishment  of  this  fact  could 
ever  be  of  large  practical  benefit  to 
hamauity.  It  is  objected  that,  phi- 
losophise as  you  will,  men  and 
women  will  continue  to  marry  as 
they  have  hitherto  done,  according 
to  their  personal  likings ;  that  any 
prospect  of  improving  tbe  i*ace  of 
man  is  absurd  and  chimerical,  and 
that  though  enquiries  into  the  laws 
of  human  heredity  may  be  pursued 
for  the  satisfaction  of  a  cnrious  dis- 
position, they  can  be  of  no  real 
importance.  In  opposition  to  these 
objections,  I  maintain,  in  the  pre- 
sent essay,  that  it  is  feasible  to 
improve  the  race  of  man  by  a  system 
which  shall  be  perfectly  in  accord- 
ance with  the  moral  sense  of  the 
present  time.  I  shall  first  describe 
the  condition,  such  as  I  believe  it 
to  be,  of  the  existing  race  of  man, 
and  will  afterwards  propose  a 
scheme  for  its  improvement  whose 
seeds  would  be  planted  almost 
without  knowing  it,  and  would 
slowiy  but  steadily  grow,  until  it 
had  transformed  the  nation.  If 
the  ordinary  doctrines  of  heredity 
in  a  bruad  sense  be  true,  the  scheme 
in  qaestiun  must,  as  it  appears  to 
me,  begin  to  show  vigorous  life  so 
soon  as  the  mass  of  educated  men 
shall  have  learnt  to  appreciate  their 
troth.  But  if  the  doctrines  be 
false,  then  all  I  build  upon  them  is 
of  course  fallacious. 

The  bodily  and  mental  condition 
of  every  man  are,  in  part,  the  result 
of  his  own  voluntary  and  bygone 
acts ;  but  experience  teaches  us  that 
they  are  also  sha|)ed  by  two  other 
agencies,  for  neither  of  which  he  is 
responsible ;  the  one,  the  constitu- 


tional peculiarities  transmitted  to 
him  by  inheritance,  and  the  other, 
the  various  circumstances  to  which 
he  has  been  perforce  subjected,  es* 
pecially  in  early  life.  Now,  in  this 
essay  I  do  not  propose  to  allnde  to 
ordinary  education,  family  and  na- 
tional tradition,  and  other  similar 
moral  agencies  of  high  importance. 
I  leave  them  for  the  present,  to  one 
side ;  the  residue  with  which  alone 
I  am  about  to  deal,  may  be  con- 
cisely and  sufficiently  expressed  by 
the  words  *  race '  and  *  nurture.'  It 
is  to  the  consideration  of  the  first 
of  these  that  the  following  pag^ 
are  chiefly  devoted ;  but  not  entirely 
60,  for  I  acknowledge  that  we  cao- 
not  wholly  disentangle  their  several 
effects.  An  improvement  in  the 
nurture  of  a  race  will  eradicate 
inherited  disease;  consequently,  it 
is  beyond  dispute  that  if  our 
future  population  were  reared 
under  more  favourable  conditions 
than  at  present,  both  their  health 
and  that  of  their  descendants  woald 
be  greatly  improved.  There  is  no- 
tliiiig  in  what  I  am  about  to  say 
that  shall  underrate  the  sterliug 
value  of  nurture,  including  all  kinds 
of  sanitary  improvements ;  nay,  I 
wish  to  claim  them  as  powerfnl 
auxiliaries  to  my  cause;  neverth(s 
less,  I  look  npcn  race  as  far  more 
important  than  nurture.  Race  Las 
a  double  eflect,  it  creates  better  and 
more  intelligent  individuals,  and 
these  become  more  competent  than 
their  predecessors  to  make  laws  and 
customs,  whose  effects  shall  favour- 
ably  react  on  their  own  health  and 
on  the  nurture  of  their  children. 
The  merits  and  demerits  of  diflPerent 
laces  is  strongly  marked  in  colonies, 
where  men  begin  a  new  life,  to  a 
great  degree  detached  from  the  in- 
fluences under  which  they  had  been 
reared.  Now  we  may  watch  a 
band  of  Englishmeui  subjected  to 


-*.-r3j 


Ebr$ditanj  ImpfrovemmiU 


U7. 


BO  regalar  aoihority,  bat  atferacted 
io  sume  new  gold-digging,  and  we 
shall  see  that  law  and  order  will  be 
gradaally  evolved,  and  that  the 
oommanitj  will  pnrify  itself  and 
become  respectable,  and  this  is  trae 
of  hardlj  any  other  race  of  men. 
CoQstitational  stamina,  strength, 
intelligence,  and  moral  qualities 
cling  to  a  breed,  say  of  dogs,  not- 
withstanding many  generations  of 
careless  nurture ;  while  careful  nur- 
ture, Qoaided  by  selection,  can  do 
little  more  to  an  inferior  breed  than 
eradicate  disease  and  make  it  good 
of  its  kind.  Those  who  would  as- 
Eipi  more  importaoce  to  nurture 
than  1  have  done,  mast  concede  that 
the  sanitary  conditions  under  which 
the  mass  of  the  population  will 
hereafter  live,  are  never  likely  to  be 
80  favourable  to  health  as  those 
which  are  now  enjoyed  by  our 
wealthy  classes.  The  latter  may 
make  many  mistakes  in  matters  of 
health';  but  they  have  enormous 
residaal  advantages.  They  can 
command  good  food,  spacious  rooms, 
aod  change  of  air,  which  is  more 
than  equivalent  to  what  the  future 
achievements  of  sanitary  science 
are  likely  to  afford  to  the  mans  of 
the  population.  Yet  how  far  are 
cor  wealthier  classes  from  the  se- 
cnre  possession  of  those  high  phy- 
sical and  mental  qualities  which  are 
the  birthright  of  a  good  race. 
Whoever  has  spent  a  winter  at 
the  health-resorts  of  the  South  of 
¥raDce,  must  have  been  appalled 
at  witnessing  the  number  of  their 
fellow-countrymen  who  are  afflicted 
with  wrptched  constitutions,  while 
that  of  the  sickly  children,  narrow- 
chested  men,  and  fragile,  delicate 
women  who  remain  at  home,  is 
utterly  disproportionate  to  the 
sickly  and  misshapen  contingent  of 
the  stock  of  any  ot  our  breeds  of 
domestic  animals. 

I  need  not  speak  in  detail  of  the 
inany  ways  in  which  the  forms  of 
civilisation,  which  have  hitherto 
prevailed,  tend  to  spoil  a  race,  be- 
canae  they  rnoat^:  by  this  tiniey  have 


become  familiar  to  all  who  are  in-, 
terested  in  heredit^y  ;  it  is  sutficient 
just  to  allude  to  two  of  the  chief 
among  those  which  are  now  in  ac- 
tivity. The  first  is,  the  free  power 
of  bequeathing  wealth,  which  inter- 
feres with  the  salutary  action  of 
natural  selection,  by  pre^servjing 
the  wealthy,  and  by  encom*a<^ing 
marriage  on  grounds  quite  inde- 
pendent of  personal  qualities ;  and 
the  second  is  the  centralising  ten- 
dency of  our  civilisation,  which  at- 
tracts the  abler  men  to  towns,  where 
the  discouragement  to  marry  is 
great,  and  where  marriage  is  com[)a- 
rativelyunproductiveof  descendants 
vrho  reach  adult  life.  In  a  pafjer 
just  communicated  to  the  Statis- 
tical Society,  I  have  carefully 
analysed  and  discussed  the  census 
returns  of  i,ooo  families  of  fiictory 
operatives  in  Coventry,  and  of  the 
same  number  of  agricultural  Uibour- 
ers  in  the  neighbouring  Hmall  rural 
parishes  of  Warwickshire,  and  find 
that  the  former  have  little  more 
than  half  as  many  adult  grand- 
children as  the  latter.  They  have 
fewer  offspnng,  and  of  th«>8e  few  a 
smaller  proportion  reach  udult  life, 
while  the  two  classes  marry  with 
about  equal  frequency  and  a't  about 
the  same  ages.  The  allurements 
and  exigencies  of  a  centralised  civi- 
lisation are  therefore  seriously  pre- 
judicial to  the  better  class  of  the 
human  stock,  which  is  first  attracted 
to  the  towns,  and  there  destroyed  ; 
and  a  system  of  selection  is  ci  CMted 
whose  action  is  exactly  adverse' to 
the  good  of  a  race.  Again,  the 
ordinary  struggle  for  cxiHtence  un- 
der the  bad  sanitary  conditions  of 
our  towns,  seems  to  me  to  spoil,  and 
not  to  improve  our  breed.  Ic  selects 
those  who  are  able  to  withstand  zy- 
motic diseases  and  impure  and  in- 
sufficient food,  but  such  are  not 
necessarily  foremost  in  the  qualities 
which  make  a  nation  great.  On  the 
contrary,  it  is  the  classes  of  a  coarser 
organisation  who  seem  to  be,  on  the 
whole,  most  favoured  under  this 
pr^idple  of  selection^  und  wbo  snr*. 


118 


Sereditary  Improvement. 


[January 


vive  to  become  the  parents  of  the 
next  generation.  Visitors  to  Ireland 
atter  the  potato  famine  generally 
remarked  that  the  Irish  type  of  face 
seemed  to  have  become  more  pro- 
gnathons,  that  is,  more  like  the 
negro  in  the  protmsion  of  the  lower 
jnw;  the  interpretation  of  which 
was,  that  the  men  who  sarvived  the 
starvation  and  other  deadly  acci- 
dents of  that  horrible  time,  were  more 
generally  of  a  low  and  coarse  organi- 
sation. So  again,  in  every  malari- 
ous coantry,thetravelleris  pained  by 
the  sight  of  the  miserable  individuals 
who  inhabit  it.  These  have  the 
pi*e- eminent  gift  of  being  able  to 
survive  fever,  and  therefore,  by  the 
law  of  economy  of  structare,  are  apt 
to  be  deficient  in  every  quality  less 
useful  to  the  exceptional  circum- 
stances of  their  life.  The  reports  of 
the  health  of  our  factory  towns  dis- 
close a  terrible  proportion  of  bad 
constitutions  and  invalidism  among 
tlie  operatives,  as  shown  by  inter- 
mitting pulse,  curved  spine,  narrow 
ciiests,  and  other  measurable  effects; 
and  at  the  ^ame  time  we  learn  from 
the  census  that  our  population  is 
steadily  becoming  more  urban. 
Twenty  years  ago  the  rural  element 
preponderated;  ten  years  ago  the 
urban  became  equal  to  it ;  and  now 
t  lie  urban  is  in  the  majority.  We 
have  therefore  much  reason  to  be- 
stir ourselves  to  resist  the  serious 
deterioration  which  threatens  our 
race. 

I  have  hitherto  addressed  myself 
to  the  purely  physical  qualities  of 
mankind,  on  the  importance  of 
which  it  would  have,  been  diflScult 
to  have  sufficiently  insisted  a  few 
years  ago,  when  there  was  a  pre- 
vailing feeling  that  the  mind  was 
everything  and  the  body  nothing. 
But  a  reaction  has  set  in,  and  it 
has  become  pretty  generally  recog- 
nised that  unlesi^  the  body  be  in 
sound  order,  we  are  not  likely  to  get 
much  healthy  work  or  instinct  out 
of  it.  A  powerful  brain  is  an  excellent 
thing,  but  it  requires  for  its  proper 
maintenance  a  good  pair  of  lungs,  a 


vigorous  heart,  and  especially  a 
strong  stomach,  otherwise  its  out- 
come of  thought  is  likely  to  be  mor- 
bid.  This  being  understood.  I  will 
proceed  to  the  mental  qualities  of 
our  race. 

I  have  written  much  in  my  work 
on  Hereditarff  Genius  about  the 
average  intellect  of  modem  civi- 
lised races  being  unequal  to  cope 
with  the  requirements  of  the  mode 
of  life  which  circumstances  have 
latterly  imposed  upon  them,  and 
much  more  might  be  said  on  the 
same  subject.  The  advance  in 
means  of  communication  has  made 
large  nations  or  federations  a  neces- 
sity, whose  existence  implies  a  vast 
number  of  complicated  interests 
and  nice  adjustments,  which  re- 
quii'e  to  be  treated  in  a  very  intel- 
ligent manner,  or  will  otherwise 
have  to  be  brutally  ordered  by  des- 
potic power.  We  have  latterly 
seen  that  the  best  statesmen  of  our 
day  are  little  capable  of  expressing 
their  meaning  in  intelligible  lan- 
guage, so  that  political  relations  are 
apt  to  become  embroiled  by  mere 
misunderstanding  of  what  is  in- 
tended to  be  conveyed.  In  no  walk 
of  civilised  life  do  the  intellects  of 
men  seem  equal  to  what  is  required 
of  them.  It  is  true  that  Anglo- 
Saxons  are  quite  competent  to 
grapple  with  the  everyday  problems 
of  small  communities,  but  thev 
have  insufficient  ability  for  the  due 
performance  of  the  more  difficult 
duties  of  citizens  of  large  nations. 
Consequently,  the  functions  of  men 
engaged  in  tirades  and  professions 
of  all  kinds  are  adjusted  to  a  dan- 
gerously low  standard,  and  the  poli- 
tical insight  of  the  multitude  goes 
little  deeper  than  the  surface,  and 
is  applied  in  few  directions  except 
those  to  which  their  guides  have 
pointed.  Great  nations,  instead  of 
being  highly  organised  bodies,  are 
little  more  than  agg^gations  of  men 
severally  intent  on  self-advance- 
ment, who  must  be  cemented  into  a 
mass  by  blind  feelings  of  gregari- 
ousness  and  reverence  to  mere  rank, 


1873] 


BeredHary  Improvement: 


11«J 


mere  authority,  and  mere  tradition, 
or  tfaej  will  assuredly  fall  asnuder. 
As  regards  the  moral  qualities, 
which  are  closely  interwoven  with 
the  intellectnal,  we  cannot  but  ob- 
iferve  the  considerable  effect  which 
t4je  iDflnence  of  many  generations 
of  ci?ili8ed  life  has  already  exer- 
cised npon  the  race  of  man.  It  has 
already  bred  oat  of  ns  many  of  the 
wild  instincts  of  our  savage  fore- 
fathers, and  has  given  ns  a  stricter 
conscience  and  a  larger  power  of 
self-control  than,  judging  from  the 
analogy  of  modem  savages,  they 
appear  to  have  had.  The  possi- 
bility of  eradicating  instinctive 
wildness,  and  of  introducing  an  in- 
stinctively affectionate  disposition 
into  any  breed  of  animals,  is  clearly 
proved  by  what  has  been  effected 
in  dogs.  The  currish  and  wolfish 
nature  of  sucli  as  may  be  seen 
roaming  at  large  in  the  streets  of 
Kastem  towns,  has  been  largely 
(suppressed  in  that  of  their  tamed 
descendants,  who,  after  many  gene- 
rations of  selection  and  friendly 
treatment,  have  also  acquired  the 
cnrions  innate  love  of  man  to  which 
Mr.  Darwin  drew  attention.  All 
this  gives  hope  for  the  future  of  our 
race,  especially  if  'viriculture'  be 
possible,  notwithstanding  that  our 
present  moral  nature  is  as  unfitted 
for  a  high-toned  civilisation  as  our 
intellectual  nature  is  unfitted  to 
deal  with  a  complex  one.  It  is 
carious  to  observe  the  great  variety 
in  the  morals  of  the  human  race, 
snch  as  have  been  delineated  by 
Theophrastus,  La  Bruyere,  and  the 
phrenologists.  It  seems  to  me  that  ' 
nataral  selection  has  had  no  influ- 
ence in  securing  dominance  to  the 
Doblest  of  them,  because  in  the 
v&nona  tactics  of  the  individual 
^tk  for  Kfe,  any  one  of  these 
qualities  in  excess  may  be  service- 
able to  its  possessor.  But  the  case 
wodM  be  very  different  in  those 
i^^ber  forms  of  civilisation,  vainly 
*ried  as  yet,  of  which  the  notion  of 
?er8onal  property  is  liot  the  foun- 
dadon,  but  which  are,  in  honest 


truth,  republican  and  co-operative^* 
the  good  of  the  community  being 
literally  a  more  vivid  desire  than, 
that  of  self- aggrandisement  or  any 
other  motive  whatever.     This  is  a 
stage  which  the  human  race  is  un- 
doubtedly destined  sooner  or  later 
to  reach,  but  which  the   deficient 
moral  gifls  of  existing  races  render 
them  incapable  of  attaining.     It  is 
the    obvious  course  of  intelligent 
men — and    I    venture    to   say    it 
should  be  their  religious  duty — to 
advance  in   the  direction  whither 
Nature    is   determined  they   shall 
go;    that  is,  towards  the  improve- 
ment of  their  race.     Thither   she  , 
will    assuredly    goad    them    with, 
a  ruthless  arm  if  they  hang  back, 
and    it   is    of   no   avail    to    kick 
against  the  pricks.    We  are  exceed- 
ingly blind  to  the  ultimate  purposes 
for  which  we  have  come  into  life,, 
and  we  know  that  no  small  part  of 
the  intentions  by  which  we    are 
most  apt  to  be  guided,  are  mere 
illusions.      If,    however,    we    look 
around  at  the  course  of  nature,  one 
authoritative  fact  becomes  distinctly 
prominent,  let  us  make  of  it  what, 
we  may.     It  is,  that  the  life  of  the 
individual  is  treated  as  of   abso- 
tutely  no  importance,  while  the  race 
is .  treated    as   everything.  Nature 
being  wholly  careless  of  the  former 
except  as  a  contribntor  to  the  main- 
tenance and  evolution  of  the  latter. 
Myriads  ot  inchoate  lives  are  pro- 
duced in  what,  to  our  best  judg- 
ment, seems  a  wasteful  and  reckless 
manner,  in  order  that  h  few  selected 
specimens  may  survive,  and  be  the 
parents    of   the    next    generation. 
It  is  as  though  individual  lives  were 
of  no  more  consideration  than  are 
the  senseleps  chips  which  fall  from 
the  chisel  of  the  artist  who  is  elabo- 
rating some  ideal  form  out  of  a 
rude  block.     We  are  naturally  apt 
to  think  of  ourselves  and  of  those 
around  us  that,  being  not  senseless 
chips,  but  living  and  suffering  be- 
ings, we  should  be  of  primary  im- 
portance, whereas  itseems  periectly 
clear  that  oar  individual  Hvea  are 


1«0' 


S^TwhtcLfy  I'n9pT&v0ffumi, 


[Jammij 


lifctlej  '  more  than  agenta  towards 
attaining  some  great  and  common 
«nd  of  evolation.  We  mast  loyally 
accept  the  facts  as  they  are,  and 
solace  ourselves  With  such  hypo- 
jbhesef)  as  may  seem  most  credible  to 
'  ns.  For  my  part,  I  cling  to  the  idea 
of  a  conscious  solidarity  in  iiatore, 
and  of  its  laborious  advance  under 
many  restrictions,  the  Whole  being 
conscious  of  us  teitiporarily  de- 
taclied  individuals,  bat  we  being 
very  imperfectly  and  darkly  con- 
« scions  of  the  Whole.  Be  this  as. 
it  may,  it  becomes  our  bonnden 
duty  to  conform  our  steps  to  the 
paths  which  we  recognise  to  be  de- 
fined, as  those  in  which  sooner  or 
later  we  have  to  go.  We  must, 
therefore,  try  to  i-ender  our  indi- 
vidual aims  subordinate  to  those 
which  lead  to  the  improvement  of 
the  race.  The  enthusiasm  of  hu- 
manity, strange  as  the  doctrine  may 
sound,  has  to  be  dii*ected  primarily 
to  the  futare  of  oar  race,  and  only 
secondarily  to  the  well-being  of  our 
contemporaries.  The  ants  who, 
when  their  nest  is  disturbed,  hurry 
away  each  with  an  uninteresting 
looking  egg,  picked  up  at  hazard,  not 
even  its  own,  but  not  the  less  pre- 
cious to  it,  have  their  instincts 
curiously  in  accordance  with  the 
real  requirements  of  Nature.  So 
far  as  we  can  interpret  her,  wo  read 
in  the  clearest  letters  that  onr  de- 
sire for  the  improvement  of  our 
race  ought  to  rise  to  the  force  of  a 
passion ;  and  if  others  interpret  Na- 
ture in  the  same  way,  we  may  ex- 
pect that  at  some  future  time,  per- 
haps not  very  remote,  it  may  come 
to  be  looked  upon  as  one  of  the 
chief  religious  obligations.  It  is  no 
absurdity  to  expect,  that  it  may 
hereafter  be  preached,  that  while 
helpfulness  to  the  weak,  and  sym- 
pathy with  the  suffering,  is  the 
natural  form  of  outpouring  of  a 
merciful  and  kindly  heart,  yet  that 
the  highest  action  of  all  is  to  pro- 
vide a  vigorous,  national  life,  and 
that  one  practical  and  effective  way 
ai  Which  iiidividoalB  of  feeble  conBti- 


tntion  can  show  mercy  to  their  kind 
is  by  celibacy,  lest  they  should  bring 
beincfs  into  existence  whose  race  is 
predoomed  to  destruction  by  the 
laws  of  nature.  It  may  come  to  be 
avowed  as  a  paramount  duty,  to 
anticipate  the  slow  and  stubborn 
processes  of  natural  selection,  by 
endeavouring  ic  breed  out  feeble 
constitutions,  and  petty  and  ignoble 
instincts,  and  to  breed  in  those 
which  are  vigorous  and  noble  and 
social. 

The  precise  problem  I  have  in 
view,  is  not  only  the  restoration  of 
the  aveiage  worth  of  our  race, 
debased  as  it  has  been  from  its 
*  typical  level '  by  those  deleterious 
inflnences  of  modem  civilisation 
to  which  I  have  referred,  but  to 
raise  it  higher  still.  It  has  been 
depressed  by  those  mischievous  in- 
fluences of  artificial  selection  which 
I  have  named,  and  by  many  others 
besides.  Cannot  we,  I  ask  —  and 
I  will  try  to  answer  the  question  in 
the  affirmative  —  introduce  other 
influences  which  shall  counteract 
and  overbear  the  former,  and  elevate 
the  race  above  its  typical  level  at 
least  as  much  as  the  former  had 
depressed  it  ?  J  mean  by  the  phrase 
'typical  level '  the  average  standard 
of  the  race,  such  as  it  would  become 
in  two  or  three  generations  if  lelt 
unpruned  by  artificial  selection,  and 
if  i*eared  under  what  might  be  ac- 
cepted as  fair  conditions  of  nui'tnre 
and  a  moderate  amount  of  healthy, 
natural  selection.  It  is  to  be  recol- 
lected that  individuals  are  not  the 
offspring  of  their  parents  alone,  bat 
also  of  their  ancestry  to  very  re- 
mote degrees,  and  that  although  by 
a  faulty  system  of  civilisation  the 
average  worth  of  a  race  may  be- 
come depressed,  it  has  nevertheless 
an  inherent  ■  ancestral  power  of 
partly  recovering  from  that  depres- 
sion, if  a  chance  be  given  it  of  doin(( 
so.  It  has,  on  the  one  hand,  the 
advantage  of  the  civilised  habita  in- 
grained into  its  nature,  and,  on  the 
other  hand,  it  tnay  rise  above  the 
abfiormai  .  state   €f : :  depreission  to 


im] 


Hereditary  Improvement 


121 


wbich  the  evil  inflnenoes  of  the 
artificial  selection  of  oar  modern 
civilisation  have  tempomrilj  re- 
doced  it 

In    my    work     on     Hereditary 
Genius  I  enter«fd    at  considerable 
fength  upon  the   classification    of 
men  in  different  f^^des  of  natural 
abititr,  separated  by  equal  intervals, 
and  showed  how  we  might  estimate 
the  proportionate  numbers  of  men 
in  each  of  them,  by  availing  our- 
selves of  a  law,  whose  traces  are  to 
be  met  with  in  all  the  variable  phe« 
Domena  of  nature.      For  examf>le, 
it  will  be  found  that  we  may  divide 
aoj  body  of  individuals   iuto  four 
eqaal  groups,  of  which  two  shall 
consist   of   mediocrities,    and   the 
other  two  shall  be  alike  but  opposite, 
as  an  object  floating  in  water  is  to 
its  reflection,  the  one  containing  all 
the  grades  above  mediocrity  up  to 
the  highest  and  the  other  all  boiow 
mediocrity  down  to  the  lowest.     I 
do  not  Eay  that  this  law  is  strictly 
applicable  to  nations  where  many 
individuals  are   diseased   in   some 
definite  manner,  because  the  essence 
of  the  law  is,  that  the  gee  oral  con- 
ditions should  be  of  the  same  kind 
throughout.      On  the  other  hand, 
disease  and  health  are  for  the  most 
part  due  to  little  more  than  diflierent 
grades  of  constitutional  vigour  and 
of  sanitary  conditions,  aud,  so  far, 
the  nations  will  fall  strictly  within 
the  range  of  the  law,  which  I  there- 
f(»re  employ  as  a  useful  approxima- 
tion to  the  truth.     My  hope  is,  that 
the  average  standard  of  a  civjlised 
Tace  might  be  raised  to  the  average 
Btandaid  of  the  pick  of  them,  as 
they  now  are,  at  the  rate  of  one  in 
every  four.     It  will  be  clearly  un- 
derstood by  those  familiar  with  the 
law  of  deviation  from  an  average, 
that  the  distribution  of  ability  in  a 
race  80  improved,  would  be  very 
different  to  that  of  the  pick  of  the 
present  race,  though  their  average 
worth  was  the  same.  The>  improved 
fsce  would  have  its  broad  equatorial 
helt  of  mediocrities,  and  its  devia- 
tions npwal^dB    and    downwards^ 


narrowing  to  delicate  cusps;  but 
the  vanishing-point  of  its  basenoha 
would  not  reach  so  low  as  at  pre- 
sent, and  that  of  its  nobleness  would 
reach  higher.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  pick  of  our  present  race  won  Id 
not  be  symmetrically  arranged,  but 
the  worst  of  them  would  be  the 
most  numerous,  and  the  form  of  the 
whole  body,  when  classified,  would 
be  that  of  a  cone  resting  on  its  base, 
whose  sides  curved  upwards  to  a 
sharp  point.  I  find  it  impossible  to 
explain,  without  repeating  what  I 
have  already  written,  in  Hereditary 
G^dtuf  (p.  343),  the  enormous  ad« 
vantages  that  would  follow  the  ele- 
vation of  our  race  through  so  mo- 
derate a  range  as  that  1  have  de- 
scribed. It  chiefly  consists  in  the^ 
sweeping  away  of  a  legion  of  in- 
elfectivfs,  and  in  introducing  in 
very  much  greater  proportions  the 
number  of  men  of  independent  and 
original  thought.  It  is  those  men, 
who  form  the  fine  point  of  the 
upward  cusp,  who  are  the  salt  of 
the  earth,  and  who  make  nations 
what  they  are ;  now  the  section  of 
the  cusp  broadens  as  it  descends, 
therefore  if  the  whole  afiair  be 
pushed  upwards,  so  to  speak,  ever 
60  little,  the  numbers  of  the  men  of 
the  same  absolute  value  become 
very  largely  increased. 

I  will  endeavour  to  give  an  idea 
of  the  result  of  a  selection  at  the 
rate  of  i  in  4  of  the  inferior  speci- 
mens of  a  civilised  race,  and  will 
take  my  example  from  France,  be- 
cause the  quality  of  the  nation  is 
well  ganged  by  that  of  the  annual;^ 
body  of  youthlul  conscripts,  who  are 
caruftilly  examined,  and  whose  cha- 
racteristics are  minutely  classified. 
It  is  better  not  to  take  too  recent  a 
year,  as  some  persons  believe  the 
French  race  to  have  deteriorated  of 
late,  so  I  will  refer  to  1859,  of  which 
I  happen  to  have  the  ComjpUreenidu 
8ur  le  Beci-utement  de  VArmSe  in 
my  library.  Speaking  in  round 
numbers,  a  quarter  of  a  million  of 
conscripts  were  examined  in  that 
year,  ai^no  less  than  30  per  oent^ 


122 


Eerediiary  Im^ravemenL 


[Jann&iy 


of  that  number  were  rejected  as 
nn6t  for  the  army.  Six  per  cent, 
■were  too  short,  being  under  the 
puny  regulation  height  of  5  feet 
5  inches,  and  a  large  proportion 
of  these — say  one-half,  or  3  per 
cent. — mnst  be  considered  as  unfit 
citizens  in  other  respects  than  being 
unfitted  for  the  muscular  work  re- 
quired in  the  army.  Not  many 
were  incapacitated  by  accident,  as 
by  blindness  or  deafness  resulting  ^ 
from  injury,  or  by  rupture ;  but  of 
these,  again,  only  a  small  portion 
come  justly  under  that  head.  I  am 
assured  that  if  a  person  has  here- 
ditary predisposition  to  deafness, 
slight  accidents,  such  as  a  blow  on 
the  head,  or  a  bad  cold,  which  would 
be  comparatively  harmless  to  other 
people,  will  frequently  affect  and 
ruin  his  hearing ;  and  the  same  is 
the  case  with  the  eyesight  and  every 
other  function.  'In  addition,  we 
must  recollect  that  many  accidents 
are  the  result  of  stupidity  and 
slowness.  Of  the  injuries  by  the 
effects  of  which  youths  were  un- 
fitted for  th^  army,  I  fpel  sure  that 
less  than  half  should  be  ascribed  to 
pure  accident,  and  that  of  the  30  per 
cent,  who  were  rejected  for  all  causes, 
not  more  than  3  per  cent,  should  be 
allowed  as  coming  under  that  head. 
Adding  this  to  what  we  have  al- 
ready excepted  out  of  those  who 
were  considered  too   short,   there 


remain  24  per  cent,  who  were  dis- 
eased or  crippled  or  puny.  In 
round  numbers,  one-quarter  of 
the  French  youths  are  naturally 
and  hereditarily  unfitted  for  active 
life. 

I  will  now  turn  to  the  other  end 
of  the  scale  of  ability,  to  see  what 
the  quarter  of  a  nation  is  like  wbo 
are  picked  out  as  the  best,  and  I  do 
not  know  a  better  example  to  cite 
than  one  which  I  recently  wit- 
nessed  with  great  interest ;  it  was 
on  board  the  St.  Vincent  training 
ship  for  seamen  for  the  Royal  Na\7, 
which  is  stationed  at  Portsmouth. 
I  was  informed  that  out  of  every 
three  or  four  applicants  not  more 
than  one  was,  on  the  average,  ac- 
cepted, the  applicants  themselves 
being  in  some  degree  a  selected 
class.  The  result  was,  that  when  I 
stood  among  the  750  boys  wbo 
composed  the  crew,  it  was  clear  to 
me  that  they  were  decidedly  supe- 
rior to  the  mass  of  their  countiy- 
men.  They  showed  their  inborn 
superiority  by  the  heartiness  of 
their  manner,  their  self-respect, 
their  healthy  looks,  their  muscular 
build,  the  interest  they  took  in 
what  was  taught  them,  and  the 
ease  with  which  they  learnt  it.  A 
single  year's  training  turns  them 
out  accomplished  seamen  in  a  large 
number  of  particulars.  I  give  in  a 
foot-r.ote^    the     conditions    which 


If  their  ag«b  between 

Their  height  withoQt  thoes 
most  be  at  leMt 

the  chest  miut  be  at  leaM 

15  and  15J 
15)  and  16 

16  and  16^ 

4  feet  loi  inches 

4  n    "i      ., 

5  „      1    inch 

29  incheB 

30  » 

*  Each  boy  must  bring  a  proper  certificate  of  character  and  decUration  of  age.  The 
age  of  admission  is  between  15  and  i6|.  The  agreement  is  to  serve  in  the  Navy  up  to 
the  age  of  28.  No  boys  are  received  from  reformatories  or  prisons,  nor  if  they  hare 
been  committed  before  a  magriHtrate.    The  other  requirements  are: — 


Thev  must  be  able  to  read  and  write  fairly ;  be  strong,  healthy,  well  grown,  active,  and 
intelligent ;  free  from  all  physical  malformation  ;  never  have  had  fitn,  and  roust  be  able 
to  pass  a  strict  medical  examination  by  the  surgeons  of  the  ship.  Their  teeth  must  be 
good,  that  they  may  be  able  to  bite  biscuit ;  at  the  same  time,  we  must  recollect  that 
bad  teeth  are  to  some  degree  the  sign  of  a  bad  oonstitution.  The  applicants  come  from 
various  directions,  and,  though  a  majority  of  them  do  not  know  the  regulations  for 
admission,  yet,  as  many  of  them  do.  and  as  all  have  to  bring  certificates  of  character,  the 
applicants,  on  the  average,  must  be  considered  to  be  in  some  slight  degree  a  seleeted  class. 


1873J 


HeredUary  Improveme)^. 


123 


thej  mnsi  falGl  to  be  qualified  for 
admissioii ;  they  seem  to  have  been 
drawn  up  in  an  excellent  spirit,  and 
to  produce  most  happy  results.  If 
the  average  English  youth  of  the 
fatnre  could  be  raised  by  an  im- 
provement in  our  race  to  the  average 
of  those  on  board  the  SL  VinctnU^ 
which  is  no  preposterous  hope, 
England  would  become  far  more 
noble  and  powerful  than  she  now  is. 
The  general  tone  of  feeling,  in 
short,  the  *Mrs.  Grundy,'  of  the 
nation  would  be  elevated,  the  pre- 
sent army  of  iueffectives  which 
clog  progress  would  disappear, 
and  the  deviations  of  individual 
i::ift5  towards  genius  would  be  no 
less  wide  or  numerous  than  they 
now  are;  but  by  starting  from  a 
higher  vantage-ground  they  would 
reach  proportionately  farther. 

It  id  idle  to  lament  the  ill  condi- 
tion of  our  race  without  bestirring 
onreeWes  to  find  a  remedy,  but  it 
requires  some  audacity  to  publicly 
propose  schemes,  because  the  world 
at  large  is  incredulous  of  the  extent 
of  the  ill,  while  most  of  those  who 
are  more  correctly   informed  feel 
little  faith  in  the  feasibility  of  reme- 
dying it.    Nevertheless,  the  subject 
is  one  which  the  public  ought  to  be 
accostomed  to  hear  discussed  with- 
out sarprise  or  prejudice,  and    I 
trast  that  my  own  remarks  will  at- 
tract the  attention  of  some  few  com- 
petent persons  by  whom  they  may 
be  helpfully  criticised.     I  will  de- 
scribe what  I  have  to  propose  from 
the  very  beginning.     It  is  entirely 
based  on  the  assumption  that  the 
ordinary  doctrines  of  heredity  are, 
in  abrcMid  sense,  perfectly  true ;  also 
that  the  popular  mind  will  gradually 
become  impressed  with  a  conviction 
of  their  truth,  owing  to  the  future 
writings  and  observations  of  many 
enquirers ;  and  lastly,  that  we  shall 
come  to  think  it  no  hardheartednesa 
to  favour  the  perpetuation  of  tha 
ftronger,  wiser,   and  more   moral 
nu^,  but  shall  conceive  ourselves 
to  be  carrying  out  the  obvious  in- 
tentions of  Nature,  by  making  our 


social   arrangements  conducive  to 
the  improvement  of  their  race. 

There  is  a  vast  difierence  between^ 
an  intellectual  belief  in  any  subject 
and  a  living  belief  which  becomes 
ingrained,  sometimes  quite  suddenly, 
into  the  character.  I  do  not  ven- 
ture to  ask  that  the  doctrines  of 
heredity  shall  be  popularly  accepted 
in  the  latter  sense,  in  order  that 
the  seeds  of  my  scheme  should  be 
planted,  but  I  am  satisfied  if  they 
shall  come  to  be  believed  in  with 
about  the  same  degree  of  persuasion 
and  as  little  fervour  as  are  those,  at 
the  present  time,  of  sanitary  science. 
That  is  enough  to  enable  the  scheme 
to  take  root  and  to  grow,  but  I  can- 
not expect  it  to  flourish  until  the 
popular  belief  shall  have  waxed  se- 
veral degrees  warmer. 

My  object  is  to  build  up,  by  the 
mere  process  of  extensive  enquiry 
and  publication  of  results,  a  senti- 
ment of  caste  among  those  who  are 
naturally  gifted,  and  to  procure  for 
them,  before  the  system  has  fairly 
taken   root,   such  moderate   social 
favour  and  preference,  no  more  and 
no  less,  as  would  seem  reasonable 
to  those  who  were  justly  informed  of 
the  precise  measure  of  their  import- 
ance to  the  nation.    I  conclude  that 
the  natural  result  of  these  measures 
would  be  to  bind  them  together  by 
a  variety  of  material  and  social  in- 
terest",  and  to  teach  them  faith  in 
their  fntnre,  while  I  trust  to  the 
sentiment  of  caste  to  secure  that 
they  shall  intermarry  among  them- 
'  selves   about  as  strictly  as  is    the 
custom  of  the  nobility  in  Germany. 
My  proposition  certainly  is  not  to 
begin  by  breaking  up  old  feelings  of 
social  status,  but  to  build  up  a  caste 
within  each  of  the  groups  into  which 
rank,  wealth,  and  pursuits  already 
divide  society,  mankind  being  quite 
numerous  enough  to  admit  of  this 
Bub-classi6cation.      There   are  cer- 
tain ingenious  persons  who  exaniine 
the  records  of  unclaimed  dividends 
at    the    Bank    of    England,    and 
search  for  the    heirs    of   the  ori- 
ginal  owners,    and    inform    them 


124 


Merediiary  Improvement. 


[Jannaiy 


(for  a  consideration)  to  their  ad- 
Tantau^e.     Mj  object  is  to  have  the 
English  race  explored,  and    their 
luiw  unknown  wealth  of  hereditary 
gifts  recorded,  and  that  those  who 
possess  sach  a  patrimony  should  be 
told  of  it.     I  leave  it  to  the  natural 
impnlses  by  which    mankind   are 
guided,  to  insure  that  such  wealth 
should  not  continue  to  be  nrglected, 
any  more  than  any  other  possession 
unexpectedly  made  known  to  them. 
Great  fortunes  are  commonly   ob- 
served to  coalesce  through  marriage, 
and  members  of  aristocracies  seldom 
make  alliances  out  of  their  order,  ex- 
cept to  gain  wealth.    Is  it  less  to  be 
expected   that   those  who   become 
aware  that  they  are  endowed  with 
hereditary  gifts,  should  abstain  from 
squandering     their    patrimony    by 
marrying  out  of  their  caste  ?     I  do 
not  for  a  moment  contemplate  co- 
ercion as  to  whom  any  given  person 
should  marry ;  such  an  idea  would 
bo  scouted  now-a-days  almost    as 
much  as  that  of  polygamy,  or  of 
infanticide.     But  it  is  quite  con- 
formable to  the  customs  of  this  cen- 
tury to  employ  social  considerations 
to  eflectwhat  is  desirable,  and  their 
efiicacy  in   this  case   would  be  as 
great    as  is    needful.  >  The    great 
majority  are  sure  to  yield  to  ii,  and 
it  is  a  trifling  matter,  when  we  look 
to  general  results,  if  a  small  per- 
centage refuse  obedience.      I   also 
lay  great  stress  on  the  encourage- 
ment of  the  gifted  caste  to  maiTy 
early,  and  to  live  under  healthy  con- 
ditions, and  this  I  consider  would 
be  effected  in  the  manner  I  shall 
briefly  explain. 

The  reader  will  probably  find 
after  I  have  concluded,  that  the 
questions  chiefly  to  be  discussed  (it 
being  understood  that  my  piimary 
suppositions  are  provisionally  grant- 
ed) are,  first,  whether  the  i»ro- 
posed  means  are  adequate  to  crciato 
a  caste  whose  sentiments  shall 
have  the  character  and  strength 
assigned  to  them;  and  secondly, 
whetter  the  existence  of  such  a 
caste  would  or  would  not  be  in. 


tolerable  to  the  country  at  large,  ai 
the  tim3  when  it  had  become  power- 
ful, but  by  no  means  dominant 

I  propose  as  the  first  step,  and 
the  time  is  nearly  ripe  for  it^  that 
some  society  should  undertake 
three  scientific  services:  the  iirat, 
by  means  of  a  moderate  number 
of  influential  local  agencies,  to  in- 
stitute contlnuofis  enquiries  into 
the  facts  of  human  heredity  ;  the 
second  to  be  a  centre  of  inform^, 
tion  on  heredity  for  breeders  of 
animals  and  plants ;  and  the  third 
to  discuss  and  classify  the  facts 
that  were  collected.  I  look  upon 
the  continuity  of  the  enquiry  as 
very  important,  from  the  extreme 
difficulty  I  have  expeiienced  in  ran- 
sacking bygone  family  details,  even 
of  recent  date.  Biographies  and 
pedigrees  require  contemporancoas 
touching  up,  in  order  that  they  ma/ 
be  full  and  trustworthy,  and  that  an 
adequate  accumulation  of  hereditarj 
facts  may  in  time  be  formed. 

All  this  is  purely  sc  entific  work,  to 
the  performance  of  which  no  reason- 
able  objection  can  possibly  be  made, 
and  is  intended  to  tell  us  in  what 
degree  and  with  what  qualification 
the  ordinary  doctrines  of  hereditj 
apply  to  man.  Difi'erent  persons  maj 
expect  it  to  yield  different  results: 
that  which  I  expect  is,  that  these 
doctrines  will  be  fully  confirmed  in 
a  broad  sense,  and  that  an  immense 
amount  of  supplemental  and  special 
information  will  be  gathered.  It  is 
entirely  on  the  supposition  that 
these  i.opes  will  be  verified,  that 
all  I  have  now  to  say  is  based. 
The  proposed  work  is  a  large  one, 
but  notimpracHcable.  Any  fiimily 
or  any  community  could  undertake 
the  raw  materials  for  itself,  and 
therefore  large  districts,  or  even 
the  entire  nation,  which  is  but  a 
collection  of  such  units,  could 
equally  do  so.  However,  it  would 
require  much  enthusiasm  in  tho 
cause  to  carry  it  steadily  on^  and  to 
discuss  the  results  upon  a  stifficient 
scale,  but  it  need  not  be  isolated 
work.    It  would  naturally  fall  in 


1873] 


Herediianf  Improvement. 


125 


with  an  andertaking  that  would 
commend  itself  to  manj,  of  obtain- 
in^'  a  more  exact  statistical  iu sight 
into  the  conditioQ  of  the  natioa 
than  we  now  possess,  bj  working 
very  thoronghly  a  moderate  number 
of  typical  districts,  as  samples  of 
oar  enormous  population.  If  en- 
qnirers  existed,  there  are  large  num- 
bers of  statistical  queries  which 
might  be  most  usefully  answered. 
Amoog  others,  we  want  an  exact 
stock-taking  of  our  worth  as  a 
nation,  not  roughly  clubbed  toge- 
tber,  rich  and  poor,  in  one  large 
whole,  bat  judiciously  sorted, 
by  persons  who  have  local  know- 
ledge, into  classes  whose  mode 
of  life  differs.  We  want  to  know 
all  about  their  respeetive  health 
and  strength  and  constitutional 
ri^^nr ;  to  learn  the  amount  of  a 
day*K  work  of  men  in  different  oc- 
cupations; their  intellectual  capa- 
city, so  far  as  it  can  be  tested  at 
schuols;  the  dying  out  of  certain 
classes  of  families,  and  the  rise  of 
others ;  sanitary  questions ;  and 
many  other  allied  facts,  in  order  to 
give  a  correct  idea  of  the  present 
worth  of  our  race,  and  means  of 
comparison  some  years  hence  of  our 
general  progress  or  retrogression. 

I  will  now  suppose  a  few  more 
years  to  hare  passed,  during  which 
time  short  biographies  and  pedi- 
grees, illustrated  by  measurements 
and  photographs,  shall  have  been 
compiled,  of  perhaps  a  thousand  or 
morw  individuals  in  each  of  the  dis- 
tricts under  in  vestigation .  School- 
raaKtera,  ministers,  medical  men, 
employers  of  labour,  and  the  resi^ 
dent  gentry,  will  be  applied  to,  but 
no  blind  zeal  should  be  evoked  that 
might  arouse  prejudice  and  unrea- 
souable  opposition .  The  facts  should 
he  collected  quietly,  and  with  the 
hondfide  object  of  obtaining  scien- 
tifio  data.  If  the  results  prove  to 
be  such  as  I  have  reason  to  expect, 
then,  but  only  then,  will  the  con- 
viction begin  to  ei^tablish  itself  in 
the  popular  mind,  that  the  influence 
of  heredity  is  one  of  extraoixiinary 


importance.  I  ask  for  no  antioi-  ' 
patory  action,  but  merely  to  enquire 
on  a  large  scale,  in  a  persistent 
manner,  and  to  allow  events  to 
follow  in  their  natural  course,  know- 
ing full  well  that  if  observation 
broadly  confirms  the  truth  of  the 
present  doctrines  of  heredity,  quite 
as  many  social  influences  as  are 
necensary  will  become  directed  to 
obtain  the  desired  end. 

I  trust  that  I  have  made  my 
meaning  clear  thus  far,  to  the  efl'eot 
that  I  propose  no  direct  steps  at 
first  beyond  simple  enquiry,  but 
that  the  mere  process  of  carrying 
on  the  enquiries  will  have  an  inci- 
dental influence  in  creating  com- 
mon interests  and  mutual  acquaint- 
ance and  friendships  amon^  the 
gifted  families  in  each  class  of  so- 
ciety, such  eilects  naturallyresulting 
in  frequent  cases  of  intermarriage. 
Then  I  say,  the  offspring  of  these 
intermarriages  will  have  some  mo- 
derate claim  to  purity  of  blood, 
because  their  parents  and  many  of 
their  more  distant  relatives  will  be 
gifted  above  the  average  ;  also,  the 
precise  family  history  of  each  of 
them  will  have  been  preserved,  and 
the  foundation  laid  of  a  future 
*  golden  book'  of  natural  nobility. 
Lastly,  a  mass  of  information  bear- 
ing on  human  heredity  will  have 
been  collected. 

In  the  meantime  (supposing  the 
fundamental  truth  of  all  I  main- 
tain as  regards  the  doctrine  of 
heredity,  and  the  probability  that 
the  improvement  of  the  human  race 
will  be  considered  a  duty)  the  scale 
on  which  enquiries  are  conducted 
will  steadily  grow.  I  should  expect 
that  all  boys  at  school  will  not  only 
be  examine  d  and  classed,  as  at  pre- 
sent, for  their  intellectual  acquire- 
ments, but  will  be  weighed  and 
measured  and  appraised  m  respect 
of  their  natural  gifts,  physical  and 
mental  together,  and  that  enquiries 
will,  as  a  matter  of  course,  be  made 
into  the  genealogies  of  those  among 
tl  em  who  were  hereditarily  remark- 
able, 60  that  all  the  most  promising 


126 


Htreditary  Iviproc&tncat 


[January 


individuals  in  a  large  part  of  the 
kingdom  would  be  registered,  each 
in  his  own  local  centre.      A  vast 
deal  of  work  would  be,  no  doubt, 
thrown  away  in  collecting  materials 
about     persons     who     afterwards 
proved  not  to  be    the  parents  of 
gifled  children.      Also  many  would 
be  registered  on  grounds  which  our 
future  knowledge  will    pronounce 
inadequate.      But   gradually,    not- 
withstanding   many    mistakes     at 
first,  much  ridicule  and  misunder- 
standing, and  not  a  little  blind  hos- 
tility, people  will  confess  that  the 
sell  erne    is    very    reasonable,    and 
works  well  of  its  own  accord.     An 
immense  deal  of  investigation  and 
criticism  will  bear  its  proper  fruit, 
and  the  cardinal  rules  for  its  suc- 
cessful procedure  will  become  un- 
derstood and  laid  down.     Sacb,  for 
example,   as    the    physical,   moral, 
and  intellectual   qualifications    for 
entry  on  the  register,  and  especially 
as  to  the  increased  importance  of 
those  which  are  not  isolated,  but 
common  to  many  members  of  the 
same  family.      It  will  bo  necessary 
also    to  have  a  c^ear  idea  of  the 
average  order  of  gifts  to  aim  for, 
in  the  race  of  the  immediate  future, 
bearing  in  mind  that  sudden  and 
ambitious  attempts  are  sure  to  lead 
to  disappointment.     And  again,  the 
degree  of  rigour  of  selection  neces- 
sary among  the  parents   to   insure 
that  their  children  should,  on  the 
average,  inherit  gifts  of  the  order 
aimed  at.      Lastly,  we  should  learn 
particulars  concerning speci  fie  types, 
how  far  they  clash  together  or  are 
mutually  helpful. 

Let  us  now  suppose  an  interme- 
diate  stage  to  be  reached,  between 
that  of  mere  investigation  and  that 
of  an  accepted  system  and  practical 
action,  and  try  to  imagine  what 
would  occur.  The  society  of  which 
I  have  been  speaking,  or  others 
like  it,  would  continually  watch  the 
career  of  the  persons  whose  names 
were  on  their  register,  and  those 
who  had  aroused  so  much  interest 
would  feci  themselves  associates  of 


a  great  guild.      They  would  be  ac- 
customed to  be  treated  with  more 
respect     and     consideration     than 
others  whose  parents  were   origi- 
nally of  the  same  social  rank.   It 
would  be  impertinent  in  anyone  to 
assume  airs  of  patronage  towards 
such  people ;  on  the  contrary,  the 
consideration  shown    them    would 
naturally  tend  to  encourage  their 
self-respect  and  the    feeling   that 
they  had  a  family  name  to  support 
and  to  hand  down  to  their  desceod- 
ants.     Again,  the  society  would  Im 
ever  watchful  and  able  to  befriend 
them.  For  it  would  be  no  slight  help 
to  a  man  to  state,  on   undoubted 
grounds,  that  not  only  is  he  what 
he  appears,  but  that  he  has  latent 
gifts  as  well.     That  he  is  likely  to~ 
have  a  healthy  life,  and  that  Lis 
children  are  very  likely  indeed  to 
prove  better  than  those   of  other 
people.     In  short,  that  he  and  Ins 
family  may  be  expected  to  turn  out 
yet  more  creditably  than  those  igno- 
rant of  his  and  his  wife's  hereditary 
gifts  would  imagine.     This  would 
make  it  more  easy  for  him  than  for 
others  to  obtain  a  settled  homo  and 
employment  in  early  manhood,  and 
to   follow   his    natural  instinct  of 
marrying  young.      It  is   no    new 
thing  that  associations  should  suc- 
cessfully watch  and  befriend  every 
member  of  large  communities,  and 
in  the  present  case  the  kindly  in. 
terests  sure  to  be  evoked  in  dealini^ 
with  really  worthy  and  self-helpfnl 
people  would   be   so  great  thnt  I 
should  expect  charity  of  this  kind 
to  become  exceedingly  popular,  and 
to  occupy  a  large  part  of  the  leisuro 
of  many  people.     It  is  quite  another 
thing  to  patronising  paupers,  and 
doing  what  are  commonly  spoken 
of  as  '  charitable '  actions,  which, 
however  devoted  they  may  be  to  a 
holy  cause,  have  a  notorious  ten- 
dency to  demoralise  the  recipient, 
and  to  increase  the  extent  of  the 
very  evils  which  they  are  intended 
to  cure. 

The  obvious  question  arises.  Would 
not  these  selected  people  become  in- 


1873] 


Herediiary  Improvement. 


127 


tolerably  priggish  and  sapercilions? 
Also  it  will  be  said,  that  the  demo- 
cratic feeling  is  a  growing  one,  and 
would  be  directly  adverse  to  the 
establishment  of  such  a  favoured 
and  exceptional  class.  My  answer 
is;,  that  the  individuals  in  question 
would  not  at  first  have  so  very  much 
to  be  conceited  about,  and  that, 
later  on,  their  value  would  be  gene- 
rally recognised.  They  would  be 
good  all  round,  in  physique  andmo- 
r.i/e,  rather  than  exceptionally  bril- 
liant, for  many  of  the  geniuses 
would  not  '  pass'  for  physical  qua- 
lities, and  they  would  be  kept  in 
pood  order  by  the  consciousness 
that  any  absurd  airs  on  their  pai*t 
micrht  be  dangerous  to  them.  The 
attitude  of  mind  which  I  should  ex- 
pect to  predominate,  would  be  akin 
to  that  now  held  by  and  towards 
the  possessors  of  ancestral  pro- 
perty, of  moderate  value,  dearly 
cherished,  and  having  duties  at- 
tached. Such  a  person  would  feel 
it  a  point  of  honour  never  to  aUen- 
ate  the  old  place,  and  he  is  gene- 
rally respected  for  his  feeling  and 
liked  on  his  own  account.  So  a 
man  of  good  race  would  feel  that 
marriage  out  of  his  caste  would 
tarnish  his  blood,  and  his  senti- 
ments woidd  be  sympathised  with 
by  all.  As  regards  the  democratic 
feehng,  its  assertion  of  equality  is 
deserving  of  the  highest  admiration 
so  far  as  it  demands  equal  considera- 
tion for  the  feelings  of  all,  just  in 
the  same  way  as  their  rights  are 
equally  maintained  by  the  law.  But 
it  goes  £Eurther  than  this,  for  it  as- 
serts that  men  are  of  equal  value 
as  social  units,  equally  capable  of 
voting,  and  the  rest.  This  feeling 
is  undeniably  wrong  and  cannot 
1^^.  I  therefore  do  not  hesitate  in 
believing  that  if  the  persons  on  the 
r^ter  were  obviously  better  and 
filler  pieces  of  manhood  in  every 
respect  than  other  men,  demo- 
cracy notwithstanding,  their  supe- 
riority would  be  recognised  at  just 
what  it  amounted  to,  without  envy, 

?0L  VII.— HO.  XXXVII.      NEW  SEBIES. 


but  very  possibly  with  some  feeling 
of  hostility  on  the  part  of  beaten 
competitors. 

Let  us  now,  in  our  imagination, 
advance  a  couple  of  generations, 
and  suppose  a  yet  more  distant 
time  to  have  arrived,  when  socie- 
ties shall  have  been  sown  broad- 
cast over  the  land  and  have  become 
firmly  rooted,  and  when  principles 
of  selection  shall  have  been  well 
discussed  and  pretty  generally  es- 
tablished, and  when,  perhaps,  one 
per  cent,  of  the  thirty  millions 
of  British  people,  that  is  300,000 
individuals,  old  and  young,  and 
of  both  sexes,  shall  have  their 
names  inserted  in  the  then  an- 
nually published  registers.  By  this 
time  the  selected  race  will  have 
become  a.  power,  a  considerable 
increase  will  have  taken  place  in 
the  number  of  families  of  really 
good  breed,  for  there  will  be  many 
boys  and  girls,  themselves  above 
mediocrity,  whose  parents,  uncles 
on  both  sides,  four  grand-parents, 
several  of  their  great- uncles  and 
cousins,  and  all  their  eight  great- 
grandparents,  were  persons  con- 
siderably above  the  average  in  every 
respect  that  fits  an  individual  to  be 
a  worthy  citizen  and  a  useful  and 
agreeable  member  of  society.  *!  can- 
not doubt,  that  at  this  period  a 
strong  feeling  of  caste  would  be 
found  developed  in  the  rising  gene- 
ration, for  such  is  the  vanity  of 
men,  especially  in  youth,  that  it  is 
one  of  the  easiest  tasks  in  the  world 
to  persuade  them  that  they  are  in 
some  way  remarkable,  and,  in  the 
supposed  case,  the  persuasion  would 
be  well-nigh  irresistible.  A  number 
of,  perhaps,  the  best  informed  phi- 
losophers in  the  nation,  who  are  ex- 
pert in  the  matter,  solemnly  aver, 
after  careful  enquiry,  that  the  indi- 
viduals whose  names  are  on  the 
register  are,  in  sober  truth,  the 
most  valuable  boys  and  girls,  or 
men  and  women,  to  the  nation. 
They  may  give  them  a  diploma, 
which  would  virtually  be  a  patent 


128 


Herediiary  Improvement 


[January 


of  natural  nobOity.  Thej  assure 
them  that  if  they  intermarry  under 
certain  limitations  of  type  and  sub- 
class, which  have  yet  to  be  studied 
and  filmed,  their  children  will  be, 
on  the  whole,  better  in  every  re- 
spect than  the  children  of  other  peo- 
ple— stronger,  healthier,  brighter, 
more  honest  and  more  pleasant. 
They  tell  them  that  in  addition  to 
the  old-established  considerations  of 
rank  and  wealth  there  is  another 
and  a  higher  one,  namely,  of  purity 
of  blood,  and  that  it  would  be  base 
to  ally  themselves  with  inferior 
breeds.  In  corroboration  of  these 
flattering  words,  the  members  of 
the  gifted  caste  would  continue  to 
experience  pleasing  testimony  of  a 
practical  kind,  for  there  can  be  little 
doubt  that  one  consequence  of  the 
continual  writing  and  talking  about 
noble  races  of  men,  during  many 
years,  would  be  to  increase  the  ap- 
preciation of  them.  An  entry  on 
the  register  would  then  become  as 
beneficial  as  it  was  a  few  years 
since  to  be  bom  of  a  family  able 
and  willing  to  push  forward  their 
relatives  in  pubHc  life.  Queen 
Elizabeth  gave  ready  promotion  to 
well-made  men,  and  it  is  no  unrea- 
sonable expectation  that  our  future 
landowners  may  feel  great  pride  in 
being  surrounded  by  a  tenantry  of 
magnificent  specimens  of  manhood 
and  womanhood,  mentally  and  phy- 
sically, and  that  they  would  compete 
with  one  another  to  attract  and  lo- 
cate in  their  neighbourhood  a  popu- 
lation of  registered  families. 

I  will  now  suppose  another  not 
improbable  alternative,  namely,  the 
result  of  some  democratic  hosti- 
lity  to  the  favoured  race.  WeU, 
it  would  gain  in  cohesion  by 
persecution.  If  trade  unionism 
chose  to  look  on  them  as  cuckoos 
in  the  national  nest,  they  would 
be  driven  from  the  workshops, 
and  be  powerfully  directed  to  co- 
operative pursuits.  They  would 
certainly  histve  little  inclination  to 
inhabit  towns  where  they  were  out- 
numbered   and    disfavoured,'    and 


would  naturally  settle  in  co-opera- 
tive associations  in  the  country.  In 
other  words,  the  gifted  race  would 
be  urged  into  companionship  by  the 
pressure  of  external  circumstencea, 
no  less  strongly  than,  as  I  have 
shown,  they  would  be  drawn  toge- 
ther by  their  own  mutual  attrac- 
tion, and  would  be  perforce  inha- 
bitants of  healthy  rural  districts, 
and  not  of  unhealthy  towns.  All 
this,  which  is  probable  enough, 
would  have  an  immense  effect  in 
strengthening  the  sentiment  of 
caste,  in  developing  the  best  points 
of  their  race,  and  in  increasing  its 
numbers.  In  these  colonies,  caste 
regulations  would  no  doubt  rise  into 
existence,  and  gradually  acquire  the 
force  almost  of  religious  obligations, 
to  maintain  and  increase  the  charac- 
ter of  their  race,  by  encouraging 
early  marriage  among  their  more 
gifted  descendants,  and  by  dis- 
couraging it  among  the  less  gifted. 
The  colonies  would  become  more 
and  more  independent  as  the  supe- 
riority of  their  members  over  the 
outside  world  became,  in  succes- 
sive generations,  more  pronounced. 
Their  members  would  be  little 
likely  to  associate  intimately  with 
persons  not  of  their  caste,  because 
they  would  succeed  better  by 
themselves  than  when  other  and 
less  effective  men  were  admitted 
into  partnership.  They  would  not 
only  have  peculiarly  high  personal 
gifts  of  intelligence  and  morale  to 
carry  out  co-operativeundertakings, 
but  they  would  also  have  in  many 
cases  special  advantages  as  well. 
K  they  wished  to  found  a  club  for 
mutual  relief  in  sickness,  it  would 
be  foolish  to  allow  strangers  of  a 
loss  healthy  race  to  join  with  them. 
If  it  should  be  a  building  society, 
they  by  themselves  would  be  able 
to  enforce  better  sanitary  regula- 
tions than  if  a  body  of  less  intelli- 
gent and  energetic  families  were 
mixed  up  with  them.  Their  social 
gatherings  would  tend  to  be  exclu- 
sive, because  their  interests  would 
be  different,  and  often   hostile,  to 


1873] 


Hereditary  Improvement. 


129 


those  of  other  people,  and  their  own 
BKktj  would  be  by  &r  the  more 
coltored  and  pleasant. 

It  will  be  understood  that  the 
colonies  I  am  describing,  would  be 
fau^  enough  for  all  the  varied 
interests  of  life  to  find  place  for 
their  exercise.  Thej  would  be  no 
mere  retreats  from  a  distasteful 
oatside  world,  but  energetic  and 
capable  to  the  higher  degree. 

The  continued  intermarriage  of 
members  of  such  colonies  seems  to 
me  almost  a  certainty,  and  so  does 
the  happiness  which  would  generally 
be  diffiised  among  them.  Here,  if 
ADjwhere,  would  a  whole  population 
hm  to  be  industrious,  like  bees  or 
ants,  for  public  ends  and  not  for 
mdividnal  gain.  If  such  commu- 
nities were  established,  it  would  be 
in  them,  rather  than  anywhere  else, 
where  those  forms  of  new  and  higher 
ciyilisation,  which  must  hereafter 
overspread  the  earth,  would  be  first 
eyolved.  If,  however,  they  should 
he  persecuted  to  an  unreasonable 
extent,  as  so  many  able  sects  have 
already  been,  let  them  take  ship  and 
emigrate  and  become  the  parents  oi^ 
a  new  state,  with  a  glorious  future. 

AU  I  have  thus  far  spoken 
of  would  require  no  endowments, 
and  yet  how  much  could  be  ef- 
fected by  it.  We  may,  however, 
expect  that  endowments  commen- 
surate with  the  greater  items 
of  national  expenditure  would 
nhimately  be  assigned  to  the  main- 
tenance and  improvement  of  the 
best  races  of  man.  Our  peers  enjoy 
a  gross  annual  income  of  some  nine 
millions;  and  that  of  all  other 
settled  property,  irrespective  of 
merit,  would  amount  to  an  enormous 
sum.  It  is  very  possible  hereafter, 
at  the  time  I  have  been  anticipating, 
that  the  Legislature  under  the  grow- 
ing mfluence  of  the  gifted  caste 
(Bnpposing  other  customs  to  remain 
as  thejare  at  present)  would  enforce 
some  limitation  to  inheritance,  in 
cases  where  the  heirs  were  deficient 
in  natural  gifts.  The  fittest  would 
then  have  a  &r  better  chance  of 


survival  than  at  present,  and  civili- 
sation, which  is  now  recklessly  de- 
structive of  high  races,  would,  under 
more  enlightened  leadership,  employ 
its  force  to  maintain  and  improve 
them.  The  gifted  families  would 
be  full  of  life  and  hope,  and  living 
under  more  intelligent  and  fiivour- 
able  sanitary  conditions,  would 
multiply  rapidly,  while  the  non- 
gifted  would  begin  to  decay  out 
of  the  land,  whenever  they  were 
brought  face  to  face  in  competition 
with  them,  just  in  the  same  way 
as  inferior  races  always  disappear 
before  superior  ones.  It  is  difficult 
to  analyse  the  steps  by  which  this 
invanaole  law  has  hitherto  accom- 
plished itself,  and  much  more 
difficult  is  it  to  guess  how  it  would 
be  accomplished  under  the  condi- 
tions here  described,  but  I  should 
expect  it  would  be  effected  with 
little  severity.  I  do  not  see  why 
any  insolence  of  caste  should  pre- 
vent the  gifted  class,  when  they 
had  the  power,  from  treating  their 
compatriots  with  all  kindness,  so 
long  as  they  maintained  celibacy. 
But  if  these  continued  to  procreate 
children,  inferior  in  moraJ,  intel- 
lectual and  physical  qualities,  it  is 
easy  to  believe  the  time  may  come 
when  such  persons  would  be  con- 
sidered as  enemies  to  the  State,  and 
to  have  forfeited  all  claims  to  kind- 


The  objection  is  sure  to  be  urged 
against  my  scheme,  that  its  effects 
are  too  remote  for  men  to  care  to 
trouble  themselves  about  it.  The 
earlier  results  will  be  insignificant 
in  number,  and  disappointing  to  the 
sanguine  and  ignorant,  who  may 
expect  a  high  race  to  be  evolved 
out  of  the  present  mongrel  mass  ot 
mankind  in  a  single  generation.  Ot 
course  this  is  absurd  ;  there  will  be 
numerous  and  most  annoying  cases 
of  reversion  in  the  first  and  even  in 
the  second  generation,  but  when  the 
third  generation  of  selected  men 
has  been  reached,  the  race  will 
begin  to  bear  offspring  of  distinctly 
purer  blood  than  in  the  first,  and 


130 


Hereditary  ImprovemerU, 


[January  1873 


afl^r  five  or  sijc  generations,  rever- 
sion to  an  inferior  type  will  be  rare. 
But  is  not  ttat  too  remote  an  event 
for  ua  to  care  for  ?  I  reply  that  the 
c  arrant  interest  a  which  the  scheme 
would  evoke  are,  as  already  ex- 
plained, of  a  very  attractive  kind, 
and  a  safficient  reward  for  consider- 
abJo  exertion  qaite  independently 
of  anything  else.  Its  effects  would 
be  ever  present,  clearly  visible,  of 
general  importance,  and  of  the  high- 
eet  interest,  the  number  of  experi- 
QientB  going  on  at  the  same  time 
being  an  equivalent  to  the  slow- 
ness with  which  their  results  be- 
came apparent.  Also,  it  must  be 
recollected  that  the  labourers  em- 
ployed on  the  foundation  of  any 
edifice,  Lave  a  store  of  present 
pleasure  in  discounting,  so  to  speak, 
its  fiiture  development. 

But  even  if  the  labour  were  wholly 
unromunerate^^  by  present  pleasure, 
I  should  not  denpair,  looking  at  the 
great  works  already  accomplished 
under  similar  conditions.  I  will 
cite  one  example.  The  forests  of 
Europe'  extend  over  enormous 
tracts.  In  France,  alone,  they 
cover  between  eight  and  nine  mil- 
lion aci'es,  which  equals  a  region 
130  milos  long-  by  100  broad.  The 
chief  timber  tree  in  France  is  oak, 
and  an  ordinance  which  dates  from 
1669  contains  a  clause  inserted  by 
Colbert  that  *  in  none  of  the  forests 
of  the  State  shall  oaks  be  felled  until 
they  are  ripe,  tliat  is,  are  unable  to 
prosper  for  more  than  thirty  years 
lon^r/  This?  regulation  has  been 
strictly  attended  to  up  to  the  pre- 
sent day,  and  ia  the  mean  time 
forest  legislation  lia§  grown  into  an 
important  duty  of  the  State.  The 
same  has  occurred  in  Germany,  and 


the  lead  of  these  two  countries  has 
been  followed  by  Italy,  Prussia, 
Austria,  Sweden,  Denmark,  and 
British  India.  To  return  to  our 
oaks  :  the  timber  is  of  great  value 
in  France,  not  only  for  ship  build- 
ing, but  on  account  of  the  enormous 
quantity  used  for  parquet  floors 
and  wine  casks,  while,  on  the 
other  hand,  countries  which  for- 
merly supplied  it  in  abundance, 
are  now  running  short.  In  North 
Germany  oaks  are  rarely  permitted 
to  attain  a  large  size,  being  usually 
felled  before  fliey  are  100  years  of 
age,  and  the  fine  natural  forests  of 
Hungary,  Croatia  and  Sclavonia 
are  becoming  exhausted ;  conse- 
quently the  Government  of  France 
strives  to  fovour  in  every  way  the 
growth  of  fine  oak  timber  and  post- 
pones felling  the  trees  until  thej 
are  ftdly  mature ;  that  is,  between 
the  ages  of  150  and  180  years. 

Is  not  man  worthy  of  more  consi- 
deration  than  timber  ?  If  a  nation 
readily  consents  to  lay  costly  plans 
for  results  not  to  be  attained  until 
five  generations  of  men  shall  have 
passed  away,  for  a  good  supply  of 
oak,  could  it  not  be  persuaded  to 
do  at  least  as  much  for  a  good 
supply  of  man  ?  Marvellous  effects 
might  be  produced  in  five  genera- 
tions (or  in  166  years,  allowing 
three  generations  to  a  century).  1 
believe,  when  the  truth  of  heredity 
as  respects  man  shall  have  become 
firmly  established  and  clearly  un- 
derstood, that  instead  of  a  sluggish 
regard  being  shown  towards  a  prac- 
tical application  of  their  knowledge, 
it  is  much  more  likeljr  that  a  perfect 
enthusiasm  for  improving  the  race 
might  develop  itself  among  the  edu- 
cated classes. 


*  1  tak«  bU  the  following  facts  from  a  very  carious  and  interesting  memoir  by 
Mr,  Bjk^A  Qiimblp,  Assistant  Conseryator  of  Forests  in  British  India,  published  in  the 
IVfl7*A«c^wJw  &/th  Highland  and  Agricultural  Society  oj  Scotland,  1872. 


FRASER'S    MAGAZINE. 


EDITED  BT 


JAMES  ANTHONY   FROUDE,  M.A. 


New  Sbbibs-        FEBRUARY  1873.   Vol.  VII.— No.  XXXVIII. 


CONTENTS. 


PAOS 

THE  DOMINION  OF  CANADA.— Bt  Ctbil  Graham  131 

WITTENBERG  AND  COLOGNE.— Bt  Db.  Schwabtz  166 

JUSTICES  OF  THE  PEACE 160 

JAGANNATH  AND  HIS  WORSHIP 171 

CHARLES  DE  MONTALEMBERT 180 

A  SKETCH  OF  CHARLES  LEVER 190 

DAILY  WORK  IN  A  NORTH-WEST  DISTRICT.— By  an  Indian  Official  197 

PLYMOUTH.— By  Richard  John  Kino 209 

BRAMBLEBERRIES 222 

THE  ORIGINAL  PROPHET.— By  a  Visitor  to  Salt  Lake  City 226 

SUGGESTIONS  TOWARDS  MAKING  BETTER  OF  IT.— By  A.  K.  H.  B.  236 

THE  PEKING   GAZETTE,— By  Sir  Rutherford  Alcock,  K.C.B 246 

OUK8  AND  ARMOUR.— By  Commander  Wm.  Dawson,  R.N 267 


LONDON : 

LONGMANS,    GREEN,    AND    CO. 

1873. 


FEASER'S  MAGAZINE  for  JANUARY  1873 

(SECOND  EDITION) 

CONTAINS 

ADDRESS  DELIVERED  ON  NOVEMBER  30,  IN  THE  ASSOCIATION  HALL, 

NEW  YORKL-^By  J.  A.  Froudb. 
NEW  EDITION'  OF  THE  PASTON  LETTERS.— By  L.  Toulmin-  Smith. 
A  VISIT   TO   SHAMTL'S    COUNTRY   IN   THE   AUTUMN    OF    1870.  —  By 

Bdwxbt  EwfsoM,  F.R.G.S. 
SOME  CXJRIOBITIES  OF  CRITICISM. 

THORW^iLDSEN  IN  COPENHAGEN  AND  IN  ROME.— By  J.  B.  Atkinsox. 
OF  AUENATION.^Bt  a.  K.  H.  B. 
BRAMBLEBERRIES. 

BHAFTESBURVS  CHARACTERISTICS.— ^y  Leslie  Stephen. 
A  SKETCH  OF  LL  THIERS. 

ON  PRISONR.— Et  TUB  Right  Hon.  Sib  Walter  Crofton,  C.B. 
DULWIGH  COLLEGF.. 
HEREDITARY  mPROVEMENT.— By  Francis  Galton,  F.R.S. 


NOTICE    TO    CORRESPONDENTS. 

fSevrmpQudmU^  are  desired  to  observe  that  all  Oommunwatlons  must  hr 
addressed  dired  to  the  Editor, 

Ilf^j^cted  Oofdrihntions  cannot  he  returned. 


FRASER'S    MAGAZINE. 


FEBRUARY  1873. 


THE  DOMINION  OF  CANADA. 


K'OT  much  more  than  a  century 
ago  the  greatest  and  most  pro- 
misfog  colony  ever  planted  and 
nnrtiu^  by  France  fell  into  the 
possession  of  Great  Britain.  Slightly 
behind  us  in  tlie  race  of  discovery, 
in  that  of  acquisition  she  had  sur- 
passed us ;  and  when  that  final  ap- 
peal to  arms  occurred  on  the  plains 
above  Quebec,  which  history  com- 
memorates as  a  mortal  duel  between 
two  great  conunanders,  she  claimed 
all  the  lands  watered  by  the  St.  Law- 
rence and  the  Mi^issippi  from  their 
Eooioes  to  the  ocean,  and  whatever 
else  might  lie  &rther  in  the  un- 
tnown  west,  even  to  the  very  shores 
of  the  Pacific. 

On  one  hazard  Montcalm  staked 
an  empire,  the  loss  of  which  was 
acknowledged  by  France  in  1763, 
and  with  it  that  supremacy  in  the 
New  World  for  which  the  rival 
powers  had  so  long  struggled.  The 
might  of  England  now  seemed 
almost  saperhuman.  Peaceful  and 
prosperous  at  home,  free  beyond 
other  countries,  honoured  and  feared 
bj  all,  the  limits  of  her  future 
greatness  depended  alone  upon  her 
discretion. 


In  that  moment  of  national  ex- 
ultation who  would  have  believed 
that  before  twenty  years  were  past 
a  large  section  of  the  people  who 
were  then  rejoicing  with  their  king, 
would  be  converted  into  deadly  ene- 
mies, dragging  fr*om  his  sway  the 
territory  fiiey  had  often  helped  him 
to  maintain,  and  that  of  all  his 
Transatlantic  subjects,  those  fo- 
reigners whom  he  had  just  acquired 
would  alone  remain  faithfril  to  him, 
and  even  be  foimd  a  little  later 
fighting  side  by  side  with  his  troops 
against  the  aggressions  of  the  new 
democracy  ?  Yet  these  events  form 
a  natural  sequence.*  Undisputed 
possession  rendered  us  too  confident 
of  our  treasures,  and  arrogant  to 
the  inevitable  guardians  of  them. 
Temptation  to  stab  his  old  foe, 
while  they  helped  him  to  the  mo- 
mentary gratification  of  revenge, 
blinded  Louis  XVI.  to  the  general 
danger  of  the  principles  he  was 
promulgating.  Whilst  their  con- 
sequences, bis  dethronement  and 
murder,  the  ruin  of  the  kingdom, 
and  the  annihilation  of  religion  and 
order,  so  shocked  the  simple  Nor- 
mans of  Canada  as  to  make  them 


'  Yet  ccftaiii  shrewd  thinkers  predicted  nenrly  what  happened.  It  is  said  that  at  the 
time  of  the  cession  the  French  ifinister  warned  the  Britisn  Envoy  that  it  would  lead  to 
the  lots  of  oar  colonies,  and  when  the  Treaty  was  fairly  signed,  Choiseul  could  not  held 
<selszmmg  with  glee,  *  At  last  we  have  got  them ! '  M.  de  Vergu&nes,  afterwards  Minister 
for  Fonign  Affairs,  then  Ambassador  at  the  Forte,  also  made  use  to  an  English  traveller 
^them  prophetic  words :  '  The  consequences  of  the  entire  cession  of  Canada  are  obvious. 
1  am  persoaded  Ei^^land  will  ere  long  repent  of  having  removed  the  only  check  that 
(cold  keep  her  colonies  in  awe.  They  stand  no  longer  in  need  of  her  protection.  8k$ 
viS  call  upon  them  to  contribute  towards  supporting  the  burdens  they  haw  helped  to  Mmg 
m  A<r,  and  they  will  reply  by  striking  off  all  dependence.'— Cbxast,  '  The  Constitution  of 
the  Britannic  Empire^  144. 

TOL.  yn.— HO.  xxxnn.  new  series.  l  s 


132 


The  Dominion  of  Canada. 


[Pebmaiy 


forswear  France  and  cling  to  a 
throne  which  was  treating  them 
with  kindness. 

The  story  is  a  curious  one.  From 
the  time  of  the  great  Cartier,  who 
found  it,  to  that  of  the  brave  Mont- 
calm, who  lost  it,  Canada  was  the 
special  offspring  of  France.  She 
explored  it,  she  peopled  it;  her  mis- 
sionaries for  the  propagation  of  the 
faith,  her  voyageurs  for  the  exten- 
sion of  commerce,  accomplished 
journeys  which  place  them  amongst 
the  boldest  and  most  enterprising 
of  adventurers.  Alone  for  months, 
sometimes  for  years,  to  expedite  the 
great  end  they  had  in  view,  these 
Others  would  trust  themselves 
amongst  the  savages,  adopting  their 
mode  of  life,  mastering  their  dia- 
lects, enduring  their  privations, 
sharing  their  great  fatigues:  a 
career  of  self-sacrifice  which  often 
ended  in  an  untimely  death,  ac- 
companied by  those  refinements  of 
torture  in  which  the  aboriginal 
Americans  excelled  beyond  all  peo- 
ples of  the  earth,  and  even  prided 
themselves  in  exalting  to  an  art. 
To  the  untiring  efforts  and  the  tact 
of  these  good  men,  France  owed  to 
a  great  degree  the  permanence  and 
progress  of  her  work,  and  we  are 
indebted  to  them  for  the  earliest 
pictures  of  that  wild  northern  re- 
gion, with  its  wonderful  system  of 
waters,  and  it«  fathomless  forests, 
and  of  the  life,  so  rapidly  passing 
away,  of  its  primitive  inhabitants. 

Once  only  during  those  times  was 
her  domination  in  peril.  It  was  in 
the  early  days  of  Quebec.  England 
had  quarrelled  with  her  about  the 
treatment  of  the  Huguenots.  A 
British  squadron  sailed  up  the  St. 
Lawrence,  and  all  French  America 


lay  at  our  mercy.  Wolfe's  prototype 
was  Sir  David  Kirk,  who  had 
brought  fame  with  him ;  Montcalm^s 
was  Champlain,  the  explorer,  the 
administrator,  the  real  founder  and 
the  preserver  of  the  new  Empire. 
All  the  honours  of  war  were  granted 
to  the  garrison,  and  Champlain  was 
allowed  to  return  to  France.  Peace 
was  being  discussed  when  he  arrived 
there,  and  his  dismay  and  mortifi- 
cation may -be  conceived  when  he 
found  the  value  of  La  Nonvelle- 
France  so  little  appreciated  by  the 
King  and  his  advisers,  that  they  had 
failed  to  make  its  restitution  one  of 
the  conditions  of  a  renewal  of  inter- 
course.  But  Champlain  was  not 
too  late  :  his  entreaties  and  remon- 
strances prevailed,  and  the  lost 
colony  was  restored  to  its  former 
possessors  (1630). 

To  trace  the  progress  and  vicissi- 
tudes of  Canada  during  the  next 
century  and  a  quarter,  an  interval 
ftiU  of  romance  and  interest,  would 
require  a  separate  essay  ;  her  for- 
tunes under  British  rule  is  the  task 
we  have  set  ourselves  to  consider ; 
we  must  therefore  be  content  to 
refer  those  who  are  curious  to  study 
the  times  of  our  predecessors,  to  the 
valuable  works  they  have  handed 
down  to  us,  the  titles  of  some  of 
which  will  be  found  in  the  note.* 

Lnmediately  after  the  peace  of 
1763,  Canada,  which  during  the  in- 
terval between  its  conquest  and 
formal  cession  by  treaty,  had  neces- 
sarily occupied  the  position  of  a 
military  province,  was  placed  under 
a  civil  administration.  In  the  same 
gazette  '  the  erection  in  America  of 
four  new  governments  is  announced 
— Quebec,  East  Florida,  and  West 
Florida*  on  the  mainland,  and  Gre- 


'  Belations  des  JesuUeSt  now  a  scarce  work,  remarkable  for  its  graphic  account  of  th« 
country  and  the  labours  of  the  pioneers.  Champlain's  Voyages,  Cbarleroix's  Bistoire  et 
Description  de  la  NouveUe-France,  1774.  De  Bacqueville  do  la  Potherie,  Hisicire  <&? 
rAmiriqtie  sepientrionale,  1722.  See  also  William  Smith's  History  of  Canada  to  ike 
Peace  of  1763,  published  at  Quebec,  and  an  excellent  abstract  of  the  Histozy  of 
Canada,  by  John  MacMullen,  Esq.,  published  at  Brockville,  Ontario,  in  1868. 

«  October  8,  1763. 

*  During  the  last  two  years  of  the  war  Spain  had  been  the  ally  of  France.  She  -was 
punished  by  the  loss  of  Cuba,  which,  for  the  sake  of  completing  our  continental  posses- 


1673] 


The  Dominion  of  Canada. 


133 


mdtk,  wHch  comprised  the  few  other 
West  Indian  islands  we  then  held* — 
together  with  the  appointment  of 
General  Murray  as  the  first  Gover- 
nor of  Qnebec.  A  conncil  of  eight 
w«s  nominated  to  advise  him,  and 
liis  instnictions  recommended,  in 
most  respects,  the  dispensation  a- 
dopted  in  our  Crown  Colonies  as  his 
model.  His  jurisdiction  extended 
over  Canada  proper ;  Nova  Scotia, 
which  then  comprised  what  are  now 
New  Bnmswick  and  part  of  Maine, 
forming  a  separate  province.  Too 
rigid  an  adherence  to  precedent  led 
Mnrraj,  in  one  of  his  early  acts,  into 
a  grave  error.  Excepting  the  garri- 
son, and  the  immediate  servants  of 
the  Crown,  not  a  creature  then  spoke 
a  word  of  anything  but  French, 
and  the  substitution  of  English  in 
the  Courts  of  Law  caused  a  natural 
mistrust  amongst  all  classes. 

The  speedy  correction  of  this 
false  step,  and  the  expressed  opinion 
of  the  Law  Officers  of  the  Crown 
that  neither  prudence  nor  justice 
warranted  an  alteration  of  the  sys- 
tem with  regard  to  land  and  pro- 
perty, which  we  found  in  force,  or 
in  any  of  the  customs  and  usages 
of  His  Majesty's  new  subjects,  went 
far  to  reconcile  these  to  their  fate, 
and  to  impart  a  confidence  in  Eng- 
land of  which  she  soon  amply  reaped 
the  fruits.  Henceforth  the  Caiitume 
t/«  Paris,  originally  compiled  by 
Canadian  jurists,  was  to  be  the 
authoritative  code  regulating  ques- 
tions which  afiected  land  and  in- 
heiitance ;  whilst  cases  of  personal 
contract  and  commercial  debts  were 
to  be  determined  according  to  the 
law  of  England. 

An  Act  of  Parliament,  in  1774, 
made  several  modifications  in  the 
machinery  of  administration.  The 
Council  was  augmented,  its  powers 
were  enlarged,  but  its  ordinances  to 


become  valid  must  receive  the 
royal  assent  within  six  months  of 
their  enactment.  The  area  of  the 
Governor's  authority  was  also  ex- 
panded so  as  to  include  Labrador, 
and  on  the  west,  the  countries 
between  the  Ohio  and  the  Missis- 
sippi, Had  it  not  involved  the  ex- 
tension of  the  Province,  or  had  the 
lands  now  added  been  uninhabited, 
the  *  Quebec  Act '  might  claim  al- 
most unreserved  praise.  But  the  ad- 
ditional territory  contained  20,000 
persons  of  British  origin,  who  in- 
stantly raised  a  cry  that  their  in- 
terests were  sacrificed,  their  liberty 
endangered,  and  that  his  new-fangled 
subjects,  who  were  about  to  over- 
whelm them,  were  dearer  to  the  King 
than  his  old  and  trusty  servants. 

In  the  House  of  Lords,  Chatham 
raised  his  voice  unheeded,  and  the 
20,000,  with  their  millions  of  rich 
acres,  were  worse  than  lost  to  us 
for  ever. 

One  clause  in  the  Quebec  Act, 
and  which,  perhaps,  more  than  any 
part  of  it  secured  Canada  to  our 
interests,  gave  to  the  Romish  clergy 
full  exercise  of  their  religion,  sub- 
ject to  the  King's  supremacy,  and 
the  power  to  enjoy  the  dues  and 
rights  accruing  to  them  from  the 
members  of  their  congregations, 
with  a  proviso  that  this  concession 
should  not  debar  his  Majesty  from 
making  such  provision  for  the  sup- 
port of  a  Protestant  clergy  as  he 
should  hereafter  think  fit. 

The  lamentable  story  of  the  next 
nine  years,  the  blunders  of  Govern- 
ment, and  the  often  tactless  atti- 
tude of  the  Opposition,  who  by  the 
violence  of  their  speech  not  only  con- 
firmed an  overwhelmingly  power- 
ful Ministry  in  their  stubbornness, 
but  encouraged  the  more  unrea- 
sonable people  on  the  other  side 
of  the    water  in  their  turbulence, 


»ioQs,  ve  exchanged  for  the  Floridas.  They  included,  besides  the  present  State  of 
^loridA,  those  portions  to  the  south  of  latitude  31  of  what  are  now  Alabama  and  Mis- 
sissippi. The  vast  and  unknown  region  to  the  west  of  the  Mississippi  was,  for  the 
present,  left  to  the  Indians,  with  the  intention  of  purchasing  portions  of  it  from  them 
hfiRafter,  when  the  exigencies  of  the  colonists  should  lead  them  to  require  more  space 
•  The  Grenadines,  iSminica,  St.  Vincent  and  Tobago. 


134 


The  Dominion  of  Caada. 


[February 


can  never  be  recalled  withooit  the 
gravest  sorrow.  In  the  whole  of 
onr  annals  never  did  party  strife 
cost  ns  so  great  a  price. 

The  wrench,  which  ultimately 
came  would  have  paralysed  any  but 
the  stoutest  empire.  To  be  pos- 
sessed one  day  of  almost  an  entire 
continent,  which  dipped  into  the 
tropics,  and  comprised  every  ima- 
ginable soil  and  produce,  and  the 
next  of  a  mere  glacial  part  of  it, 
might  have  caused  in  a  more  mer- 
curial race  than  the  British  a  reck- 
lessness with  regard  to  this  rem- 
nant which  would  have  led  to  its 
alienation  also. 

But  clumsiness  and  ignorance, 
not  weakness,  had  been  the  cause  of 
her  loss,  and  England  bravely  set 
to  work  to  make  the  best  of  what 
was  left  her.  Eflforts  were  made  at 
colonisation,  and  in  those  loyal 
gentlemen  in  particular  who,  having 
sacrificed  their  own  and  their  sons* 
blood  and  everything  they  held 
dear  in  the  service  of  their  Sove- 
reign, preferred  a  bit  of  barren 
forest  and  Arctic  snows  under  mon- 
archy to  comfort  and  affluence  in  a 
repubh'c,  the  hopes  for  the  future 
were  principally  centred.  To  as 
many  of  these  as  desired  them, 
allotments  of  land  were  made  in 
the  peninsula  between  the  great 
lakes,  in  a  district  south  of  Mont- 
real, and  in  that  portion  of  the  old 
Acadia  which  hes  to  the  north  of 
the  Bay  of  Fundy.  To  provide  yet 
further  for  the  insulation  of  the 
English — a  prevalent  idea  amongst 
most  statesmen  of  that  time 
was,  that  the  English  and  French 
settlers  should  as  far  as  possible 
be  kept  asunder  —  Mr.  Pitt,  in 
1 79 1,  introduced  a  Bill  for  the 
division  of  Canada  into  two 
Provinces.  The  line  of  demarcation, 
in  general  terms,  was  the  river 
Ottawa;  the  two  little  counties  of 
Vaudreuil  and  Soulanges,  already 
occupied  by  the  French,  being  alone 
excepted  from  Upper  Canada. 
These  and  everything  to  the  east 
were     to     constitute    the     Lower 


Province.  Each  colony  was  to 
have  its  own  Legislature,  com- 
posed of  two  Chambers,  the  Upper 
named  by  the  Crown  for  life,  the 
Lower  elected  by  the  people.  The 
Habeas  Corpus  Act  was  to  be 
a  fundamental  principle  of  both 
constitutions,  and  the  Church  of 
England,  in  either  Canada,  to 
receive  endowments  of  land,  since 
known  as  the  *  Clergy  reserves.' 
Mr.  Fox  opposed  this  separation. 
Instead  of  perpetuating  nationa- 
lities, he  argued,  our  object  should 
be  to  fase  them  ;  he  also  wished  to 
see  both  branches  of  the  Legislature 
elective ;  a  higher  qualification  being 
exacted  both  from  the  voters  and  the 
candidates  for  the  Upper  Honse. 
Even  the  party  of  change  in  Canada, 
who  had  been  agitating  for  popnkr 
representation,  disapproved  of  the 
separation  clause,  partly  on  the 
grounds  alleged  by  Mr.  Fox,  partly 
because  they  imagined  it  would 
affect  ti'ade  injuriously.  Mr.  Lym- 
bemer,  their  agent,  carried  a  protest 
to  the  bar  of  the  House  of  Commons, 
but  his  representations  did  not  con- 
vince. The  Bill  passed  the  Lords, 
received  the  royal  assent,  and  that 
constitution  came  into  operation 
which  endured  exactly  half  a  cen- 
tury. Amongst  the  details  are  the 
numbers  of  representatives — not 
fewer  than  seven  for  the  Legislative 
Council,  or  fifteen  for  the  Legislatiye 
Assembly,  in  Upper  Canada;  in 
Lower,  not  fewer  than  fifteen,  and 
fifty  in  the  similar  respectiTe 
Chambers  ;  a  provision,  of  which 
advantage  never  seems  to  have  been 
taken,  to  enable  the  King  to  annex 
to  certain  hereditary  titles  of  honour 
the  right  of  a  summons  to  the  Upper 
House  ;  the  definition  of  the  power 
of  the  Governor,  of  the  laws  of 
property,  and  of  the  proportion  of 
Crown  lands  to  be  devoted  to  the 
Churoh  for  her  proper  maintenance. 
To  appreciate  the  position  of  the 
Colony  at  that  time,  and  in  order  to 
compare  it  hereafter  with  that  which 
it  now  occupies,  a  few  statistics  are 
unavoidable.     In  Upper  Canada— 


i6;3] 


TJie  Dominion  of  Canada. 


135 


rhicfa,  to  speak  roughly,  is  aboat 
the  size  of  iJie  British  Isles,  Lower 
Canada  being  about  equal  to  France 
—two  villages  only  existed,  Newark 
by  Niagara,  and  York  on  the  Lake 
Chiiario.  The  whole  white  popula- 
tion amounted  to  6,000  souls,  in  the 
other  province  to  150,000.  Simcoe 
was  the  first  Grovemor  of  the  one, 
Lord  Dorchester  of  the  other.  In 
his  absence,  in  December  1792,  Sir 
Alured  Clarke  met  the  first  Parlia- 
ment at  Quebec,  and  Simcoe's  first 
speech  from  the  throne  was  delivered 
in  the  previous  September,  in  a  log- 
2mt  at  Newark.  Thus,  amongst  the 
thimders  of  Niagara,  where  the 
Huron  had  loved  to  harangue,  his 
fioccessors  held  their  earliest  dis- 
cnssioD.  The  Assembly  was  com- 
posed of  sixteen  farmers  and  trades- 
men ;  the  Council,  of  Royalists  lately 
come  from  the  rebellions  colonies. 
The  session,  which  consumed  but 
five  -weeks,  otherwise  gave  evidence 
of  good  sense.  Eight  measures 
were  carried,  of  which  the  principal 
were— the  introduction  of  Enghsh 
cinl  law,  of  trial  by  jury,  the  divi- 
sion of  the  Province  into  four  dis- 
tricts, and  of  every  district  into 
twelve  counties,  and  a  vote  for  the 
erection  of  a  court-house  and  gaol 
in  every  district.  Their  exertions 
earned  for  them  the  hearty  com- 
mendation of  the  Governor,  and 
then,  with  his  kindly  and  hopeful 
words  ringing  in  their  ears,  they 
returned  to  that  battle  with  the 
forests  and  other  obstacles  which, 
renewed  season  after  season,  has 
won  the  lands  that  gladden  the 
heart  of  the  stranger  who  passing 
that  way  chances  to  see  them  in 
summer,  though  he,  perhaps,  hardly 
estimates  the  toil,  and  suffering,  and 
endnraoce,  and  heartburnings  they 
represent. 

The  deliberations  of  the  Legisla- 
tnie  in  Lower  Canada  were  &r  more 
lengthy.  Preliminary  questions, 
from  which  the  Upper  Province 
was  naturally  exempt,  had  to  be 
considered  there.  The  matter  of 
l^i^guage,   for   instance,    occupied 


much  time,  and  it  was  ultimately 
ruled  that  motions  or  questions 
from  the  chair  should  be  put,  and 
the  journals  kept,  in  French  and  in 
English.  Education  also  met  with 
a  share  of  attention,  and  a  petition 
was  voted  to  the  King  praying  for 
the  establishment  of  a  college.  It 
is  worthy  of  recollection  that  this 
first  constitutional  address  of  French 
Canadians  was  penned  when  the 
representative  of  their  former  mas- 
ters was  about  to  ascend  the  scaf- 
fold. As  to  finance ;  in  the  Lower 
Province  the  first  balance-sheet 
presented  gave  for  the  year  1795 
a  revenue  of  5,oooZ.  against  an 
expenditure  of  20,oooZ.,  but  every 
successive  budget  showed  an  im- 
provement upon  this,  and  as  early 
as  1797  we  find  a  deficit  of  only 
4,oooZ.  in  an  expenditure  of  30,000^. 
The  auditors  in  the  Upper  Province 
dealt  with  less  portentous  figures, 
and  we  can  well  understand  84L 
worth  of  stationery,  in  one  year, 
for  the  use  of  the  Legislature  strik- 
ing them  as  a  startling  item.  The 
period  from  1812  to  1814  was  one 
of  sore  trial  to  our  young  colonies. 
A  straggling  territory,  with  300,000 
souls  and  only  4,500  regular  troops 
to  defend  it,  found  itself  suddenly 
confronted  with  a  country  possess- 
ing a  population  of  eight  millions 
and  an  army  of  25,000.  England, 
engaged  in  a  gigantic  war  and  her 
resources  strained  to  the  utmost 
tension,  could  afford  little  help,  and 
the  defence  of  Canada  devolved 
upon  the  people.  We  always  think 
the  issue  of  this  two  years'  war  the 
best  rebuke  to  those  who  tremble 
for  a  long  frontier,  and  forget  the 
dreadfril  barrier  to  invasion  a  people 
may  oppose  who  care  enough  for 
their  institutions  and  their  home 
really  to  fight  for  both.  Long  be- 
fore it  was  ended  every  male 
capable  of  bearing  arms,  French 
or  English,  took  the  field ;  and  the 
Union  might  well  be  thankful,  when 
the  events  of  18 14  relieved  the  hands 
of  Great  Britain,  that^twentT*  years 
of  campaigning  had  given  her  a 


186 


The  Dominion  of  Canada, 


[February 


sufficient  desire  for  repose  to  listen 
to  overtares  of  peace. 

For  half  a  generation  the  world 
now  indulged  in  unusual  quiet. 
Then,  as  if  this  had  taxed  its  pa- 
tience too  long,  came  the  sanguin- 
ary revolutions  on  the  Continent, 
and  the  bloodless  revolution  in 
England  followed  by  a  policy  which 
was  to  affect  all  her  possessions. 
Canada,  seized  by  the  general  con- 
tagion,  soon  began  to  clamour  for 
reform.  The  British  colonists  wanted 
one  thing,  the  French  another;  many 
good  and  salutary  concessions  offered 
by  Lord  Grey's  Oovemment,  some 
of  them,  as  we  believe,  prematurely, 
provoked  fresh  demands  to  which 
it  seemed  impossible  to  the  ministry 
to  accede.  A  term  of  querulous 
dissatisfaction  ensued,  culminating 
in  violence,  and  the  latter  part  of 
the  decade  comprises  the  most  un- 
pleasant passage  between  Canada 
and  the  mother-country.  Indeed, 
for  a  moment,  appearances  threat- 
ened a  very  different  issue  from  that 
which  was  happily  achieved;  but 
the  loyalty  of  the  majority  helped 
the  authorities,  and  the  crisis  was 
overcome.  A  scheme,  which  for 
some  time  had  been  under  discus- 
sion, was  now  matured.  The  po- 
litical separation  into  two  provinces 
which  had  been  effected  in  1791 
was  to  be  repealed.  The  French 
were  to  retain  their  rights  and  their 
laws  unimpaired  as  heretofore,  but 
instead  of  two  Executives  and  two 
Legislatures  the  whole  country  was 
to  be  governed  by  one  Ministiyand 
one  Parliament,  consisting  of  an 
Upper  and  Lower  House,  to  which 
IMjnisters,  as  in  England,  were  to  be 
responsible.  Under  a  constitution 
precisely  similar  to  that  of  their 
fellow-countrymen  at  home,  and 
endowed  with  an  equal  latitude  for 
self-government,  it  was  hoped  that 
all  altercations  between  the  Colony 
and  England  would  now  be  at  an 
end,  and — an  additional  argument 
in  favour  of  the  new  measure — ^that 


the  community  of  action  and  pub- 
lic interests  which  it  involved, 
would  bring  into  closer  relationship 
two  populations  of  different  lan- 
guage and  different  race. 

]£ngston^  was  chosen  for  the 
present  as  the  centre  of  govern- 
ment, and  on  June  13,  1841,  Lord 
Sydenham  summoned  the  legis- 
lators of  the  United  Provinces  to 
their  work,  of  which  his  speech 
gave  the  immediate  outlines. 
Touching  first  upon  certain  local 
and  international  topics  of  interest, 
it  went  on  to  assert '  Her  Majesty*s 
determination  to  protect  her  Cana- 
dian subjects  to  the  utmost  of  her 
power.'  It  next  recommended  im- 
provements in  the  postal  arrange- 
ments,  the  development  of  public 
works  —  for  which  the  Imperial 
Treasury  promised  to  hold  itself  re^ 
sponsible  to  the  amount  of  a  millioii 
and  a  half  sterling,  the  encoun^e- 
ment  of  inmiigraiaon  on  a  large 
scale,  the  creation  of  municipal 
councils,  and  a  better  provision  for 
education.  Thence  passing  to  the 
question  of  defence,  it  announced 
the  intention  of  Government  to 
make  a  large  annual  appropriation 
for  this  purpose,  'Her  Majesty 
being  determined  at  all  hazards  to 
maintain  the  existing  British  Pro- 
vinces of  North  America  as  part  of 
the  Empire.'  Inspirited  by  these 
marks  of  affection  from  home  the 
session  produced  much  useful  work, 
and  at  its  close  members  might  look 
with  honest  pride  to  the  last  fourteen 
weeks  of  their  life.  One  event 
pained  every  one,  the  Governor- 
General,  whom  all  had  learned  to 
respect,  met  with  a  severe  injury  a 
few  days  before  the  prorogation, 
and  on  the  day  succeeding  it,  ex- 
pired. Sir  Charles  Bagot's  reign 
was  unhappily  short,  and  ill-health 
compelled  Lord  Metcalfe  to  tender 
his  resignation  after  a  service  in 
Canada  of  only  two  years.  An 
awkward  discussion — a  legacy  of 
the     recent    troubles— concerning 


'  Onlj  until  proper  buildings  should  be  erected  in  Montreal. 


1873] 


The  Dominion  of  Canada, 


137 


the  indemnitj  due  to  those  who  had 
mnooentlj  suffered  from  them,  ren- 
dered oneasj  the  earlier  part  of 
Lord  Elgin's  reign.  The  difficulty 
was  adjusted  in  1850,  and  of  the 
next  ten  years  it  may  be  said  that 
thej  show  a  growth  at  once  rapid 
and  healthy,  and  although  a  few 
steps  were  taken  which  have  since 
been  retraced,  legislation  was  for 
the  most  part  orderly,  progressive, 
and  productive  of  good.  One  ble- 
mish was  the  rendering  of  the 
Upper  House  elective — another, 
the  secularisation  of  the  clergy 
resenres ;  hut  the  provision,  and  on 
a  magnificent  scale,  for  railways 
—the  locomotive  was  as  yet  un- 
known in  Canada — and  a  better 
ordering  of  the  system  of  finance, 
may  effacemany  errors.  The 'reform 
party,*  in  this  season  of  prosperity, 
lost  its  compactness;  many  of  its 
able8tmembers,more  than  indifferent 
to  change,  were  scouted  by  the  ex- 
treme renmant  as  a  sort  of  rene- 
gades, and  the  benches  of  the 
House,  instead  of  two  sets  of  occu- 
pants, came  to  be  divided  between 
the  Moderate  Reformers  or  Whigs, 
the  Radicals  or  Clear  Grits — as  they 
were  nicknamed — and  the  Conser- 
vatives. Of  these  three  factions 
Lord  Elgin's  ministers  represented 
the  first;  M.  Dorion  and  Mr. 
G«»^  Brown,  both  men  of  great 
abilily,  the  second ;  and  Sir 
Alan  McNab,  Mr.  (now  Sir)  John 
A.  Macdonald,  and  Mr.  Morin 
the  third.  The  Whigs  were  the 
most  numerous,  but  inferior  in 
strength  to  the  other  two  combined, 
and  an  adverse  vote  at  the  opening 
of  the  session  of  1854,  left  the 
Premier,  Mr.  Hincks,  no  alternative 
hut  r^ignation.  Sir  Alan  McNab, 
charged  with  the  formation  of  a 
new  Cabinet,  with  Mr.  Morin,  en- 
tered into  negotiation  with  the 
^iiigs,  and  the  result  was  a 
coalition,  the  first  example  to 
Canada  of  the  mode  in  which 
differences  elsewhere  have  occa- 
sionally been  adjusted.  This  was 
the  last  important  event  of  Lord 


Elgin's  Administration ;  he  had 
lately  returned  from  Washington, 
having  helped  to  conclude  a  treaty 
of  reciprocity  with  the  United 
States,  and  soon  after  prorogation 
he  retired  to  serve  his  sovereign  in 
other  lands.  It  is  perhaps  necessary 
to  have  visited  a  detached  com- 
munity of  our  countrymen,  to  esti- 
mate the  anxiety  with  which  every 
event  is  watched  which  concerns 
national  honour.  Nowhere  was 
every  vicissitude  of  the  Russian 
campaign  more  keenly  followed 
than  in  Canada,  and  instead  of  the 
unpleasant  business  which  had 
awaited  too  many  of  his  predeces- 
sors, Sir  Edmund  Head's  first  com- 
munication with  his  superiors  trans- 
mitted a  vote  of  congratulation  to 
the  Queen  from  both  Houses  on  the 
success  of  her  arms,  and  a  cheque 
for  2o,ooo2.  voted  by  his  Parliament 
as  a  subscription  to  the  fond  for  the 
relief  of  the  widows  and  orphans 
of  those  who  fell  in  the  Crimea, 
besides  private  subscriptions  to  a 
considerable  amount  for  the  same 
object.  It  wiU  also  be  remembered 
that  a  complete  regiment  was  raised 
in  Canada  for  foreign  service,  and 
that  the  large  number  of  volunteers 
who  enrolled  themselves  Hberated 
the  greater  part  of  the  regular 
forces  for  more  active  work. 

The  union  of  the  Provinces  had 
brought  into  vogue  a  curious  speci- 
men of  Parliamentary  mechanism. 
The  minister,  instead  of  abiding  by 
the  decision  of  a  majority  of  the 
whole  House,  thought  it  necessary 
to  appeal  separately  to  the  French 
and  English  sections.  If  both  agreed 
with  hun,  his  measure  proceeded  ; 
but  the  verdict  against  it  of  either 
of  them  was  accepted  as  a  defeat. 
Mr.  John  A.  Macdonald,  who  suc- 
ceeded M.  Tach6  as  Premier  in  1854, 
abandoned  this  practice  as  unsound. 
A  further  attempt  (which,  however, 
failed)  to  obliterate  the  former 
boundaries  between  the  two  races, 
is  to  be  found  in  the  proposal  to 
substitute  for  the  constant  number 
of  sixty.five  members  for  each  of  the 


138 


Tlie  Dominion  of  Canada. 


[February 


Ganadas,  a  representation  based 
upon  the  population  of  the  whole 
province.  The  situation  of  the 
capital  was  another  subject  of  keen 
controversy.  The  inconvenience  had 
long  been  felt  of  the  system  of 
alternate  seats  of  Government, 
necessitating  the  dragging  of  the 
archives  every  two  years  from  place 
to  place.  But  the  English  would 
not  hear  of  Quebec ;  the  French, 
with  better  reason,  regarded  Toronto 
as  eccentric ;  Montreal  was,  so  to 
speak,  disfranchised  for  its  crimes  ; 
and  nothing  remained  but  a  com- 
promise. The  decision  was  at  last 
referred  to  the  Queen,  who  was  ad- 
vised to  choose  Bytown,  above  the 
confluence  of  the  Gatineau  with 
the  Ottawa,  and  there  a  city  now 
stands,  named  afber  its  magnificent 
river,  which  possesses  public 
buildings  the  most  sightly,  and 
perhaps  the  most  commodious  of 
which  any  capital  can  boast. 

The  defeat  of  Lord  Palmerston's 
Government  in  the  spring  of  1858 
placed  the  colonies  in  the  hands  of 
an  acute  and  far-seeing  statesman. 
Persuaded  of  the  inestimable  value 
of  our  American  possessions,  he 
erected  into  a  Crown  Colony,  under 
the  name  of  British  Columbia, 
a  settlement  in  the  extreme  West, 
with  the  further  design  of  placing 
under  the  direct  rule  of  the  Crown 
the  territory  of  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company,  and  of  making  provision 
for  a  railway  to  connect  Halifax 
with  New  Westminster,  an  Atlantic 
with  a  Pacific  port.  Had  Sir 
Edward  Lytton's  tenure  of  office  been 
longer,  or  his  successors  grasped 
his  great  schemes,  these  pages 
might  commemorate  that  which 
they  wish  to  predict.  Ten  years 
were  wasted,  but  before  another 
ten  are  past  we  expect  to  see  Lord 
Lytton's  visions  fulfilled . 

The  paragraph  in  the  Queen's 
Speech  opened  a  new  and  a  vast 
field  of  ambition  to  our  colonists, 
and  in  Canada,  to  this  day,  it  is 
quoted  with  enthusiasm.  One  of 
its  immediate  consequences  was  an 


agitation  for  a  federal  union  of  all 
the  North  American  provinces.  The 
area  was  perhaps  too  great,  and  the 
interests  for  the  present  too  diverse, 
to  admit  of  a  closer  bond.  Bat  it 
was  hoped  that  the  resalts  of  a 
common  system  of  finance,  and  the 
intercourse  which  a  central  Parlia- 
ment would  compel,  might  be  bene- 
ficial to  all  of  the  associating  mem- 
bers. The  force  of  the  latter 
consideration  will  be  the  more  felt 
if  we  remember  that,  owing  to  the 
absence  of  proper  communieatioii 
between  Canada  and  the  maritime 
colonies,  the  latter  were  more  in- 
timate  with  Liverpool  and  London 
than  with  Montreal  and  Toronto. 
ELalifax,  as  a  great  station  of  the 
navy,  and  the  resort  of  packets  and 
ships  of  every  kind  was  brought 
into  direct  aud  daily  contact  with 
home,  and  its  merchants  had  come 
to  consider  the  crossing  of  the 
Atlantic  a  less  serious  business  than 
the  passage  from  Dover  to  Calais 
appears  to  many  an  English  tra- 
veller. 

This  is  the  place  to  take  notice 
of  those  maritime  states,  which, 
though  of  far  smaller  area,  and  since 
their  cession  to  the  Crown,  present- 
ing a  history  perhaps  less  eventfnl 
than  that  of  the  Canadas,  owe  to 
their  position  an  importance  which 
makes  them  indispensable  to  ihe 
safety  of  our  North  American  em- 
pire. 

A  glance  at  the  map  will  illus- 
trate this  more'  readily  than  a 
treatise,  especially  when  it  is  borne 
in  mind  that  during  at  least  a  third 
of  the  year,  the  St.  Lawrence^  the 
only  other  access  to  the  hinder 
territory,  is  rendered  unnavigable 
by  the  ice. 

At  the  period  at  which  our  nar- 
rative has  arrived  (1858)  Nova 
Scotia,  New  Brunswick,  and  Prince 
Edward  Island,  were  separate  colo- 
nies, with  institutions  of  their  own, 
and  in  no  way  connected  with  their 
more  powerful  neighbour;  now,  with 
it  and  other  provinces,  with  the 
exception  of  the  Island,  they  form 


1873] 


The  Dominion  of  Canada, 


139 


«  great  confederation,  whose  object 
is  to  secnre  nnanimity  of  action, 
ecoaomj  of  resources,  closer  inter- 
(xmrse,  and  a  general  compactness 
of  the  whole  mass.  The  storj  of 
the  maritime  states  may  be  briefly 
gket'Ched  as  follows : — The  nnpara- 
kUed  voyage  and  discoveries  of 
Columbus,  which  promised  so  novel 
and  gplendid  an  addition  to  the 
Boyereignty  of  Spain,  had  filled  the 
people  of  Europe  with  marvel  and 
her  princes  witii  a  fervor  of  excite- 
ment, intensified  almost  to  phrenzy  in 
the  case  of  Henry  VII.,  who,  in  addi- 
tion to  the  envy  which  he  might  feel 
in  common  with  other  potentates,  en- 
dured the  mortification  of  feeling 
that  an  accident  alone  had  deprived 
him  of  that  brilliant  prize  which 
now  belonged  to  Ferdinand.  But 
geogn^hers  and  statesmen  were 
not  slow  in  supposing  that  there 
mnst  be  room  for  more  than  one 
conqueror  in  that  cnrions  new  world, 
and  as  early  as  1497,  Sebastian 
Cabot,  Grand  Pilot  of  England,  bnt 
a  Venetian  by  birth,  sailed-  from 
Bristol,  and  directing  his  coarse  as 
nearly  as  possible  along  the  parallel 
fromwhichhe  started,  became  the  dis- 
coverer of  Newfoundland;  whence, 
pursuing  his  voyage  a  little  to  the 
south  of  west,  he  was  the  first 
European,  except  indeed  the  Ice- 
landers, to  touch  the  Continent  of 
America.  Having  taken  posses- 
sion of  these  territories  in  the 
King^g  name,  he  returned  home  to 
give  an  account  of  his  successes. 
His  son,  Sebastian,  who  had  accom- 
panied him,  after  an  interval  of 
sercral  years  prosecuted  his  re- 
searches, and  added  Labrador  to 
his  fether*8  discoveries. 

From  that  time  for  nearly  a  cen- 
tury these  latitudes  seem  to  have 
heoi  neglected  by  England,  whose 
sea-gomg  adventures  found  ample 
occapation  in  more  genial  climes. 
Strongly  contrasted  with  our  indif- 
ference were  the  spirit  and  energy 
evinced  by  France  in  the  stm^le 
with  thedjfficulties  which  surrounded 
her  in  Canada,  and  it  is  not  sur- 


prising that,  after  sixty  years  of 
steady  industry,  during  whioh  we 
had  done  nothing  to  secure  advan- 
ta^  from  Cabot's  discoveries,  it 
should  have  occurred  to  her  to  plant 
settlements  in  the  neglected  lands 
between  her  frontier  and  the  Bay 
of  Fundy,  which,  together  with  the 
contiguous  peninsula,  she  now  in- 
cluded under  the  general  name  of 
Acadia. 

This  seizure,  which  was  efiected 
in  1598,  now  aroused  our  jealousy, 
and  an  expedition  was  despatched, 
which  resulted  in  the  re-assertion  of 
the  prior  rights  of  the  English 
Crovm.  In  its  wake  came  a  band 
of  Scotch  colonists,  under  Sir  Wm. 
Alexander,  to  whom  James  I.  gave 
a  grant  of  Acadia — henceforth  to 
be  known  as  Nova  Scotia.  It  soon, 
however,  again  fell  into  the  hands  of 
our  rivals,  who  held  it,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  thirteen  years  between 
1654  and  1667,  until  1690,  when  it 
was  once  more  taken  by  England,  to 
whom  it  was  formally  ceded  at  the 
Peace  of  Utrecht,  and  to  whom  it 
has  ever  since  belonged. 

After  this  date  immigration  from 
the  British  Isles  continued  to  flow 
thither,  and  in  1 748  a  body  of  troops 
disbanded  by  Lord  Halifax  formed 
a  settlement  on  the  site  of  the  city 
which  now  bears  his  name. 

After  the  •  outbreak  of  hostilities 
with  France  the  possession  of  Nova 
Scotia  became  again  an  object  of 
contention  between  the  belligerents. 
Gape  Breton,  an  island  separated 
by  a  narrow  strait  from  the  main- 
land, still  belonged  to  the  French, 
who,  especially  since  the  loss  of  their 
Acadia,  had  cherished  this  spot  as 
a  rendezvous  for  their  fleets,  and 
a  perpetual  menace  to  England. 
Louisburg,  on  the  eastern  side  of 
Cape  Breton,  was,  after  Quebec,  the 
strongest  fortress  in  North  America, 
and  its  capture  in  1757,  which  de* 
prived  France  of  the  last  of  her 
Atlantic  positions,  attracted  that 
attention  to  James  Wolfe  which 
^ve  him  the  command  of  the  army 
m  Canada,  and  thus  led  to  the  se^ 


-140 


The  Dominion  of  Canada, 


[February 


cond  victoiy  which  has  immortal- 
ised his  name.  Cape  Breton,  like 
onr  other  conqnests  in  those  regions, 
was  formally  ceded  by  the  Treaty 
of  1763,  and  has  since  been  classed 
as  a  district  of  Nova  Scotia.  The 
limits  of  the  colony  nntil  the  end  of 
the  American  War  were,  on  the 
north-west,  Canada,  and  on  the 
sonth-west  New  England;  and  it 
may  be  roughly  described  to  have 
been  about  the  size  of  England.  It 
was  thinly  peopled  and  except  in 
the  peninsula,  to  which  the  former 
name  is  now  restricted,  scarcely 
anyone  of  British  race  or  descent 
could  be  found.  The  influx  of 
Boyalists  in  1783,  to  which  allusion 
was  incidentally  made  on  a  former 
page,  altered  the  condition  of  the 
other  and  larger  portion,  which, 
considering  the  number  and  the 
class  of  the  new  occupants,  and  the 
irksomeness  in  those  days  of  a  jour- 
ney to  Halifax,  was  almost  imme- 
diately raised  into  a  separate  colony 
under  the  name  of  New  Brunswick. 

Prince  Edward  Island,  which  lies 
in  the  lap;  so  to  say,  of  both  these 
colonies — its  minimum  distance  from 
land  is  but  nine  miles — was  peopled 
by  the  French ;  and  although  Cabot 
could  not  fail  to  find  it  when  he 
was  passing  from  Newfoundland  to 
Nova  Scotia,  it  seems  td  have  re* 
ceived  little  attention  from  the 
English  until  the  year  1758  when 
it  was  taken  and  added  as  a  county 
to  the  colony  on  the  mainland. 

In  honour  of  its  sponsor,  the 
second  son  of  the  Prince  of  Wales, 
it  exchanged  its  older  name  of  lle- 
Royale  for  that  by  which  it  is  now 
known.  Its  lands,  which  are  fer- 
tile and  easily  worked,  were  allotted 
to  certain  gentlemen  in  England,  a 
few  of  whom  settled  or  sent  their 
younger  sons  there ;  and  these,  to- 
gether with  a  certain  number  of 
retainers,  English,  Scotch,  Irish, 
a  couple  of  regiments  of  disbanded 
Hessians,  the  French  habitants,  and 
the  remnant  of  the  aborigines, 
were  the  progenitors  of  the  motley 
population  which  now  interests  the 


visitor.  As  early  as  1771a  petition 
for  a  separate  existence  was  an- 
swered by  the  appointment  of  a 
governor  and  council,  who,  accord- 
ing  to  the  unerring  destiny  of  onr 
colonial  governments,  have  expanded 
into  three  estates.  The  entire 
population,  which  does  not  exceed 
100,000  souls,  possess  thirty  per- 
sons who  are  supposed  directly  to 
express  their  humours  or  their 
views,  and  a  superior  eleven  to 
countenance  or  correct  them.  The 
secrets  of  the  little  State  are  en- 
trusted to  nine  gentlemen,  four  of 
whom  serve  without  portfolio  or 
remuneration.  Customs  and  excise 
furnish  a  revenue  which  equals  if 
it  does  not  exceed  the  expenditure. 
The  island  abounds  in  provisions, 
its  waters  in  fish  ;  the  consumer  of 
alcohol  or  foreign  luxuries  alone 
pays  taxes,  so  that  in  few  places  in 
the  world  is  life  so  easily  and  com- 
fortably supported. 

Unlike  the  adjacent  continent, 
which  knows  no  medium  between 
the  bristling  forest  and  absolute 
nudity  of  timber,  the  island  has 
been  cleared  in  such  a  manner  as 
to  leave  coverts  and  clumps,  and 
even  solitary  trees — a  contrast  to 
their  crowded  brethren, — stately 
and  wide-spreading,  which,  toge- 
ther with  its  orchards  and  hedge- 
rows, ruddy  soil  and  pretty  farms, 
good  roads  and  an  undulating  land- 
scape, give  it  in  the  summer  and 
autumn  that  homely  appearance 
inseparable  from  our  associations 
with  English  scenery. 

Its  outline  is  peculiar.  The  sea- 
ward shore  may  roughly  be  de- 
scribed as  a  continuous  curve 
hanging  between  two  degrees  of 
longitude ;  towards  the  land  its  as- 
pect is  equally  shared  by  Nova 
Scotia  and  New  Brunswick,  with 
both  of  which  provinces  a  constant 
communication  subsists.  Its  mean 
breadth  is  eighteen  miles,  which  the 
attacks  of  the  waves  have  re- 
duced in  two  places  to  a  fourth 
and  less  than  a  fourth  of  that 
distance.      Yet  it  finds    room  for 


The  Domdnimi  of  Canada. 


141 


one  faroad  river,  navigable  almost  to 
its  sonrce,  besides  many  streams 
abounding  in  salmon  and  trout,  and 
its  millions  of  acres  of  blood-red 
laad  might  bear  many  times  the 
actual  population.  The  climate  is 
healili J,  but  severe,  and  its  inter- 
eonrse  mih.  the  outer  world  is  all 
but  closed  during  the  hardest  months 
of  winter.  To  this  day  about  one- 
ninth  of  the  island  is  owned  by  the 
heirs  of  the  recipients  of  King 
Geoi^*8  grant.  Of  these  a  very 
small  minority  make  it  their  resi- 
denoe^  and  the  absorption  of  the 
claims  of  the  absentees  is  the  only 
piece  of  statecraft  which  has  hs^ 
rassed  its  legislators.  The  easy  pro- 
cess of  confiscation,  we  regret  to  say, 
iras  twice  attempted,  but  of  course 
rejeeted  by  the  Crown.  The  Minis- 
try are  now  prepared,  at  a  certain 
rate,  to  redeem  these  properties,  giv- 
ing to  the  tenants  the  first  option 
of  purchasing  the  land  which  they 
hold,  and  it  is  likely  that  by  this 
means  the  element  of  absenteeism 
will  ere  long  be  eliminated. 

The  only  remaining  possession  to 
be  considered  in  connection  with  the 
maritime  group  is  Newfoundland, 
which,  excepting  the  single  episode 
of  Raleigh's  unsuccessful  attempt  in 
1 5^3  to  found  a  settlement  there, 
remained  in  the  same  state  of  neg- 
lect with  our  other  American  disco- 
veries till  1623,  when  Lord  Balti- 
more, with  a  little  band  of  emigrants, 
formed  thenuclensof  a  colony  which, 
thanks  to  periodical  remissions  of 
people  from  Ireland  and  England, 
hecame  sufficiently  powerful  to 
maintain  its  ground  against  a  rival 
planted  by  France  in  its  immediate 
vicinify.  The  frequent  collisions 
between  the  two  sets  of  settlers 
were  miserably  detrimental  to  both, 
and  Newfoundland  from  this  time 
never  can  be  said  to  have  known 
peace  until  the  Treaty  of  Utrecht, 
by  acknowledging  the  supremacy  of 
Cfreat  Britain  over  the  whole  island, 
reUeved  the  neighbours  of  the  duty 
of  quarrelling.  Yet  the  reservation 
by  France  of  three  islets,  at  the  very 


door  of  the  main  island,  and  a  share 
in  the  fisheries,  gave  rise  to  jea- 
lousies and  disputes  which  to  this 
day  are  not  buried.  The  area  of 
Newfoundland  is  about  40,000 
square  miles.  It  is  therefore  con- 
siderably larger  than  Ireland.  Its 
northernmost  point,  separated  from 
Labrador  by  the  Straits  of  Belle  Isle, 
is  rather  to  the  south  of  Greenwich, 
whilst  its  southernmost  point, 
Cape  Bace,  nearly  corresponds  in  la- 
titude with  Geneva.  The  population 
of  about  150,000  are  confined  to  the 
coast,  and  their  wants  have  not  yet 
justified  the  construction  of  a  road 
through  the  interior — almost  as 
much  a  terra  incognita  as  Central 
Australia.  Cod  and  seal  occupy  the 
inhabitants,  and  these  creatures  and 
their  appurtenances  form  the  ex- 
ports, the  value  of  which,  taking  the 
mean  of  the  last  ten  years,  may  be 
rated  at  one  million  and  a  quar- 
ter sterling.  Under  the  head  of 
imports  to  this  fog-begirt  island  are 
included  several  of  the  necessaries 
of  life  ;  yet,  taking  the  same  range 
of  time,  their  average  price  closely 
balances  that  of  the  exports ;'  or,  in 
other  words,  the  comfort — even  the 
vitality — of  the  people  is  dependent 
upon  the  result  of  their  fislieries. 

That  such  a  situation,  and  in 
the  wildest  of  seas,  should  produce 
hardymarinersitisneedipRs  to  say,  or 
that  ship-building  should  be  Uieir 
principal  and  most  honoured  art.  But 
the  reader  may  not  be  prepared  to 
learn  that  a  population  of  less 
than  30,000  adult  malts  possesses 
a  thousand  fishing  ve.^sels  of  an 
average  capacity  of  50  tons,  amongst 
which  are  nine  steanui-s,  and  that 
in  addition  to  these  whole  fleets 
launched  from  the  iRland  are  en- 
gaged in  carrying  its  ]>!oduce  to 
different  parts  of  tln^  world,  and 
bringing  home  agairi  in  exchange 
the  various  objects  waiir<Mi  to  cheer 
the  community.  To  a!  I  this  ship- 
ping a  line  of  steanurs  must  be 
added  which  plies  Ix  tween  St. 
John's,  the  capital,  and  the  minor 
ports,  carries  the  mail.^  aud  other- 


142 


The  Bommion  of  Ocmada, 


*    [February 


-wise    serves   the    different  setUe- 
mentfi. 

Although  NewfoimcUand  is  the 
nearest  to  us  of  all  our  American 
possessions,  none  of  them  has  been 
so  much  isolated,  and  perhaps  on 
this  account  it  was  the  last  of  them 
to  pray  for  the  boon  or  the  burden 
of  responsible  government.  Its 
actual  constitution  has  had  a  trial 
of  seventeen  years,  and  the  ques- 
tion of  greatest  gravity  which  has 
occurred  to  the  Legislature  is,  whe- 
ther the  Island  should  or  should 
not  cast  its  lot  with  the  Dominion. 
In  the  spring  of  1 869,  the  local  As- 
sembly was  dissolved,  and  candidates 
sought  the  suffrages  of  their  con- 
stituents on  this  issue.  The  Minis- 
try, which  was  in  favour  of  union, 
had  already  arranged  the  terms 
with  the  Canadian  Cabinet,  which, 
as  they  were  favourable  to  the  is- 
landers, it  was  thought  and  be- 
lieved would  be  accepted  by  them. 
The  elections  took  place  in  the 
summer,  a  season  peculiarly  fa- 
vourable to  the  movements  of  cer- 
tain strangers  whose  private  in- 
terests conflicted  with  the  change, 
and  the  result  of  their  exertions 
amongst  the  fishermen  was  the  re- 
turn of  a  majority  of  two  members 
pledged  to  support  the  status  quo. 
Newfoundland,  therefore,  like  Prince 
Edward  Island,  still  retains  its 
idiosyncracy. 

The  machinery  of  government 
consists,  as  usual,  of  a  Governor  and 
two  houses — an  Upper  House,  or  Le- 
gislative Coxmcil,  of  1 5,  and  a  Lower 
House,  or  Assembly,  of  twice  that 
number.  The  advisers  of  the  Go- 
vernor, or  Executive  Council  must 
not  exceed  seven.  The  Governor, 
whose  patent  iforther  styles  him 
Yice-Admiral  and  Commander-in- 
Ohief,  has  jurisdiction  over  Labra- 
dor, where  a  few  fishermen  of 
French  and  British  descent,  a  rem- 
nant of  aborigines,  and  a  little  band 
of  missionaries  are  suppUed  with 
justice,  a  post-office,  and  an  appa- 
ratus for  the  collection  of  dues. 

After  this  digression  let  us  re- 


turn to  the  words  of  the  Queen's 
Speech  at  the  opening  of  Parlia- 
ment in  1859.  With  r^ard  to 
Colonial  affairs  it  announced  (i) 
the  erection  of  the  district  between 
the  Bocky  Mountains  and  the  Pa- 
cific into  a  Crown  Colony  under 
the  name  of  British  Columbia,  (2) 
the  projected  acquisition  of  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Territory,  which  was 
to  be  placed  under  a  similar  go- 
vernment, and  (3)  the  formation 
of  the  two  Canadas  and  the  mari- 
time provinces  in  one  federal  sys- 
tem. The  fiatll  two  months  later 
of  Lord  Derby's  Administration 
prevented  the  fulfilment  of  the  se- 
cond part  of  the  programme,  and 
postponed  that  of  the  third.  Then 
came  the  civil  war  in  America, 
which  seemed  so  to  absorb  all  the 
thoughts  of  our  statesmen  as  to 
leave  them  little  spirit  for  canying 
out  the  changes  in  our  territories, 
which  were  so  much  needed.  Not 
so  with  our  subjects  who  were  so 
much  nearer  the  scene  of  strife. 

In  1863  the  three  maritime  pro- 
vinces, Nova  Scotia,  New  Bruns- 
wick, and  Prince  Edward  Island, 
called  a  conference  at  Charlotte- 
town  for  the  discussion  not  of  a 
federal  but  a  legislative  union — 
that  is  to  say,  a  complete  incorpo- 
ration of  the  three  Colonies.  What 
might  have  been  the  result  it  is  not 
so  easy  to  say,  for  while  the  session 
was  in  progress  delegates  arrived 
from  Canada,  who  submitted  a 
wider  scheme;  the  Charlottetown 
meeting  was  dissolved,  and  in  the 
following  year  the  representa- 
tives of  the  four  coTUinental  colonies 
adopted  a  series  of  resolutions  which 
provided  for  a  federal  union.  These, 
afiber  a  few  modifications,  were 
accepted  by  the  Secretary  of  State, 
and  all  that  remained  to  ensure  the 
accomplishment  of  the  scheme  was 
the  consent  of  the  local  Legislatures. 
The  maritime  provinces,  by  an  ad- 
verse vote,showed  theirindisposition 
to  the  change,  or  their  dissatisfaction 
with  the  conditions,  and  confedera- 
tion was  for  a  moment  retarded. 


18/3] 


The  Bcymimon  of  Canada. 


14B 


Id  1866,  however,  the  LegislaioreB 
of  Nora  Scotia  and  New  Bnmswick 
were  more  agreeable,  and  in  the 
aotamn  of  that  year  the  leading 
ministers  of  the  four  colonies  arrived 
iu  London,  where,  in  conjunction 
with  the  Secretary  of  State,  they 
framed  the  Act  which  in  the  first 
week  of  the  session  of  1867  was 
introduced  by  the  Earl  of  Carnarvon, 
and  received  the  royal  assent  seven 
weeks  later.  The  labours  of  the 
Westminster  Conference — as  it  will 
be  remembered  in  history — ^being  at 
an  end,  the  Governor- General  of  the 
Dominion  was  able  to  announce  thia 
great  event  in  the  life  of  our  Ameri- 
can Empire,  and  on  the  ist  of  July, 
1867,  Lord  Monck  opened  the  first 
Federal  Parliament. 

The  principal  features  of  this  im- 
portant piece  of  legislation  deserves 
description.  After  repealing  the 
Act  of  Union  of  186 1,  it  proceeds 
to  empower  the  four  Colonies  of 
Ontario  (formerly  Upper  Canada), 
Quebec  (formerly  Lower  Canada), 
yora  Scotia,  and  New  Brunswick 
to  form  a  confederation  for  specific 
purposes,  each  province  retaining 
•0  much  of  autonomy  as  is  consistent 
with  the  general  working  of  the 
arger  scheme;  in  other  words,  being 
allowed  the  management  of  con- 
3ems  purely  domestic.  Thus  the 
iefences  of  the  country,  the  ad- 
ninistration  of  justice,  the  fisheries, 
;uston3  and  excise,  navigation 
>eyond  the  bounds  of  a  province, 
egislation  for  railways,  ca^ials,  and 
>ther  intercolonial  highways,  the 
K>st  office,  banking,  and  public 
rorks  and  buildings  connected  with 
he  welf&re  of  the  nation  belong  to 
he  central  authority.  On  the  other 
land,  the  Crown  Lands,  with  their 
ainerals  and  timber,  buildings  and 
borough&res  for  strictly  local  uses, 
he  police  and  the  whole  of  the 
lunicipal  organisation  are  pro- 
inciaL  Each  of  the  four  States 
9cei ves  forits  maintenance  from  the 
cderal  Treasury  a  definite  annual 
rant,  and  the  loans  contracted  by 
lie  maritime  States  anterior  to  1867 


are  guaranteed  by  the  Dominion. 
The  Federal  Parliament,  which  sits 
at  Ottawa,  is  composed  of  two 
Chambers — the  Senate,  created  by 
the  Crown  for  life  ;  and  the  House 
of  Commons,  the  aggregate  number 
of  members  in  each  being  defined. 
When  the  new  constitution  was 
launched,  the  Upper  House  con- 
tained 72  seats,  which  were  ap- 
portioned in  three  equal  divisions  to 
Ontario,  Quebec,  and  the  two  new 
comers.  Until  the  advent  of  Prince 
Edward  Island,  Nova  Scotia  and 
New  Brunswick  will  thus  each 
possess  twelve  Senators ;  afber  that 
desired  event  Prince  Edward 
tsland  will  be  represented  by  four, 
its  neighbours  on  either  side  making 
a  sacrifice  of  two.  In  the  case  of  a 
*  dead-lock'  the  Governor-General 
is  empowered  to  create  as  many 
additional  Senators  as  he  may  think 
fit,  not  exceeding  six,  so  that  the 
normal  House  numbered  72,  and 
could  never  exceed  78.  The  sub- 
sequent adhesion  to  the  Confedera- 
tion of  other  Colonies,  to  which 
reference  will  be  made,  has  sHghtly 
enlarged  the  strength  of  both  Houses 
of  Parliament. 

The  qualifications  for  a  Senator 
are,  that  he  shall  be  a  natural-born 
or  naturalised  subject  of  Her  Ma- 
jesty, full  thirty  years  of  age,  pos- 
sessed of  a  freehold  Yrithin  his 
province  of  the  clear  valuei  of  8oo2., 
that  his  real  and  personal  property 
together  be  wortii  the  same  sum, 
and  that  he  shall  be  a  resident  in  his 
province.  Should  he  at  any  time 
subsequent  to  his  appointment  be 
deficient  in  any  of  these  require- 
ments, or  become  a  bankrupt  or  a 
felon,  or  fail  without  good  cause  in 
his  attendance  during  two  consecu- 
tive sessions  of  Parliament,  he  for- 
feits his  seat.  The  President  or 
Speaker  of  the  Senate  is  named  by 
the  Crown. 

The  House  of  Commons  was 
limited  to  181  members:  82  for 
Ontario,  65  for  Quebec,  19  for  Nova 
Scotia,  and  15  for  New  Brunswick, 
these  figures  being  proportioned  to 


144 


The  Dominion  of  Canada. 


[February 


the  popalations  of  the  several  pro- 
vinces at  the  epoch  of  the  Union. 
It  was  fxirther  enacted  that  after  the 
census  of  187 1,  and  every  subse- 
quent decennial  census,  Quebec 
always  retaining  the  constant  num- 
ber of  65,  such  a  redistribution  of 
seats  must  be  made  amongst  the 
other  Colonies  as  shall  be  war- 
ranted by  the  increase  in  population 
of  any  one  or  more  of  them  in  a 
greater  ratio  than  the  rest.  The 
Speaker  of  the  House  of  Commons 
is  elected  by  the  House  ;  the  maxi- 
mum duration  of  Parliament  is  five 
years.  The  administration  of  the 
affairs  of  the  Dominion  is  vested  in 
a  Council  or  Cabinet  of  thirteen 
ministers,  who  have  seats  in  either 
House,  and  are  responsible  to  Par- 
liament for  their  actions.  When 
they  accept  office  they  are  sworn 
before  the  Governor- General  as 
members  of  *Her  Majesty's  Privy 
Council  for  Canada,'  a  distinction 
with  the  title  of  'Honourable,' 
which  they  retain  for  life.  In 
short,  in  almost  every  detail  the 
Constitution  of  the  Dominion  is 
modelled  after  the  English  original, 
and  the  forms  and  decorum  of  the 
Canadian  House  of  Commons  might 
make  a  stranger  who  was  suddenly 
introduced  to  its  sittings  wonder 
whether  he  were  at  Ottawa  or 
Westminster. 

These  outward  observances  should 
never  be  lightly  regarded.  Proper 
ceremony,  a  rigid  rule  with  regard 
to  courtesy  in  debate,  and  implicit 
deference  to  the  Chair,  impose  a 
tone  without  which  an  assembly  of 
legislators  or  disputants  degenerates 
in  self-respect,  and,  consequently, 
in  a  great  measure  fails  to  fulfil  the 
object  for  which  it  was  called  into 
being. 

Miniatures  of  the  great  Parlia- 
ment, the  local  assemblies  meet  re- 
spectively at  Toronto,  Quebec,  Fre- 
dericton,  and  HaJifeix  in  the  winter 
of  every  year,  when  the  Treasurer 
or  Finance  Minister  disposes  of  his 
grant,  the  Commissioner  of  Crown 
Lands  reports  the  progress  of  their 


survey  and  their  value,  and  the 
other  members  of  the  little  Cabinet 
give  an  account  of  their  several  de- 
partments. In  three  of  the  provinces 
we  find  a  Lieutenant-Governor  and 
two  Houses.  In  Ontario  alone  a  single 
Chamber  is  convened.  This  anomaly 
seems  to  be  distasteful,ltnd  it  is  to 
be  desired  that  it  may  soonjsease. 

Such  is  the  form  of  g6veniment 
of  a  country  of  considerably  wider 
area  than  France  and  tbe  Britisli 
Isles  combined,  and  which  in  a 
single  century  has  shown  an  increase 
from  60,000  or  70,000 to  3,500,000  of 
souls.  The  decennial  censuses  of  the 
United  States,  while  they  gauge  the 
vast  inpourings  from  Europe,  reveal 
the  &ct  that  the  descendants  of 
settlers  of  former  generations  are  as 
a  rule  far  less  proHfic  than  the  new- 
comers. To  Uanada  Great  Briiain 
has  never  supplied  an  emigration 
commensurate  with  that  w^hich  it 
has  given  to  other  parts  of  the 
world,  and  the  indisposition  of  the 
French  to  expatriate  themselves 
even  to  their  own  colonies  is  so 
great,  that  the  presence  of  a  large 
body  of  their  former  countrymen  in 
Quebec  has  not  proved  a  sufficient 
attraction  to  them.  Yet  the  40,000 
subjects  who  reverted  to  the  Crown 
of  England  at  the  epoch  of  the  con- 
quest have  developed  themselv^ 
into  fully  1,000,000,  an  instance  of 
fecundity  which  must  astound  the 
reader  who  has  not  visited  the  ha- 
bitant and  the  habitante  with  their 
family  of  from  1 5  to  25  children.  Nor 
can  any  complaint  be  made  in  this 
respect  of  our  own  countrymen, who 
have  multiplied  at  a  ratio  far  ex- 
ceeding that  of  any  country  in 
Europe. 

Taking  the  four  Colonies, — 
during  the  second  quarter  of  the 
present  century,  before  which  con- 
temporaneous estimates  are  not  to 
be  found,  their  population  increased 
from  758,000  to  over  2,300,000,  or 
became  more  than  doubled  ;  during 
the  next  20  years  this  lax^e  number  ! 
has  been  further  increased  by  ! 
1,200,000,  so  that  in  the  year  1S75, 


1873] 


The  Dominion  of  Canada. 


145 


exact}/  half  a  century  from  the 
first  daift,  the  population  should 
hare  qaiatupled.  And  it  is  worth 
mentioning^  bj  the  way,  as  a  curious 
coincidence,  that  at  the  outbreak  of 
the  American  Civil  War  the  num- 
ber of  the  inhabitants  of  British 
North  America  was  as  nearly  as 
possible  equal  to  that  of  the  United 
States  when  their  independence 
was  acknowledged. 

TheTarious  creeds  arerepresenied 
nearlj  in  the  following  proportion : 
The  Chnrch  of  Rome,  45  per  cent, 
of  the  irhole  people ;  the  Church  of 
Eogiaod,  the  Presbyterians,  and  the 
^thodists,  almost  evenly  balanced, 
come  to  as  many  more ;  and  allow- 
ing the  larger  proportion  of  the  re- 
mainder to  t^e  Baptists,  4  per  cent, 
are  left  for  Lutherans  and  other  de- 
nominations. 

To  trace  the  progress  of  the 
revenne  is  not  less  curious.  Its 
elasticitj,  owing  to  the  rapid  in- 
crease of  people,  is  so  great  that 
lialf  a  million  sterling  could  be 
added  to  the  annual  debt  without 
altering  the  burden  per  caput. 
When  the  Dominion  commenced 
its  career  its  debt  was  about 
i6,ooo,oooZ.,  requiring  an  interest 
of  nearly  900,000/.  The  first  year 
brought  a  surplus  of  300,000?. 
orer  an  expenditure  of  more  than 
three  millions  and  a  quarter;  and  in 
spite  of  the  many  subsequent  and 
heavy  drains  on  the  national  purse, 
tlie  financial  prosperity  of  the  coun- 
try has  continued  without  a  reverse. 
Custom  and  excise  supply  two- 
thirds  of  the  revenue,  and  the  re- 
mainder oomes  from  loans,  public 
worlcs,  and  miscellaneous  imposts. 
Sxports  and  imports  are  most 
conveniently  arranged  under  three 
heads:  I.  Products  of  the  earth, 
including  (i)  animals  and  their 
produce;  (2)  cereals,  vegetables 
and  vegetable  extracts  of  all  kinds ; 

(3)  timber,  fruits,  turpentine,  Ac. ; 

(4)  metals  and  minerals  of  every 
dwcription.  II.  Products  of  the 
^ater,   viz.     fish,      oil,     isinglass, 

VOL,  yn.— KO.  X.XXVIII.  NEW  SERIES. 


whalebone,  and  all  these  creatures 
yield.     IIL  Manufactures. 

Animals,  their  hides,  furs,  and 
wool ;  butter,  cheese,  feathers,  and 
eggs ;  com,  flour,  and  peas ;  timber 
of  many  kinds  and  forms ;  copper 
ore  and  petroleum ;  these,  and  fish, 
furnish  the  exports  of  the  Dominion, 
which  in  the  last  two  years 
have  amounted  in  value  to 
11,500,000^.  The  imports,  which 
during  the  same  period  represent 
13,000,0002.,  consist  chiefly,  as  may 
be  supposed,  of  manufactured  arti- 
cles, and  luxuries  of  many  descrip- 
tions. The  principal  customers  of 
Canada  are  the  United  States,  who 
take  57  per  cent,  of  the  whole 
exports,  against  34  per  cent,  which 
go  to  England.  In  the  matter  oi 
demand,  however, we  exactly  change 
places,  England  furnishing  57  per 
cent.,  and  the  United  States  34  per 
cent.  France,  Portugal,  Spain, 
others  of  our  Colonies,  and  South 
America  traffic  with  Canada  in  the 
remainder  of  her  wares,  and  meet 
the  remainder  of  her  wants. 

It  has  been  already  remarked 
that  BO  late  as  1850  not  a  single 
railway  existed  in  British  North 
America.  The  number  of  miles 
now  in  working  order  may  be  esti- 
mated at  nearly  3,000.  The  road 
connecting  EUdiiax  and  New  Bruns- 
wick with  Quebec  is  rapidly  pro- 
gressing, and  several  other  lines 
are  in  the  course  of  construction. 
The  postal  service  is  admirably 
conducted,  extending  to  the  small- 
est and  most  distant  settlements, 
the  uniform  cost  of  an  ordinary 
letter  being  three  half-pence.  The 
development  of  the  telegraph,  due 
entirely  to  private  enterprise,  is 
even  more  remarkable.  There  is 
scarcely  a  village  to  which  it  does 
not  penetrate,  although  the  wires 
may  be  driven  scores  of  miles 
through  wilderness  or  forest. 

The  mercantile  navy  comprises 
over  7,000  vessels,  of  an  aggregate 
value  of  more  than  7,ooo,ooo2.  and 
1,000,000  tonnage,  and  there  are 

M 


146 


The  JDommion  of  Canada, 


[Febroar^ 


few  enterprises  of  ^liich  Canada 
may  be  more  prond  than  the  esta- 
blishment  of  that  great  fieet  of  mail- 
Steamers  which  maintain  a  weekly 
interconrse  with-  Great  Britain. 
'Bangmg  firom  2,006  to  4,000  tons, 
with  proportionate  horse-ppwerj 
they  rival  in  regularity  and  com- 
fort the  &tnons  '  Canarders,'  Which 
for  many  years  mUd  the  Atlantic. 
Without  a  subsidy  such  a  service 
as  the  AUan  line  could  not  be  con- 
ducted with  punctuality;  the  Do- 
ininion  Government  willingly  sub- 
scribe 6o,oooL  a.yeai^,  to  secure  the 
enormous  benefits  of  a  rapid  and 
"regular  intercourse  with  the  busiest 
part  of  the  world.  Nor  is  this  the 
only  outlay  of  the  kind.  The  mari- 
time provinces  have  to  be  remem- 
bered,' and  the  steamers  which  run 
between  Quebec  and  Halifax,  touch- 
ing at  the  different  ports,  likewise 
-receive  their  present.  The  business 
of  the  navigation  of  the  rivers  and 
^akeSy  themselves  seas,  is  too  lucra- 
tive to  need  support,  for  during 
half  the  year  these  waters  carry 
-the  whole  of  mankind  and  no  in- 
considerable portion  of  their  i^ealth. 

Thus  launched  on  her  new  career, 
it  was  natural  that  Canada  should 
.hasten  to  accomplish  her  destiny. 
Already  a  great  Atlantic  State,  if 
she  once  obtained  the  Pacific  sea- 
board, and  the  vast  intervening 
plains,  it  seemed  difficult  to  over- 
estimate the  greatness  of  her  future. 
The  first  object  to  be  gained  were 
the  territories  of  the  Hudson  Bay 
Company,  which  are  so  enormous 
that  they  may  be  said  to  cover  an 
extent  equal  to  the  whole  of  Europe. 

One  of  the  peculiarities  of  the 
British  Empire  was  the  existence 
of  two  sovereign  Companies  who 
conquered  and  ruled  regions  that 
were  worlds  compared  with  the 
little  islands  from  which  they 
derived  their  license. 

Almost  simultaneously  two  char- 
ters were  issued  by  King  Charles  II., 
the  one  to  a  body  of  merchants, 
empowering  them  to  do  what  they 
thought  fit  in  the  Indies ;  the  other, 


as  the  document  runs,  giving  Hbe 
Governor  and  Company  of  Adven- 
turers trading  into  Hudson's  Baj 
all  the  lands  and  territories  upoa 
the  countries^  coasts,  and  confines 
of  the   seas,  bays,    lakes,  rivers, 
creeks,  and  sounds,  in  whatsoeter 
latitude    they    shlkU    be,    that  be 
within   the  entrance  of  Hudson's 
Straits,  that  are  not  actually  pos- 
sessed by  or  granted  to  any  of  our 
subjects,  or  possessed  by  the  sab- 
jects  of  i^ny  other  Christian  Prince 
or  State.^     The  former,  who  bad 
to  combat  a-  great  Asiatic  power, 
and  climates  many  of  them  deadJj 
to  the  European,  won  for  us  step 
by  step    what   is    now   the  most 
splendid  appanage  of  any  crown. 
Besides  the  difficulties  opposed  bj 
nature,  these  merchant  princes  most 
deal  with  a  host  of  races,  some  of 
them  as  warlike  as  ourselves,  and 
administer  to  millions  and  millions 
whose  varied  habits,  and  antagonis- 
tic creeds,  required  the  peipetoal 
vigilance  and  attention  of  ilie  con- 
querors. During  near  two  oentnria 
did  this  sinrsmgeimpenu'minimp^To 
subsist,  which,  in  spite  of  certain 
mistakes  and  injustices,  inseparable 
perhaps   from  ih^   task    and  tbe 
times,  has  left  a  trace  in  history  of 
•  which  we  may  be  justly  proud,  and 
to  which  future  ages  and  people 
will  look  back  with  admiration. 

A  work  more  different  in  every 
respect  cannot  well  be  conceived 
than  that  of  the  sister  Companr, 
but  the  account  she  has  been  able 
to  render,  though  not  so  dazzling  to 
the  eye  or  so  fascinating  to  tuc 
imagination,  is  not  less  honourable 
to  British  energy  and  endnranc^ 
than  the  brilliant  achievements  of 
the  Nabobs.  The  first  measure  of 
the  *  adventurers  *  who  preferrei 
the  colder  parts  of  the  earth  \nis 
to  establish  stations  at  intervals 
along  the  shores  of  Hudson's  Baj, 
capable  of  containing  a  small  num- 
ber of  Europeans  and  snfficientlj 
strong  to  shelter  them  from  the 
possible  attacks  of  the  natives. 
Fishing,   trapping,   hunting,  the 


1873] 


The  Domnion  of  Oanada, 


147 


coIIectHm  of  fars,  ftnd  the  explora- 
tion of  tiiecountiywaa  to  be  their 
bnaiB^s.  In  those  days  the  Indians 
were  more  nnmeroas  than  thej  now 
are.    Many  'nations,'  as  they  are 
styled,  occupied  the  interior,  and 
roamed  at  r^tdar  seasons  to  the 
coast    With  these  the  settlers  soon 
made  acquaintance,  and  established 
an  interoonrse  which  lessened  their 
labours  and  greatly  increased  their 
gains.    Knires  and  nicknaoks  from 
home  were  exchanged  for  valuable 
fars,  and  their  new  friends  soon 
tangiit  the  white  men  many  things 
jvhkh  made  life  less  of  a  burden  in 
ttat  frozen  waste.     With  tho  help 
of  tbe  Indians,   too,  the  colonists 
made  expeditions,  so  that  the  Go- 
vernor was    able    to    report    dis- 
coreries.     Yet  for  a  long  time  it 
does  not  appear  that  they  penetrated 
rery  far,  or  at  all  events  that  ad- 
\ai^fcage  was  taken  of  such  know- 
ledge as  they  may  have  acquired. 
A  few  degrees  farther  to  the  south 
France  was  more  active,   for  pio- 
neers and  missionaries    were  tra- 
versing tho  continent,  and  curious 
.stories  would  occasionally  reach  the 
English  of  Hudson's    Bay  of  an- 
other race  of  pale  faces  not  veiy  far 
&om  them.    These  rumours  excited 
rompetition,     and    the    geography 
was  sufficiently  understood   when 
the  rectification   of   frontiers    oc- 
curred in  1763  for  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company  to  claim  and  obtain 
the  whole  watershed   inclining  to 
the   north — ^the  tract  which  they 
still  held  in  1869. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  last 
century  its  operations  became  more 
<iCveIoped ;  posts  or  forts  were  es- 
tablished along  the  rivers,  by  the 
lakes,  and  in  other  spots  where  ex- 
perience taught  them  that  game 
most  abounded  ;  larger  supplies  of 
commodities  were  sent  from  Eng- 
land for  barter  with  the  Indians, 
^nd  business,  in  short,  was  con- 
•lacted  on  a  much  more  extended 
•^cale. 
liut  they   were  not  allowed  to 


conduct  it  undisturbed.  The  French, . 
who  were  the  pioneers,  and  knew  the 
virtues  of  the  country,  continued  to 
hunt  and  traffic,  and,  abetted  by 
men  of  substance  in  Lower  Canada, 
•carried  some  of  the  best  prizes 
from  the  '  adventurers '  of  Leaden- 
hall  Street.  In  vain  did  the  latter 
appeal  to  the  Charter  which  gave 
them  a  monopoly  of  commerce ; 
their  rivals  replied  that  if  they  were 
not  satisfied,  they  might  eject  them 
by  force,  and  the  heart  of  North 
America  was  at  that  time  too  &r 
from  London  to  captivate  the  atten- 
tion of  the  minister  for  war.  The 
English  and  the  French  thus  left  to 
themselves,  like  their  countrymen 
in  other  parts  of  the  world,  settled 
their  own  differences,  and  taught 
many  a  sad  lesson  to  the  Aborigines. 
Powder  and  ball  often  took  their 
effect  upon  the  former,  liquorthinned 
and  demortklised  the  latter. 

One  high-minded  and  far-seeing 
man,  at  the  commencement  of  the 
present  century,  whose  position  as 
member  of  the  Council  or  Board 
of  Management  of  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company,  filled  him  with 
keen  interest  in  these  distant 
realms,  suggested  that  so  large  a 
space  was  capable  of  better  ends 
than  the  mere  breeding  of  wild 
beasts,  and  proposed  colonisation, 
offering,  at  his  own  expense,  to  pur- 
chase a  tract  of  land  and  try  the 
experiment.  From  a  barren  region 
of  Scotland  emigrants  were  easily 
found  ready  to  exchange  their 
present  home  for  the  meadows 
of  the  Red  River.  Landing  at 
York  Factory,  they  proceeded  to 
their  allotments,  where,  after  many 
vicissitudes  —  being  harassed  by 
the  French  and  pillaged  by  the 
Lidians,  who,  incited  by  the 
former,  resented  this  new  encroach- 
ment on  their  hunting  grounds, 
they  formed  a  settlement  which  was 
destined  to  become  the  nucleus  of 
European  enterprise  in  the  Far  West. 
The  emigration  took  place  in  181 1, 
but  in  1 8 16,  an  unfortunate  collision 

M  2 


148 


The  Dominion  of  Canada. 


[February 


betvfeen  the  Hudson's  Bay  and  the 
*  North  -  West '  people  —  for  the 
rivals  of  the  former  had  for  some 
time  constituted  themselves  into  a 
regular  company — in  which  Mr. 
Semple,  the  English  Gt>vemor  was 
killed,  gave  their  enemies  again 
such  an  ascendency  that,  with  the 
loss  of  most  of  their  property,  they 
were  compelled  to  disperse  from 
their  new  homes.  Lord  Selkirk 
happened  to  be  in  Canada  at  the 
time  planning  a  visit  to  his  colonists, 
and  no  sooner  did  the  news  reach 
him  of  a  catastrophe  which  threat- 
ened a  regular  blood-feud*  between 
the  British  and  the  French,  the 
destruction  of  his  favourite  scheme, 
and  the  suspension  of  the  business 
of  the  Company,  than,  enrolling  a 
band  of  pensioners,  he  started  to 
the  relief  of  the  Red  River  Settle- 
ment. The  journey  before  him  was 
long  and  arduous,  and  besides  war- 
like materials  and  supplies  for  the 
sufferers  every  article  of  consumption 
had  to  be  carried.  The  first  section  of 
the  way  led  some  300  miles  np  the 
Ottawa,  thence  by  rivers  and  lakes 
to  Georgian  Bay — &  recess  of  Huron 
— ^and  so  to  Lake  Superior,  which 
must  be  completely  traversed  in 
order  to  gain  the  estuary  of  the 
River  EZaministiquia^the  infant 
St.  Lawrence.  The  mode  of  travel 
was  in  great  canoes  constructed 
of  birch  bark,  and  so  light  that 
their  crew  could  carry  them,  yet  of 
such  capacity  that,  besides  travellers 
and  eight  or  ten  paddlers,  they 
were  able  to  contain  a  considerable 
freight. 

Wherever,  owing  to  long  reaches 
of  rapids  and  cataracts,  the  rivers 
become  impassable,  the  craft  was 
unloaded,  and  transported  with  its 
effects  to  the  nearest  spot  where  it 
could  be  launched  again  with  advan- 
tage. This  tedious  process  might 
have  to  be  repeated  several  times  in 
the  day,  the  length  of  the  'portages,' 
varying  from  a  few  hundred  yards  to 
several  miles.  The  dexterity  with 
which  the  Indians  and  the  voyageurs 
manage  their  canoes  is  admirable  ; 


the  course  most  be  impossible  be- 
fore they  forsake  it,  and  the  pas- 
senger who  begins  by  shuddering  at 
the  foaming  water  and  the  rocks 
before  him,  soon  learns  to  find  a! 
keen  enjoyment  in    shooting    thei 
rapids.     So  great,  too,  is  the  buoj-| 
ancy  of  these  boats  of  bark,  tl^t| 
they  will  cross  the  fresh  water  seas; 
in  a  gale    which  would    try    thej 
mettle  of  many  an  old  salt  in  a 
very  different  kind  of  vessel.     Hav- 
ing  completed   in  safety  the  first 
part   of  his  voyage,  Lord  Selkirk 
landed  about  a  mile  up  the  £[ami- 
nistiquia,  where  one  of  the  prin- 
cipal establishments  of  the  North- 
West  Company  had  been  planted. 
The  sight  of  his  overwhelming 
force  put  its  inhabitants  on  their 
good  behaviour,  but  Lord  Selkirk'^ 
indignation  against  their  employers 
was  not  to  be  appeased  by  a  fev 
civilities;  so  he  seized  the  fort,  and 
made  prisoners  of  all  within  it.  Ear- 
ing taught  them  this  first  lesson^ 
he  embarked  upon  the  second  and 
more  difBcnlt  haJf  of  his  journey. 
Henceforth,  on  both  sides,  the  riTO- 
was  lined  by  forests,  and  wherever 
a  portage  occurred,  in  addition  to  ' 
the  ordinary  trouble,  trees  must  be  I 
felled  and  removed  so  as  to  open  a 
sufficient  passage.     Ten  or  twelve 
days  brought  him  to  the  height  ot 
land   where  that  peculiar   pheno- 
menon is  seen  (repeated  more  thai 
once  in  America),  of  the  sources- 
only  a  rifle-shot  apart — of  two  rivers 
flowing  in  different  directions,  and 
furrowing  the  entire  continent    A 
Uttle  bubbling  lake,  on  either  side, 
seems  to  be  the  origin  of  the  great 
system  of  inland  seas  and  the  St. 
Lawrence,  navigable  from  its  montK 
to  Chicago  and  Fond  du  Lac ;  and 
of  a  series  of  lakes,  ending  in  Wini- 
peg,   strung  together   by  a  river, 
known  by  various  local  names,  which 
ultimately  reaches  the  sea  in  Hud- 
son's Bay.     Whenever,  in  his  pro- 
gress.  Lord  Selkirk  came  upon  a 
hostile  station,  he  took  it.    One  was 
by  the  Rainy  Lake,  another  on  tbe 
north  side  of  the  Lake  of  the  Wood* 


1873] 


Ths  Dominion  of  Canada, 


149 


--ihai  mosi  weird  and  faiiy-like  of 
til  imaginable  scenes,  so  studded 
vith  wooded  islands,  literally  in  my- 
riads, that  only  the  practised  pilot 
ean  find  his  way  amongst  them. 
Then  descending  the  Winipeg,  the 
most  predpitons  of  all  those  riyers, 
he  reached  the  lake  of  that  name, 
menaced  and  qnickly  captured  all 
his  enemies*  posts  on  the  Ked  Biver, 
and  filled  the  Hudson's  Bay  people 
and  his  poor  Scotch  emigrants  with 
rejoicing.  To  us  quiet-going  Eng- 
lish, in  1872,  Lord  Selkirk's  daring 
and  high-handed  policy  seems  awful ; 
bat  if  the  Canadian  courts,  which 
were  natarally  most  biassed,  as- 
sessed him  in  damages,  it  must  be 
remembered  that  his  prompt  action 
pat  an  end  to  anarchy,  saved  blood- 
shed and  misery,  and  vindicated  the 
rights  that  the  Company  of  which 
he  was  one  of  the  rulers  was  not 
ooly  licensed  but  bound  to  assert. 

Indeed,  from  the  moment  of  his 
aiTiTalmustbe  dated  the  tranquillity 
of  the  mixed  community  of  Rupert's 
Land,  and  the  real  foundation  of  the 
first  colony  in  a  region  which,  before 
another  century  is  past,  is  likely  to 
coant  its  millions.  After  estabHsh- 
inj^  order,  Lord  Selkirk's  first  act 
was  to  obtain  from  the  Indians,  in 
return  for  certain  presents  and  an- 
nuities, the  formal  title  to  the  pro- 
perty which  he  had  purchased  in 
London.  The  deed,  with  the  totems 
or  crests  of  the  cliiefs  attached  to 
it  as  signatures,  is  an  interesting 
document,  and  is  still  preserved  at 
Fort  Garry,  the  metropolitan  station 
of  the  Company.  Having  made  a 
friendship  with  the  natives,  which 
has  never  since  been  interrupted, 
he  further  succeeded  by  Avise  mea- 
sures in  conciliating  tiie  French, 
and  in  182 1  the  last  incentive  to 
animosity  between  the  two  white 
races  was  removed  by  the  absorp- 
tion  of  the  North-West  into  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company. 

In  1826  this  remarkable  man, 
whose  foresight  and  care  have  borne 
inich  valuable  fruits  in  our  day, 
died,  and  his  estates  at  Bed  Biver 


were  again  acquired  by  the  Com- 
pany. The  events  of  the  next  forty 
years  require  but  a  few  words.  The 
colony,  both  from  internal  and  ex- 
ternal sources,  grew  until  it  num- 
bered, in  1869,  about  12,000  souls. 
Generally  speaJdng,  the  British  and 
their  descendants,  partly  of  pure  race 
and  partly  mixed  with  the  Lidian, 
occupy  the  western  bank  of  the 
river,  the  French  and  their  half- 
breeds  the  eastern.  The  former, 
more  than  the  latter,  devote  them- 
selves to  the  cultivation  of  a  soil 
which  is  so  rich  that  rotation  of 
crops  is  not  needed.  In  a  good 
year — perhaps  one  in  four — the  re- 
turns remind  one  of  Egypt ;  in  the 
other  three  many  disappointments 
occur,  the  long  winters  and  the 
locusts  being  the  principal  ene- 
mies, the  severity  of  the  first  will 
be  mitigated,  and  the  second  will 
vanish  with  the  presence  of  people. 
The  French  and  the  Franco-Indians, 
on  the  other  hand,  devote  them- 
selves more  particularly  to  the 
chase,  and  when  bisons  were  nume- 
rous and  not  very  distant,  they  may 
bo  said  to  have  famished  the  meat, 
while  the  British  found  the  bread ; 
clothes,  tea,  sugar,  tobacco,  and 
other  luxuries  being  imported  an- 
nually from  England  by  Hudson's 
Bay.  But  this  primitive  state  of 
things  could  not  last  for  ever.  The 
bison  becoming  scarcer  every  year, 
is  not  to  be  found  in  herds  within 
three  weeks'  journey  of  the  settle- 
ment, and  the  domestic  cattle 
brought  from  home,  which  flourish 
upon  the  exuberant  pastures  of  the 
prairie,  and  maintain  themselves 
perfectly  through  the  hardest  winter, 
are  taking  the  place  of  the  wild 
cow,  and  will  one  day  be  a  fund  of 
wealth  to  the  country.  As  the 
population  of  the  world  increases 
the  call  for  meat  will  not  be  less 
loud  than  that  for  grain,  and  Bu- 
pert's  Land  may  well  be  contented 
if  it  becomes,  as  its  capabilities 
point  that  it  should  become,  the 
great  emporium  of  animal  food.  Yet 
the  lands  of  the  Bed  Biver,  healthy 


160 


The  Dominion  of  Canada, 


[Pebrnary 


i^d  well-&yoiired  as  they  are,  mast 
not  be  taken  as  the  best  tjrpe  of 
that  gigantic  countiy. 

The  banks  of  the  Sisk&tchewan 
though  more  to  the  north  are 
better  adapted  to  culture,  and 
many  other  tracts  as  men  move 
westward  will  be  found  to  be  as 
productive  as  some  of  the  ftir- 
ther  American  states.  The  Peace 
Baver  which  rises  in  latitude  56, 
thanks  to  its  proximity  to  the  Paci- 
fic, enjoys  so  mild  a  temperature, 
that  Sir  John  Franklin  found  wild 
flowers  in  full  bloom  on  its  banks 
in  the  early  spring,  so  that  with 
its  various  winter  climates  and 
soils,  and  the  extreme  heat  of  its 
summer,  North  America  forms  a 
striking  contrast  to  the  adjacent 
continent  of  Siberia.  The  princi- 
pal rivers  are  the  Siskatchewan  and 
the  Asiniboine,  which  take  their 
rise  fron^.the  Bocky  HountaLos  or 
its  spurs ;  the  Athabasca ;  the 
Peace  Biver;  and  the  great  Mac- 
kenzie, whose  estuary  is  in  the  Arc* 
tic  Circle.  Excepting  the  Asini- 
boine,  which  is  uniformly  shallow, 
all  these  streams  are  navigable,  with 
very  few  interruptions,  removable 
at  a  moderate  cost,  abnost  to  their 
source.  When  steam  is  introduced 
an  improvement  which  will  take 
place  during  the  present  year,  they 
will  become  the  permanent  high- 
ways, and  the  outfits  as  they  are 
technically  called,  which  from  the 
farthest  points  have  not  been  bring- 
ing a  return  to  the  senders  under  six 
or  seven  years,  will  be  exchanged  for 
furs  which  will  be  sold  in  the  Lon- 
don market  within  a  third  of  that 
period.  Of  the  Lakes,  the  most  re- 
markable are  Winipeg  and  ^he 
neighbouring  system  of  Manituba 
and  Winip^gosis,  separated  only  by 
a  short  stream,  the  two  Slave  Ijakes 
and  the  Great  Bear  Lake.  Besides 
these  great  arteries,  and  reservoirs, 
many  portions  of  the  prairie  are  in- 


tersected by  streams,  which  dig- 
nified in  the  language  'of  the 
New  World  only  by  the  name  of 
creeks,  would  in  Europe  be 
considered  important  rivers.  These 
and  numerous  lakelets  dotted 
about,  are  fringed  with  inc 
trees,  of  which  the  oak,  the  pop- 
lar, and  the  maple,  and,  in  sandj 
places  the  fir,  are  the  most  promiiieiit. 
Patches  of  woods  or  coverts  also 
contribute  to  the  beauiy  of  tkt 
undulating  plain,  and  harbour  end- 
less supplies  of  fruits  of  many 
varieties  and  of  excellent  flavour. 
The  prairie  fires,  due  generaUy  to  the 
carelessness  of  the  Indians  or  the 
huntsmen  are  the  great  devastators 
of  the  trees,  but  as  settlements  Bprbg 
up  at  close  intervals,-  this  great 
waste  may  be  checked,  and  the  en- 
couragement of  vegetation  will  mo- 
dify and  soften  the  climateJ 

Such,  then,  is  the  aspect  of  a 
country,  so  well  adapted  for  the 
abode  of  man  but  uninhabited  and 
desolate,  which  Canadian  statesmen 
felt  assured  should  be  added  to  the 
Dominion.  In  the  winter  of  186S 
the  final  negotiations  were  made 
with  the  Company  for  its  surrender, 
Sir  George  Gartier  and  Mr.  Mac- 
dougall  being  the  Plenipoteutianes, 
and  in  the  following  March  the 
terms  were  signed  and  sanctioned 
by  the  Grown,  In  return  for  the 
cession  of  their  sovereign  rights, 
the  Company  were  to  reoeWe 
300,0002.  in  money,  one  twentieth 
of  the  soil  in  fee-simple,  lying  be- 
tween the  Sisk&tchewan  and  the 
American  frontier ;  they  woTe  to 
retain  their  forts  and  buldings, 
and  the  land  they  had  already  oc- 
cupied around  these ;  the  right,  bat 
of  course  not  the  exclusive  rights 
to  trade,  and  some  minor  advan- 
tages. Formal  possession  was  to 
be  taken  by  Canada  on  the  ist  of 
Kovember,  1867,  fi:tnn  which  data 
the  Company  were  to  be  fireed  toii 


*  For  a  dascription  of  Bed  RiTer,  And  the  North  W«st»  toad  Boss's  book,  Haignrf^ 
JR^  Biver,  Butler^s  Great  Lone  Land,  and  Parliamentaiy  papan  pnsentod  «t  intcnrdK 
between  i860  and  1872. 


1873] 


TJie  Dominion  of  Ccmada, 


151 


al]  the  dnties  of  admimstratioii,  and 
were  to  lapse  into  the  position  of  a 
mediatised  State.  It  was,  however, 
eriJent  tliat  with  their  excellent 
and  long^established  machinery  and 
organisation,  their  intimate  know- 
ledge of  the  countiy,  and  perfect 
nnderstanding  with  ,the  natives,  the 
Gorenmient  must  for  a  long  time 
coaat  upon  their  goodwill  and  co- 
operation in  dealing  with  those 
parts  of  it  which  ahonld  be  remote 
&om  a  colony. 

Eveiything  now  seemed  fairly 
settled.  The  Dominion,  at  a  sacri- 
fice necessarily,  but  small  compared 
mih  the  aathoriiy  she  gaine(^  had 
secured  her  wish;  and  the  Com- 
paoj  had  not  only  made  a  good 
bargain,  hut  was  henceforth  to 
shake  off  those  troubles  and  anxie- 
ties of  its  former  position  which, 
had  an  emigration  set  in  from 
Canada,  would  have  so  increased  as 
to  overtax  its  strength.  Unhappily 
insufficient  pains  were  taken  to 
explain  to  those  whose  &te  was 
concerned  the  exact  nature  of  the 
change,  and  rumours  more  and 
more  distorted  from  the  truth,  as 
they  travelled  from  mouth  to  mouth, 
penetrated  in  such  a  form  to  the  little 
community,  that  it  was  not  difficult 
for  a  few  mischievous  and  intrig^uing 
spirits  to  spread  a  belief  amongst 
the  more  excitable  natures  that  the 
people  had  been  sold  like  so  many 
^  of  cattle.  No  one,  indeed, 
^^ished  for  the  change.  Under  the 
rule  of  the  Company  all  had  en- 
joyed happiness  and  perfect  free- 
dom, whilst  the  only  tribute  ex- 
acted of  them  was  a  small  duty  on 
imports. 

TaxatioD,  the  alarmists  or  in- 
cendiaries preached,  would  now 
debar  them  the  comforts  of  life,  and 
the  French  were  informed  that  ihe 
Church  herself  would  be  in  danger 
at  the  hands  of  the  Dominion — an 
iuu!aIled-for  fear,  considering  that 
nearly  half  the  Canadians  belonged 
to  the  Church  of  Eome.  The  ma- 
jority, however,  it  is  fiur  to  say, 
influoieed  by  those  who  gave  them- 


selves the  trouble  to  think  and  en- 
quire, wero  satisfied  that  with  the 
rapid  progress  in  Minnesota  their 
seclusion  could  not  be  long  main- 
tained, and  as  England  refused  to 
adopt  them  directly^  their  only  al- 
ternative was  to  be  included  in 
Canada.  If  taxes  should  augment, 
so  would  commerce,  and  in  the  end 
they  would  be  none  the  poorer. 
Great  curiosity  existed  amongst  all 
as  to  the/orm  of  Government  to  be 
imposed  upon  them.  At  the  present 
a  Governor  appointed  by  the  Board, 
and  a  Council  of  twenty-four,  taken 
from  the  leading  inhabitants,  man- 
aged afifairs,  Canada  proposed  to 
reduce  this  number  to  five,  all,  or 
nearly  all,  of  whom  were  to  be 
strangers.  In  a  small  sphere  the  dig- 
nity of  office  is  perhaps  even  more 
cherished  than  in  a  larger  one,  and 
the  contemplated  alteration,  however 
necessaiy  and  compulsoiy,  was  sure 
tooccasionacertain  amount  of  heart- 
burning. This  could  not  be  helped, 
and  if  a  little  coldness  was  exhibited 
at  first,  a  Gt)vemor  with  tact  ought 
soon  to  dispel  it.  Such  was  the  situ- 
ation of  affairs  at  the  end  of  Au- 
gust, and  at  that  time  no  appre^ 
hension  of  disturbance  was  felt.  In 
September  it  was  known  that  Mr. 
Macdougall  was  to  be  the  new  Go- 
vernor, at  the  end  of  October  that 
he  was  approaching.  Then  a  young 
man  named  Biel  came  forward,  who 
had  evidently  been  plotting  in  se- 
cret^ and  whose  powers  of  speech 
won  for  him  great  ascendency  over 
the  more  ignorant  of  his  hearers. 
'  If  we  admit  the  governor  we  shaU 
be  enslaved,*  was  his  theme,  and  at 
the  head  of  a  party  of  hot-headed 
horsemen  he  galloped  to  the  frontier 
and  opposed  the  entry  of  Mr. 
Macdougall,  who,  arriving  from  the 
American  side,  was  of  course  unac- 
companied by  an  escort.  This  en- 
couraged what  we  may  call  the 
noisy  party  to  further  action.  The 
establishments  and  efiects  of  the 
Hudson^B  Bay  Company  were 
seized,  and  shortly  afterwards  a 
Provisional  Governmentwas  fbnned 


152 


The  Dominion  of  Canada, 


[February 


of  which  Riel  was  Dictator.  These 
untoward  events  gave  a  gloomy 
Christmas  to  Canada,  and  caused 
much  uneasiness  amongst  those  at 
home  who  watched  and  understood 
them. 

For  many  months  no  pressure 
could  be  put  upon  the  insurgents, 
and  should  disaffection  spread,  or 
a  foreign  element  be  introduced, 
coercion  would  necessitate  trouble 
and  bloodshed.  The  sole  access  to 
them  through  our  territories  was 
by  Lord  Selkirk's  route  which 
would  not  be  open  till  summer. 
The  interval,  however,  was  not 
wasted  at  Ottawa,  and  preparations 
were  made  for  a  military  expedition 
as  soon  as  the  season  should  allow 
of  movement.  The  Home  Govern- 
ment did  not  behave  handsomely. 
For  some  time  advice  was  all  that 
they  could  give  till  shamed  into  ac- 
tion— for,  after  all,  it  was  in  a  great 
measure  to  their  negligence  that 
the  hitch  was  owing,  and  then  they 
agreed  to  bear  one-ihird  of  the  cost. 
The  Red  River  expedition  forms  an 
interesting  narrative  in  itself.  But 
here  we  have  only  room  to  say  that 
half  a  battalion  of  the  6oth  Rifles, 
two  battalions  of  Dominion  militia 
besides  artillery,  and  the  necessary 
attendants  of  such  a  force,  with  an 
enormous  mass  of  stores,  accom- 
plished the  journey  without  a  single 
miscarriage,  and  occupied  the  settle- 
ment without  firing  a  single  shot. 
The  ringleaders  who,  besides  Riel, 
were  a  half-bred  and  a  Fenian,  saved 
themselves  by  a  timely  flight,  and 
with  their  departure  the  insurrec- 
tion was  at  an  end.  Had  the 
forest  Indians  on  the  lino  of  march 
been  hostile,  they  might  have 
seriously  harassed  our  movements, 
but  the  equitable  rule  of  the  Hud- 
son's Bay  Company  had  taught  them 
that  they  had  notning  to  fear  from 
the  English,  and  had  made  them 
staunch  to  our  interests.  Yet,  even 
without  opposition,  the  physical  ob- 
stacles in  the  way  were  very  great, 
and  too  much  praise  cannot  be  given 
to  the  commander  Colonel,  now  Sir 


Garnet  Wolsley  and  his  officers  for 
the  able  and  complete  manner  in 
which  they  carried  out  a  scheme, 
perhaps,  not  less  difficult  in  its 
execution  than  that  which  fell  to 
the  lot  of  Sir  Robert  Napier  in 
Abyssinia. 

Simultaneously  with  the  troops, 
arrived  Mr.  Archibald  the  Canadmn 
Lieutenant-  Governor  who  com- 
menced his  work  by  winning  the 
confidence  of  all  parties,  and  pre- 
pared them  for  the  new  duties  thej 
would  have  to  perform.  The  Red 
River  Settlement  together  with  a 
certain  space  to  the  west  was  erected 
into  a  province  with  the  usual  two 
chambers  for  the  conduct  of  its  do- 
mestic affairs,  and  a  representation 
in  the  Federal  Senate  and  House  of 
Commons  respectively  of  two  and 
four  members.  And  from  that  day 
to  this,  excepting  the  threat  of  a 
Fenian  raid  which  was  frustrated 
by  the  prompt  action  of  the  authori. 
ties  at  Ottawa  who  in  an  incredibly 
short  time  poured  another  force 
into  the  colony — ^for  so  settled  had 
it  become  internally  that  the  first 
occupation  had  been  withdrawn— 
Manituba  has  enjoyed  that  quiet 
which  spares  the  historian  pages  ot 
labour.  Sons  of  wealthy  farmers 
in  Ontario,  themselves  possessbg 
means  and  many  more  from  other 
parts  are  swelling  the  population 
of  the  colony,  and  as  it  is  the 
tendency  of  man  always  to  move 
towards  the  West,  the  next  t«?D 
years  may  see  numerous  settle- 
ments arise,  and  perhaps  the  sub- 
division of  the  North- West  tcrritort 
which  is  still  ruled  like  our  Crown 
colonies,  directly  by  a  Governor  in 
Council,  into  new  provinces.  To 
anticipate  this  contingency  and  to 
remove  every  shadow  of  jealousv, 
treaties  have  already  been  made  with 
the  various  savage  nations,  the  prin- 
ciple adopted  being  precisely  the 
same  as  that  which  has  proved  so 
beneficial  both  to  the  red  and  the 
white  man  in  Canada.  No  account  of 
North  America  would  be  complete 
without  some   words  on  this  im- 


IS7S] 


The  Dominion  of  Canada. 


153 


poriftnt  sabjecfc.  Por  to  the  mode 
in  which  the  English  have  met  the 
abongines,  they  owe  especially  in 
earlier  timee  that  secnriiy  withe  nb 
which  progress  must  have  been  le* 
tardad,  and  that  immunity  from 
retaliation  for  wrongs  inflicted  on 
the  unhappy  natives  of  the  soil, 
which  blot  the  history  of  colooisa- 
Uon  on  the  other  side  of  the  border. 
The  system  we  pursued,  as  fast  as 
we  required  more  land,  was  to 
samnum  the  Indians  who  claimed 
it,  and  make  a  bargain  with  them 
for  its  sale,  leaving  to  them  always 
certain  'reserves'  which  were  to 
be  for  ever  inviolable  by  the  white 
man.  To  these  they  confined 
themselves  and  in  process  of  time 
became  so  tame,  that  they  welcomed 
the  risits  of  strangers,  especially  of 
those  who  taught  religion,  embraced 
Christianity,  exchanged  their  wig- 
wams for  wooden  houses,  built 
churches  and  schools,  and  inter- 
married so  frequently  with  the  con- 
qnering  race,  that  an  Indian  of 
pare  Uood  is  now  a  rarity  in  the 
older  Canadas.  By  a  wholesome 
exercise  of  paternal  care  the  price 
of  their  lands  was  not  paid  them  in 
cash  which  would  at  once  have  been 
converted  into  liquor,  but  in  an- 
noiiies,  held  in  trust  by  the  State, 
which  pnnctually  at  a  certain  day 
in  every  year  pays  the  dividends 
accming  from  the  fimd  in  kind — 
by  whidi  must  be  understood  blan- 
kets, and  useful  things — or  in 
money  at  the  option  of  the  creditor. 
The  importation  of  spirits  into 
the  reserves  was,  and  is,  severely 
panished,  while  temptations  are 
offered  to  these  people  to  accept 
their  alkwances  in  a  form  which  will 
reallv  contribute  to  their  well-being. 
In  ^  North-West  this  process  is 
being  imitated,®  and  we  trust  that 
experience  there  again  will  show, 
that  by  no  inexorable  law  of  nature 
is  it  ordained,  that  the  development 
of  the  higher  race  must  necessarily 


mean  the  enslaving  or  the  extinction 
of  that  which  has  been  less  favoured. 
One  word  more  in  equal  justice 
to  the  Hudson's  Bay  Administration, 
and  the  wild  people  with  which  it 
commerced.  The  stations  are  widely 
apart,  a  distance  of  loo  miles  fre- 
quently, sometimes  200,  or  even 
300  separating  them.  Their  garri- 
sons— ^if  we  may  use  the  expres- 
sion— ^rarely  consist  of  more  than 
three  officers,  and  six  or  seven 
Europeans,  at  most  ten  whites; 
their  stores  are  filled  with  objects 
coveted  by  the  natives,  and,  when 
hundreds  at  certain  seasons  congpre- 
gate  around  them,  yet  robbery  on 
any  concerted  principle  has  been 
almost,  if  not  quite  unknown,  and 
the  servants  of  the  Company  may 
travel  with  untold  riches  without 
fear  of  interruption.  The  troubles 
on  the  American  side  have  been 
due  to  faithlessness  on  the  part  of 
the  Americans,  and  the  corruption 
of  their  agents,  nominated  by  Go- 
vernment to  dispense  the  annuities. 
Starting  upon  the  same  premises  as 
ourselves,  as  the  reserves  became 
desirable,  they  have  driven  the  In- 
dians from  them,  until  at  last,  in 
sheer  dread  of  finding  no  place  in 
which  to  rest,  they  have  turned 
upon  their  disturbers,  and  com- 
mitted such  atrocities  as  those  which 
will  always  make  the  year  1863  a 
terrible  one  in  the  annals  of 
Minnesota.  In  addition  to  this, 
the  distributors,  after  summoning 
the  savages  to  a  given  place  at  a 
given  date,  were  proverbially  un- 
punotual.  Many  of  the  recipients 
had  to  travel  great  distances,  and 
lost  the  hunting  season  by  the 
delay  ;  and  the  arrival  of  the  autho- 
rities commonly  ended  in  a  pande- 
monium, the  Indians  being  tempted 
by  cheap  whisky  to  forego  the 
good  things  which  had  been  voted  to 
them  by  Congress.  The  failure  of 
their  good  intentions  is  now  suffi- 
ciently known  to  the  Government  at 


'  The  annxiitics  will  be  paid  at  the  posts  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company,  where  Indians 
nsro  long  been  used  to  congregate  in  the  spring,  to  exchange  their  furs  with  the  produce 
of&uope. 


154. 


The  Domiriian  of  Canada. 


[February 


Washington,  and  it  is  to  be  hoped 
that  measures  are  being  taken  for 
the  removal  of  abnses  which  are  as 
discreditable  to  the  present  peoplers 
of  the  New  World,  as  they  are  in- 
jarions  to  its  older  occupants. 

British  Columbia  entered  the  Con- 
federation in  1871,  the  chief  con- 
dition of  its  adhesion  being  the 
construction  of  a  railway  which 
should  unite  it  with  the  other  pro- 
vinces. During  that  year,  and  the 
last,  surveys  have  been  made  to 
determine  the  most  advantageous 
route.  1,200  miles  leading  over 
the  prairies  to  the  Bocky  Mountains 
offer  no  diflficulties,  nor  will  the 
descent  to  the  Pacific  be  unusually 
troublesome ;  the  most  arduous  part 
of  the  undertaking  is  that  to  the 
north  of  Lake  Superior,  cmd  thence 
to  Lake  Winipeg.  But  with  a 
partial  guarantee  from  England 
and  Canada  in  money,  and  a  large 
offer  of  good  land,  a  company  is 
now  forming,  which  by  1880  ought 
to  complete  the  grand  task  fore- 
shadowed by  Lord  Lytton  twenty. 
one  years  earlier.  British  America 
will  then  be  the  high  road  of  com- 
merce to  China;  for  although  the 
distance  across  the  continent  will 
not  differ  much  from  that  traversed 
by  the  American  railway,  currants 
and  winds  bring  sailing  vessels 
from  the  Eastern  hemisphere  to  the 
shores  of  British  Columbia  after  a 
voyage  ten  or  fourteen  days  shorter 
than  to  San  Francisco. 

Those  who  carefully  consider  all 
these  things  cannot  fail,  to  perceive 
liie  priceless  value  of  Canada  to  the 
Empire.  During  her  infancy,  when 
she  was  tended  with  jealous  case, 
flhe  gave  the  ordinary  trouble  of 
children ;  now,  a  credit  to  her  parent 
and  herself,  she  has  entered  the 
world,  and  what  she  asks  is  a  re- 
turn of  that  honest  •affection  with 
which  she  regards  the  country  from 
which  she  sprang,  and  whose  good 
features  she  is  reproducing  so  &ith- 
lully.  If  she  were  in  other  hands, 
for  independence  is  at  present  out 
of  the  question,  nor  could  she  in 


any  way  gain  by  the  latter,  the 
loss  would  be  almost  the  severest 
one  can  imagine  to  Great  Britain. 
It/is  time  in  war  we  have  to  provide 
fior  the  protection  of  our  Colonies, 
but  it  is  equally  so  that  if  they  were 
alienated  they  might  be  found  in 
the  balance  against  us,  and  a  mari- 
time State  like  Nova  Scotia  could 
give  a  preponderance  to  the  Uniied 
States  which  they  are  far  from  pos- 
sessingaslongasthe  Dominion  forms 
part  of  us.  These  considerations, 
however,  lead  us  to  another  ques- 
tion which  has  began  to  be  dis- 
cussed of  late,  whether  something 
may  not  be  done  to  straiten  the 
union  of  the  various  portions  of 
the  Empire.  For  Parliamentary  re- 
presentation  iu  its  perfect  form, 
such  as  was  proposed  by  Pitt,  the 
day  is  past.  A  permanent  Council 
under  the  Secretary  of  State,  simi- 
lar to  that  established  at  the  India 
Office,  applied  to.  the  Colonies, 
would  seem  to  be  of  little  or  no  ad- 
vantage. Accredited  agents  might 
be  received  acting  as  plenipotentia- 
ries, but  these  again  must  be  de- 
pendent upon  the  existence  of  the 
Ministry  which  appointed  them; 
moreover,  an  intermediary  between 
the  Province  and  home  already 
exists  in  the  person  of  the  GK)vemor, 
whose  impartial  position  should 
enable  him  to  judge  more  cahnly 
of  affairs  than  can  those  whose 
interests  are  more  immediately  in- 
volved in  them.  Yetcertain  measures 
strike  one  as  feasible,  and  which, 
without  disturbing  internal  arrange- 
ments, wouldadd  greatly  to  Impenal 
unity  and  Imperial  strength. 

(i)  The  foremost  of  these  ap- 
pears to  us  to  be  the  establish- 
ment of  one  army  and  one  navy, 
to  which  the  selfrgoveming  Pk>- 
vinces  should  be  aisked  to  contii^ 
J>ute  at  a  siven  rate.  The  two 
services  woiud  thus  be  recruited  is 
the  Colonies,  and  a  proportionate 
number  of  commissionB  gives^ 
which  would  open  a  field  of  activity 
to  the  wealthier  class  of  young 
men,  a  thing  greatly  to  be  desired 


1873] 


The  Dominion  of  Canada. 


as  the  numbers  and  prosperitj  of  a 
country  increase.  Nor  need  the 
proTmcial  regiments  and  ships  be 
confined  to  tbeir  own  provinces ;  on 
the  oontraiy,  we  would  nttber  see 
ftU  take  their  turn  of  foreign  ser- 
vice, the  expense  of  moving  being, 
Mfe  are  assnred,  more  than  counter- 
balanced by  the  advantage  to  be 
gained  from  the  intercourse  and 
knowledge  of  each  other  of  the 
yarioas  peoples.  A  number  of 
troops  and  ships,  it  is  to  be  under- 
stood, of  course,  equal  to  that  which 
the  Colony  supports,  being  main- 
tained, except  by  special  agreement, 
in  cases  of  emergency  in  the  Colony. 

(2)  A  customs-union ;  that  is  to 
saj,  that  goods  should  travel  free 
through  all  parts  of  the  Empire,  the 
produce  of  foreign  nations  being 
alone  taxed. 

(3)  The  assumption  of  the  fund- 
ed debts  of  the  Colonies  existing  at 
the  time  of  the  contract,  which  thus 
redooed  from  6  and  5  per  cent,  to 
^,  a  saving  of  income  might  be 
effected  ihat  would  go  far  to  oounter- 
balanoe  the  sacrifice  which  the  se- 
oond  proposal  might  entail  on  them. 

It  has  just  been  said  that  the  day 
for  Parliamentary  representation  in 
the  sense  in  which  it  ia  now  under<» 
stood  is  gone  by.  A  proposal  to 
give  to  the  Dominion,  for  instance, 
a  nunher  pf  members  proportionate 
to  her  population,  a  number  which 
horn  tune  to  tiine  would  demand 
augmentation,  would  never  be  lis- 
tened to ;  and  as  things  have  grown, 
and  considering  the  wide  geogra- 
phical separation  of  peoples,  the 
di£k«nt  circumstances  in  many 
respects  nnder  which  they  live  from 
oanelfos,  it  is  perhapsbest  that  each 


should  have  direct  control  of  its  own 
affairs.  For  this  reason,  on  the  other 
hand,  as  Sir  Edward  Creasy  has 
recently  remarked,  if  it  wore  thought 
desirable  that  questions  affecting 
the  whole  Empire  should  be  dis- 
cussed by  delegates  from  every  part 
of  it,  the  Colonies  might  be  willing 
to  be  represented  by  a  small  but 
definite  number  of  persons  who 
could  expound  the  views  of  their 
constituents  in  debate  and  exchange 
opinions  with  their  fellow  legisla- 
tors. Whether  by  such  an  ar- 
rangement as  this  any  really  useful 
object  would  be  attained  ia  doubt- 
ful, but  it  deserves  consideration, 
and  its  advantages  and  disadvan- 
tages may  well  be  discussed. 

It  need  hardly  be  addod  that 
these  lucubrations  on  the  subject  of 
union  are  intended  to  apply,  not 
to  India  and  the  Crown  Colonies, 
but  to  those  three  only  which  are 
self-governing — ^namely,  the  Do- 
minion and  the  South  African  and 
Australian  groups.  These,  with  the 
British  Isles  as  a  centre,  all  working 
cordially  together  for  one  great 
purpose,  may  reach  the  highest 
destiny,  and  effect  more  good  for 
mankind  than  it  has  ever  yet  been 
the  privilege  of  a  nation  to  achieve. 
Indisposed  to  aggression,  and  not 
jealous  of  the  weHare  of  other  States, 
which  means,  we  have  learned  to 
know,  an  addition  to  our  own  wel- 
fare, we  might  prevent  wars — ^we 
should  not  provoke  them ;  we  might 
relieve  the  distressed — we  should 
not  oppress ;  and  by  our  example 
and  force  of  character  lead  others 
perpetually  nearer  to  that  concord 
which  ought  to  subsist  amongst 
the  peoples  of  the  earth. 


•^©Sfefec. 


156 


fFebniary 


WITTENBERG    AND   COLOGNE. 


THE  fifth   CEcumenical   Council 
had  been  held  at  the  Lateran 
Chorch  and  brought  to  a  conclusion 
amidst  general  acclamations.  Never 
in  tiie  history  of  the  Church  had 
there  been  greater  reason  for  con- 
gratulation   than    on  the  present 
occasion.     The  power  of  the  suc- 
cessor of  St.  Peter  had  been  declared 
and  vindicated  as  supreme,  not  only 
in   spiritual   matters   but  also  in 
things  temporal.   The  enemy  of  the 
Pope,  Louis  XII.,  with  his  defiant 
motto,  'Perdam  Babylonis  nomen,' 
was  dead,  and  his  successor  had 
concluded    a    concordat  with   the 
Papal    Power.     As   the   members 
passed  the  threshold  of  that  old 
church,  said  to  have  been  built  by 
Constantine,  at   the   end  of   their 
twelfth    meeting   on  the   i6th   of 
March,  15 17,  who  could  have  pre- 
dicted that  seven  months  later,  on 
the  31st  of  October,  an  arrow  from 
a  little  town  of    Germany  would 
wound  the  Western  Church  to  the 
very  core,  and  change  the  triumphant 
Queen,  ruling  in  solitary  grandeur 
over    the    nations,    into    a   Mater 
dolorosa^  *  weeping  for  her  children 
and  refusing  to  be  comforted  for 
her   children,   because    they   were 
not'?     For  on  that  i6th  day  of 
March  the  sky  was  clear  and  with- 
out any  traces  of  clouds,  and  Leo  X. 
was  all  but  an  Elijah ;  and  the  one 
protesting  voice  was  drowned  amidst 
the    general  hubbub  of  ecclesias- 
tics, though  that  voice  came  from 
the     venerable     Sorbonne,     whose 
history   dates    from   the    days    of 
Alcuin,  and  which  has  occupied  all 
along  a  position  in  the  history  of 
Europe  unparalleled  by  any  other 
school  or  university. 

On  the  last  day  of  October,  15 17, 
a  young  Augustine  monk,  professor 
at  the  newly  founded  University  of 
Wittenberg,  hitherto  known  for 
nothing  else  but  his  hatred  of 
Aristoteles  and  the  scholastic  philo- 


sophy (*I  am  longing,'  he  wrote 
'to  tear  the  Greek  mask  from  off 
the  face  of  that  comedian,  who  has 
made  such  a  fool  of  the  Church, 
and  to  expose  him  in  all  his  naked- 
ness') affixed  a  paper  with  95  theses 
against  the  abuse  of  indulgences 
to  the  door  of  the  church  of  the 
castle.  *  Ho,  ho,'  said  a  pious  monk, 
after  he  had  read  them,  '  he  is  the 
man,  he  will  do  it — we  have  waited 
for  him.'  In  a  few  days  they  were 
known  all  over  Germany ;  in  a  few 
weeks  they  had  spread  all  over  the 
Continent;  some  time  afterwards 
they  were  sold  in  the  streets  of 
Jerusalem;  the  Reformation,  as  it 
is  called,  had  commenced. 

Martin   Luther  was  a  religious 

genius.      There   are  times  in  the 

history  of  nations,  when  the  moral 

or  reUgious  questions  which  form 

the  substratum  of  the  social  and 

political  fabric  are  brought  by  an 

irresistible    impulse    to    the    sor- 

hce.     Such   a  moment    called  in 

Scripture  language  the  ^fulness  of 

the   time,'    had  come   in  the   six- 

teenth    century.     The    revival   of 

learning,  the  awakening  on  all  sides 

of  centrifugal  forces,  contributed  to 

the  rapid  spread  of  the  movement 

when  once  inaugurated,  but  they 

were  not  its  origin  or  cause.     The 

restlessness  which  had  seized  the 

intellectual  and  political  world  did 

not  make  itself  felt  in  the  moral 

world  except  in  Germany.     For  the 

German  race  is  the  embodiment  of 

a  great  moral  idea;  their  nature 

leaves  them  no  rest  till  they  have 

penetrated  into  the  origin  of  things, 

till  they  have   investigated    their 

essence.     Luther  was  the  greatest 

Gorman  that  ever  lived,  because  he 

realised    more    than    anyone    the 

moral  idea.     A  genius  is  ever  tbe 

offspring,  as  used  to  be   said,   of 

a  god  and  one  of  the  daughters 

of  men — of  heavenly  and  earthly 

powers.     Luther  was  a  child  of  Lis 


1873] 


Wittenherg  and  Cologne. 


157 


age ;  the  wants  and  aspirations  of 
the  times  were,  so  to  speak,  con- 
centrated in  his  person ;  he  articn- 
lated  the  word  that  had  lain 
quireriog,  seeking  in  vain  for 
Qtterance,  on  the  lips  of  thousands 
and  millions.  Bat  above  all  he 
was  a  (}erman :  his  subjectivity,  his 
boldness  in  speculation,  his  intense 
moral  earnestness,  his  indomitable 
energy  and  perseverance  when  once 
roused,  characterised  him  as  a  de- 
Boendant  of  the  men  that  had 
broagfat  old  Boine  to  the  verge  of 
destruction.  And  being  a  genius, 
and  not  merely  a  man  of  talent, 
he  had  that  Divine  afiBatus,  that 
intense  enthusiasm,  that  Holy  Spirit, 
which  is  ever  the  life-giving  and  life- 
preserving  principle,  and  the  very 
absence  of  which  is  in  itself  death. 

Looked  at  in  this  light  it  is 
not  astonishing  that  the  Medissval 
Chnrch  should  have  collapsed  like  a 
honse  of  sand  built  on  the  sea-shore 
bj  the  hands  of  little  children. 
The  Church  of  the  Middle  Ages  had 
been  the  grandest  Church  ever  seen. 
Christiamty,asits  Founder  intended 
it,  was  to  be  the  religion  for  the 
world;  the  Church,  which  is  the 
embodiment  of  Christianity,  strove 
to  be  1  he  Church  for  the  world. 
That  was  a  grand  ideal.  The 
Catholic  Church  was  the  light  of 
the  Middle  Ages,  the  salt  which 
kept  the  world  from  corruption. 
At  the  time  of  the  Beformation  the 
Chnrch  had  ceased  to  be  the  bearer 
of  the  intellectual  idea — she  was  no 
longer  a  hght;  but  the  great  reason 
of  her  faU  was  that  she  had  ceased 
to  be  the  salt  of  the  world.  The 
Chnrch  must  be  the  highest  em- 
bodiment of  the  moral  idea — if  she 
is  not  this  she  is  nothing.  At  the 
time  of  the  Reformation  her  theology, 
her  practices,  her  life,  were  utterly 
immoral ;  faithful  to  the  traditions 
of  Imperial,  Pagan  Rome,  she  had 
become  nothing  but  the  embodi- 
ment of  brute  force,  which  can  only 
be  maintained  at  the  point  of  the 
bayonet,  or  by  keeping  men  and 


women  in  a  state  of  degradation. 
Hence  Papal  Borne  trembled  to  her 
foundations;  she  had  become  one 
great  lie,  and  the  hurricane  that 
swept  over  Europe  gave  her  shock 
after  shock. 

This  moral  idea,  as  seen  in  tho  life 
of  Luther,  makes  the  great  charm, 
tho  intense  power,  the  exceeding 
fascination  of  his  name.  What  are 
they  to  us,  the  theological  formulas 
in  which  the  next  century  attempted 
to  stereotype  andto  justify  his  move- 
ment, or,  in  other  words,  to  undo 
the  Reformation  ?  Does  the  Church 
of  the  nineteenth  century  stand  or 
fall  by  the  dogmas  of  the  German 
Reformer  of  the  sixteenth  century? 
What  is  it  to  us  that  he  made  great 
mistakes,  that  he  was  oft  exceedingly 
intolerant,  that  his  Reformation 
partook  greatly  of  the  character  of 
a  political  revolution  ?  What  is  it 
to  us  that  he  gave  to  the  State  the 
power  of  which  he  had  deprived 
the  Pope?  The  grandeur  of  his 
Reformation  is,  that  it  was  a  move- 
ment coming  from  the  heart,  not 
from  the  head ;  a  cry  of  holy  in- 
dignation, not  of  cool  reasoning; 
a  movement  of  love,  not  of  calcula- 
tion. Spare  us  the  discussion  about 
the  material  and  formal  principles 
of  the  Reformation,  but  show  us 
that  man  crouching  in  his  cell,  and 
finding  no  word  wherewith  to  ex- 
press the  famine  of  his  soul ;  pray- 
ing, wrestling,  suffering,  dying  as 
verily  a  death  as  any  of  the  old 
martyrs;  rising  from  his  grave  as 
he  comes  in  contact  with  the  living 
Christ,  and  going  on  his  way  de- 
voting every  word  and  work  of  his 
life  to  the  service  of  his  Lord.  On 
this  moral  basis,  the  absence  of 
which  is  the  only  heresy,  shall  not 
the  Reformation — ^that  is,  the  his- 
toric evolution  of  the  Church — bo 
at  length  proceeded  with  ? 

Colbert  said,  '  Rome  rcculera  on 
elle  cessera  d'etre  chretienne.'  She 
has  not  done  so ;  she  has  shrunk 
from  all  reforms,  and  she  stands 
at  this  moment  before  the  eyes  of 


156 


^/bbruATj 


WITTENBERG   ANP 

THE   fifth   CEcumenical   Coanoii 
had  been  held  at  the  Late 
Church  and  brought  to  a  oonclr 
amidst  general  acclamations.  *" 
in  the  history  of  the  Chnr 
there  been  greater  reason 
gratnlation    than    on  th 
occasion.     The  power  r 
cesser  of  St.  Peter  had  1 
and  vindicated  as  sup 
in   spiritual    matte^ 
things  temporal 


Pope,  Louis  XII 

motto,  'Perdarr 

was  dead,  ar 

concluded    r 

Papal    Pov 

passed  th 

church,  « 

ConstaT 

twelfti 

Marc^ 

diet- 

the 

a 


i^' 


.Vjtf 


di/ler- 
Ppo- 


&aly  too 

Church 

to  be 

jream  of  a 

several 


-  "^o  the 

'  '■-  *^'arch  Catholic, 

.'^r^the  Congress  at 

'"^  C'O'on  against  the 

>  *.^i  dogmatism  and 

and  an    honest 

like  the 


"  ,    -^  ^./rrnaation. 

'  ^[h  University  of  Munich 
.\  ;:Wcst;  once  more  the 
^    •  %i^?^  ^  regenerate  the 


C'^-"''!\.ot  necessary  to  enter  into 
I    T^jfY  of  this  movement,  and 

f.V  '"^^y^ii   not  allow  us  to  make 

<:"^'='  thfltt  a  few  remarks.      The 

'?''^\loUko  of  the  movement  and 

^'"tlicr  leaders  are  well   known 

i*^  ^Cs  to  the  exertions  of  numerous    when  we  look  at  the  matter  mc 

^''•^.pondcnts.     It  is  curious  that    closely.     That  the    Old    Oatholi 


fho  second  meeting,  which  was  con- 
l!,ied  for  the  purpose  of  consoli- 
dating tlio  movement,  should  have 
been  ^icld  at  a  time  when  men's 
tliouglits  naturally  revert  to  the 
sixicl'ath  century.  It  is  curious, 
too,  to  find  German  Protestants 
not  only  present  at  the  delibera- 
tions, but  lifting  up  their  voices, 
and  giving  advice  and  encourage- 
ment. Tlie  awakening  of  German 
Nationality  has  had  most  likely 
soinethin5^  to  do  with  this.  The 
niighiy  impulse   that    made    men 


V  strifes  of  cen- 

,  r^B^  in  band  for 

J  common  Fatherland 

.ctinmon  foe,  may  have 

/irrk  to  inspire  the  hope 

-  \'/  cheological  hatreds    and 

j^>iical  divisions  of  past  cen- 

*  .^'  may  some  day  be  buried  in 

^^rion,  and  the  United  Fatherland 

•  ijre  one  bond  the  more  in  a  United 

'  CboTch.     If  the  Old  Catholic  Re- 

/ormation  can  effect  such  a  union, 

it  will  have  supplied  the  element  in 

whichLuther's  Reformation  signallj 

failed,  viz.  catholicity. 

The  movement  of  Munich  priests 
presents,  however,  rather  a  con- 
trast to  that  of  Wittenberg.  The 
resolutions  at  Cologne"  and  the 
theses  of  Wittenberg  have  little 
in  common.  There  is  no  doubt 
great  moral  earnestness  amongst 
the  leaders,  but  the  movement  is 
chiefly  of  an  intellectual,  theological 
character,  and  the  atmosphere  in 
which  it  lives  is  that  of  the  class- 
room. The  exceedingly  conserva- 
tive  character  of  the  movement,  the 
moderation  of  its  leaders,  the  in- 
tense  care  of  avoiding  anything  like 
revolution  or  schism,  the  lawyer- 
like  method  in  which  business  is 
transacted,  the  chief  place  given  in 
the  programme  to  organisation — all 
these  things  distinguish  it  from  the 
movement  of  Luther,  and  seem  at 
first  to  open  up  fair  prospects  of 
success.  But  this  seems  doubtful 
when  we  look  at  the  matter  more 

ics 


will  not  influence  the  Church  of 
Home  is  evident  from  the  history  of 
other  similar  movements.  Though 
they  may  say  with  Bossuet,  *  Sainte 
Eglise  romaine,  mere  des  eo^lises 
et  de  tons  les  fidMes,  Eglise  choisie 
de  Dieu  pour  nnlr  ses  enfants 
dans  la  memo  foi  et  dans  la  mme 
charit6,  nous  tiendrons  toujonrs  u 
ton  unite  par  le  fond  de  nos  cn- 
trailles,'  they  will  always  be  looked 
upon  as  schismatics,  and  will 
have  to  console  themselves  with 
saying,  *Non  schisma  fecimus  sed 


WUtenber^  and  Cologne, 


159 


There    remains,    then, 
*ve,  to  follow  th^    ex* 
'^Id  CathoHcs  of  Hol- 
oble  menvrho  faaye 
jr   having  confined 
to  three  points,  and 
^vititout   influence  npon 
watholics  or  Protestants,  or 
on  with  vigorous  reformation, 
j/is  to  draw  nearer  to  Protestant- 
ism, which  is  revoliatton.     But  of 
coarse  the  nearer  the  Old  Catholics 
get  to   Protestantosm,   the    more 
difficult  it  will  be  to  conciliate  the 
German  Roman  Catholics. 

Moderate  m^n  are  of  some  use  in 
the  world,  but  in  a  great  crisis  thej 
are  useless.  The*  Church  of  Borne 
hj  her  latest  der^pment  is  draw- 
ing near  to  a  crisis;  the  Churches  of 
^eBiefarmationhavingprbYedsignal 
^ilures  are  coming  fast  to  a  crisis. 
At  euch  a  moment  we  want  an  Eli- 


jah, not  an  Elisha  ;  a  Boanerges,  not 
a  Bam9»bas.  Such  a  one  will  no 
doubt  arise,  when  the  fulness  of 
time  is  oome.  Meanwhile  we  shall 
see,  most  likely,  a  good  many  re- 
actions in  the  Eomish  Church,  and 
more  or  less  yigorous  reformatory 
movements.  But  they  will  be 
powerless  to  avert  the  revolution 
which  threatens  us  from  all  sides. 
*  Hurrah,  the  dead  ride  quickly,* 
says  Lenore-^ead-  belief,  creeds, 
confessions,  systems,  churches  pass 
out  of  sight. 

What  then  remains?  The  centre 
of  the  Reformation,  Christ;  the 
spirit  of  the  Reformation,  devotion. 
Truth  remains,  ^aKpvoev  yeXaaava^ 
moving  on  calmly  and  patiently, 
subduing  the  world.  She  has  con- 
quered ;  she  is  victorious.  Let  us 
have  patience ;  she  is  eternal. 

A.  S. 


158 


WiUenherg  and  Cologne. 


[February 


Europe  as  the  most  rationalistic^- 
taking  the  word  in  its  real  sense 
—and  revolutionary  Church  of 
Christendom.  The  cou^s  d^Hglise 
are  numerous,  and  they  are  far 
from  being  coups  de  maitre.  She 
has  startled  Europe  by  the  publica- 
tion of  the  dogma  of  the  Lnmaculate 
Conception,  and  still  more  lately  by 
the  promulgation  of  the  doctrine  of 
Papal  Infallibility. 

All  England  has  applauded  to 
the  echo  the  indignant  protest 
wrung  frorti  the  lips  of  faithful 
Catholics,  which  found  their  ex- 
pression first  at  Munich,  and  after- 
wards at  Cologne.  The  true  Pro- 
f-estants  amongst  us  are  only  too 
d-eHghtcd  when  the  Roman  Church 
is  in  any  way  made  out  to  be 
Babylon  ;  some  of  us  dream  of  a 
reconciliation  between  the  several 
branches  of  the  Church  Catholic, 
whilst  olliers  hail  the  Congress  at 
Cologno  as  a  reaction  against  the 
spirit  of  intolerant  dogmatism  and 
moral  stagnation,  and  an  honest 
attempt  at  reformation.  Like  the 
Sorbonne,  the  University  of  Munich 
lifts  up  its  protest ;  once  more  the 
School  attempts  to  regenerate  the 
Church. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  enter  into 
the  history  of  this  movement,  and 
space  will  not  allow  us  to  make 
more  than  a  few  remarks.  The 
Von  Moltke  of  the  movement  and 
its  other  leaders  are  well  known 
thanks  to  the  exertions  of  nnmerous 
correspondents.  It  is  curious  that 
the  second  meeting,  which  was  con- 
vened for  the  purpose  of  consoli- 
dating the  movement,  should  have 
been  held  at  a  time  when  men's 
thoughts  naturally  revert  to  the 
.sixteenth  century.  It  is  curious, 
too,  to  find  German  Protestants 
not  only  present  at  the  delibera- 
tions, but  lifting  up  their  voices, 
and  giving  advice  and  encourage- 
ment. The  awakening  of  German 
Nationality  has  had  most  likely 
sometliing  to  do  with  this.  The 
mighfy  impulse   that    made    men 


forget  the  feuds  and  strifes  of  cen- 
turies, and  join  hand  in  hand  for 
the  defence  of  a  common  Fatherland 
against  a  common  foe,  may  have 
been  at  work  to  inspire  the  hope 
that  the  theological  hatreds  and 
ecclesiastical  divisions  of  past  cen- 
turies may  some  day  be  buried  in 
oblivion,  and  the  United  Fatherland 
have  one  bond  the  more  in  a  United 
Church.  If  the  Old  CatboUc  Re- 
formation can  effect  such  a  union, 
it  will  have  supplied  the  element  in 
whichLuther*s  Reformation  signally 
failed,  viz.  catholicity. 

The  movement  of  Munich  priests 
pres^its,  however,  rather  a  con- 
trast to  that  of  Wittenberg.  The 
resolutions  at  Cologne"  and  the 
theses  of  Wittenberg  have  httle 
in  common.  There  is  no  doubt 
great  moral  earnestness  amongst 
the  leaders,  but^  the  movement  is 
chiefly  of  an  intellectual,  theological 
character,  and  the  atmosphere  in 
which  it  lives  is  that  of  the  class- 
room. The  exceedingly  conserva- 
tive character  of  the  movement,  the 
moderation  of  its  leaders,  the  in- 
tense  care  of  avoiding  anything  like 
revolution  or  schism,  the  lawyer- 
like  method  in  which  business  is 
transacted,  the  chief  place  given  in 
the  programme  to  organisation — ^all 
these  things  distinguish  it  from  the 
movement  of  Luther,  and  seem  at 
first  to  open  up  fair  prospects  of 
success.  But  this  seems  douhtini 
when  we  look  at  the  matter  more 
closely.  That  the  Old  Catholics 
will  not  influence  the  Church  of 
Bome  is  evident  from  the  history  of 
other  similar  movements.  Though 
they  may  say  with  Bossuet,  *  Sainte 
Eglise  romaine,  mere  des  ^glises 
et  de  tons  les  fiddles,  £iglise  choisie 
de  Dieu  pour  unir  ses  enfents 
dans  la  memo  foi  et  dans  la  meme 
charit6,  nous  tiendrons  toujours  a 
ton  unite  par  le  fond  de  nos  cn- 
trailles,*  they  will  always  be  lookevi 
upon  as  schismatics,  and  \vill 
have  to  console  themselves  with 
saying,  *Non  schisma  fecimus  sid 


1873] 


Wittenberg  and  Cologne, 


159 


pa&nr.*  There  remaiiis,  then, 
the  altematiye,  to  follow  th^  ex- 
ample of  the  Old  Catholics  of  Hoi- 
land,  a  body  of  noble  men  who  hare 
kBpt  aloof  after  having  confined 
their  protest  to  three  points,  and 
who  are  witiioat  inflaenoe  upon 
Roman  Oatholics  or  Protestants,  or 
to  go  on  with  Tigorous  reformation, 
that  is  to  draw  nearer  to  Protestant- 
ism, which  is  tevoKatton.  But  of 
coarse  the  nearer  the  Old  Catholics 
get  io  nrotestantasm,  the  more 
difficolt  it  will  be  to  conciliate  the 
Gennsn  fiomaa  Catholics. 

Moderate  mien  are  of  some  use  in 
the  world,  but  in  a  great  crisis  they 
are  nneless.  The  Church  of  Bome 
bj  her  ktest  der^pment  is  draw- 
ing near  to  a  crisis;  the  Churches  of 
theReformstionhavingproYedsignal 
fiiiiares  are  coming  £E^t  to  a  crisis. 
At  each  a  moment  we  want  an  Eli- 


jah, not  an  Elisha ;  a  Boanerges,  not 
a  Barnabas.  Such  a  one  will  no 
doubt  arise,  when  the  fulness  of 
time  is  come.  Meanwhile  we  sha>ll 
see,  most  likely,  a  good  many  re- 
actions in  the  Bomish  Church,  and 
more  or  less  yigorous  reformatory 
moyements.  But  they  will  be 
powerless  to  avert  the  revolution 
which  threatens  us  &om  all  sides. 
*  Hurrah,  the  dead  ride  quickly,* 
says  Lenore-^ead  belief,  creeds, 
confessions,  systems,  churdies  pass 
out  of  sight. 

What  then  remainB?  The  centre 
of  ihe  Beformation,  Christ;  the 
spirit  of  the  Beformation,  devotion. 
Truth  remains,  BaKpvoEy  yeXatratra^ 
moving  on  calmly  and  patiently, 
subduing  the  world.  She  has  con- 
quered ;  she  is  victorious.  Let  us 
have  patience ;  she  is  eternal. 

A.  S. 


160 


JUSTICES  OF  THE  PEACE. 


[February 


THIS  is  an  age  in  which  it  may 
well  be  said  that  all  onr  an- 
cient institutions  are  on  their  triaL 
The  spirit  of  enquiry  is  abroad  and 
public  opinion  is  brought  to  bear 
upon  every  conceivable  question. 
It  is  not  sufficient  that  the  origin  of 
an  institution  is  surrounded  by  a 
mist  of  antiquity,  or  that  the  in- 
stitution is  venerable  by  age.  The 
hand  of  the  Vandal  regards  not 
such  qualifications,  while  the  utili- 
tarian measures  everything  by  rule 
and  compass,  and  the  reformer  is 
ever  ready  to  propose  improvements 
and  changes.  The  Church  has 
been  assailed,  the  Universities  have 
undergone  changes,  the  system  of 
land  tenure  is  threatened,  the  form 
of  srovemment  even  has  been  lately 
discussed  with  a  view  to  a  re- 
modelling. 

But  setting  aside  for  the  present 
the  discussion  of  such  very  im- 
portant topics,  it  may  not  be  al- 
together useless  to  enquire  into  the 
method  of  administering  justice  in 
this  country,  and  more  especially 
by  Justices  of  the  Peace.  'The 
great  unpaid'  as  these  are  fami- 
liarly called,  have  been  so  often 
found  fault  with  that  'Justices' 
justice '  has  become  proverbial. 
Of  course  it  cannot  bo  denied  that 
there  is  some  justification  for  this. 
The  fault  however  is  not  so  much 
that  of  the  individuals  who  occupy 
the  position  of  Justices  of  the  Peace 
as  it  is  of  the  system  under  which 
they  are  appointed  and  act. 

In  any  government  which  has  a 
pretence  to  stability,  the  conserva- 
tion of  the  peace  and  the  due  ad- 
ministration of  justice  must  ever  be 
considerations  of  primary  import- 
ance, for  without  them  no  order  can 
be  maintained  and  no  government 
can  ever  continue  to  exist.  From 
ihe  earliest  times  in  the  history 
of  this  country  the  duty  of  pro- 
serving  order  and  of  maintaining 


the  peace  has  devolved  upon  antho- 
rities  constituted  for  that  parpoee. 
In  the  more  remote  times  the 
interest  of  the  people  in  such  ap- 
pointments was  more  direct  than  it 
is  at  present.  King  Alfred  ^r- 
haps  of  all  othei*s  was  the  most 
instrumental  in  the  creation  of 
officers  to  protect  his  subjects  firom 
outrage  and  violence.  At  any  rate 
he  is  universally  credited  wiiJi 
having  been  the  promoter  if  not 
actually  the  originator  of  a  great 
number  of  wise  and  politic  pro- 
visions for  the  good  and  orderly 
governance  of  the  country.  Under 
him  the  kingdom  is  said  to  have 
been  first  divided  into  counties,  | 
hundreds,  tithings,  and  boroughs,  | 
and  the  system  adopted  for  mliDg 
such  divisions  by  making  erery 
man  as  it  were  a  security  amen- 
able to  the  law  for  the  good  be- 
haviour of  his  fellow-man  was — es- 
pecially at  the  time — eminently 
calculated  to  secure  the  inhabitants 
of  the  country  from  violence  and 
wrong  and  their  property  from 
spoliation.  And,  indeed,  if  credit 
may  be  given  to  popular  histories, 
the  state  of  the  country  under  such 
a  system  of  government  fully  proved 
the  sagacity  of  its  rulers  and  the 
efficacy  of  the  system  thus}  intro- 
duced. But  whether  or  not  the 
condition  of  the  country  was  so 
excellent  as  is  portrayed  in  the 
histories  alluded  to,  it  does  seem  to 
me  clear  that  when  a  man  has 
a  direct  interest  in  the  govern- 
ment of  his  country  he  has  a 
strong  inducement  to  do^  all  in  ^his 
power  to  see  that  no  wrong  is  done, 
and  that  justice  is  vindicated ;  and 
though  the  ancient  system  of  pledges 
would,  under  present  circumstance^ 
be  attended  with  difficulties,  and 
perhaps  with  our  increased  po- 
pulation impracticable,  still  the 
principle  is  an  excellent  one;  and 
it    may    very    well     be     doubted 


1873] 


Justices  of  the  Tea/ae, 


161 


wktlier  with  a  modification  to 
suit  the  present  state  of  things 
such  a  system  would  not  work  bet- 
ter and  be  more  fruitful  of  good  re- 
sults than  the  way  in  which  things 
are  conducted  in  our  day  is  cal- 
culated to  do.  The  claim  upon  the 
hundred  for  damages  caused  by  a 
iiiobor  riotous  gathering  is  the  only 
relic  now  existing  of  the  ancient 
system  of  frank  pledge  and  its  re- 


Sherife,  coroners,  tithingmen, 
borsholdeis,  and  other  officers  were 
elected  by  the  people  to  preserve 
the  peace  and  to  administer  and 
eiecate  the  laws  of  the  land  within 
the  limits  of  their  respective  juris- 
dictions. The  right  of  the  people 
thos  to  choose  their  own  officers 
afords  clear  indications  of  the 
democratic  character  of  the  early 
constitution  of  this  country";  and 
imtil  after  the  Conquest  the  wisdom 
or  justice  of  this  was  never  called 
in  question.  At  the  Conquest,  how- 
erer,  feadalism  with  its  aristocratic 
tendencies  was  introduced  in  full 
vigour,  and  gradually,  but  with 
a  strong  hand,  the  power  of 
the  sovereign  was  extended,  the 
rights  of  the  people  encroached 
npon  and  public  liberty  curtailed. 
This  was  only  effected  gradually, 
for  the  people  were  not  quite 
blind  to  their  own  interests,  and 
sometimes  their  remonstrances 
made  their  grasping  rulers  hesitate 
in  their  encroachments.  An  at- 
tempt was  evidently  made  to  take 
away  their  right  to  eldtjt  sheriffs, 
but  an  Act  was  passed  in  the  28  th 
year  of  the  reign  of  Edward  I.  (c. 
3$)  oonfinning  the  common  law 
and  enacting  *  that  the  people 
should  have  election  of  their  sheriffs 
in  every  shire  where  the  shrievalty 
is  not  of  fee,  if  they  list.'  This, 
however,  was  finally  taken  away  by 
the  9  Ed.  n.  c.  2  for  the  flimsy 
reason  that  the  elections  had  grown 
tamnltuous.  But  the  real  reason 
why— the  king  was  desirous  of 
having  the  appointment  of  sheriffs 

VOL.  vn.— HO.  XXXVITI.    HEW  SERIES. 


in  his  own  hands — is  evident.  The 
sheriffs  had  then  been  entrusted  with 
the  conduct  of  the  elections  of  Par- 
liamentary representatives,  and  it 
was  only  natural  that  the  sovereign 
should  be  anxious  to  have  some 
control  over  them.  In  the  same  way, 
but  a  little  later,  the  people  were 
deprived  of  their  right  to  elect  con- 
servators of  the  peace;  and  the  only 
ancient  officer  whose  election  now 
remains  in  the  hands  of  the  people 
is  the  coroner. 

Conservators  of  the  peace  were 
of  two  classes — ^those  who  were 
such  virtute  officii,  and  those  who 
were  wardens  or  conservators  ot 
the  peace  svmpliciier.  Of  the  for- 
mer class  nothing  need  here  be 
said.  The  latter  derived  their 
power  and  authority  either  by 
prescriptive  tenure,  or  election. 
The  right  to  elect  conservators 
of  the  peace  was  vested  in  the  people 
and  election  was  made  before  tiie 
sheriff  at  the  county  court.  Lam- 
bard  in  his  Eirenarclia  gives  copies 
of  the  writ  to  the  sheriff  command- 
ing him  to  proceed  with  the  election, 
of  the  writ  to  the  bailiff  to  warn 
the  freeholders  of  the  county  to  ap- 
pear at  the  county  court  to  make 
election,  and  also  of  the  writ  to  the 
conservator  so  elected  confirming 
his  election.  The  last  writ  re- 
cited crnn  vicecomes  et  commv/nitas 
ejusdem  comitatus  elegerit  vos  in  cus- 
todem  pacts  nostrce  ibidem.  These 
elections — the  frequency  of  which 
nowhere  appears — continued  to  be 
made  up  to  the  beginning  of  the 
reign  of  Edward  III.,  when  the 
general  Commission  of  the  Peace 
was  taken  into  his  own  hands  by 
the  king. 

Opinions  very  much  differ  as  to 
the  time  when  conservators  of  the 
peace  as  such  were  first  appointed. 
Polydore  Virgil  says  that  justices 
of  the  peace  had  their  beginning  in 
the  reign  of  William  the  Conqueror. 
Coke  thought  the  first  appoint- 
ment was  made  in  the  6  Edward  I. 
Mr.  Prynne  dates  their  origin  at 

Ji 


162 


Jtistice^  of  the  Peace. 


[Pebroary 


tlietime'tbe  agreement  was  made  be- 
tween Edward  HE.  and  his  Barons, 
and  Sir  Henry  Spelman  is  of  opinion 
that  tbey  were  not  made  nntil  the 
beginning  of  the  reign  of  Edward 
in.     J£  the  last  named  meant  the 
first  appointment  of  a  conservator 
of  the  peace  by  the  sovereign  by 
commission    he    was   right ;     but 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that   they 
were  elected  by  the  people  long 
before  that  date,  as  is  clearly  shown 
by  the  writs  in  Lambard's  work  to 
which  allusion  has  just  been  made ; 
and  beyond  a   doubt   even  before 
•  the  Conquest  these  popular  elections 
took  plaice.     In  fine  the  fact  that 
they  were  originally  elected  by  the 
suffrages  of  the  people  raises  the 
presumption  of  an  origin  earlier  in 
date    than   the    period  when    the 
feudal  system  was  introduced  into 
this  country.     This  right  of  elec- 
tion was  not  interfered  with  until 
it  was  partially  done  by  Edward  II. 
so  far  as  concerned  the  shrievalty, 
and  by  Edward  III.  so  far  as  re- 
garded the  appointment  of  the  con- 
servators of  the  peace.  In  the  latter 
case     there    was    no    substantive 
abolition  of  the  right,  but  a  mere 
assumption  of  powers  by  the  king 
into  his  own  hands,  and  an  infer- 
ential abrogation  of  all  conflicting 
rights.    The  reason  why  Edward  II. 
took  to  himself  the  power  of  ap- 
pointing sheriffs  has  already  been 
given  ;  and  the  reason  why  Edward 
III.  is  supposed  to  have  thought 
the  appointment  by  himself  of  con- 
servators  of  the   peace  necessary 
was  for  the  purpose  of  suppressing 
any  commotions  which  might  arise 
consequenji    on   the    deposition    of 
Edward  II.  and  of  stifling  any  dis- 
cussion as  to  the  justice  or  injustice 
of  seemingly  so  ugly  a  measure. 
As     elections     would     bring    the 
people   together  it  was  inevitable 
that  such  an  opportunity  to  discuss 
recent  events  would  not  be  lost, 
and  as  it  was  highly  probable  that 
the  general  verdict  on  the  deposition 
of  the  late  king  would  be  unfavour- 


able to  himself,  Edward  III.  deemed 
it  a  wise  precaution  for  his  own 
safety  to  put  an  end  to  these  popular 
gatherings ;  and  so  that  by  selecting 
his  own  creatures  to  maintain  thie 
peace,  the    stability    of  his  own 
sovereignty     might     be    secured. 
Thus  the  people  were  defrauded  of 
a  right  hitherto  indisputably  theirs, 
and  since  this  high-handed  policr 
of  Edward  the  Third  the  power  of 
appointing  justices  of  the  peace  has 
been  exercised  by  the  Crown  alone. 
At  first  there  seems  to  have  heen 
no  limit  to  the  number  of  the  war- 
dens  or  keepers  of  the  peace  ap- 
pointed by  the  King's  Commission. 
The  Statute  1 8,  Edward  111,0.2, 
required  two    or    three    in  even- 
county.     Sixteen  years  later— thl'i 
number,    probably,     having    been 
found  insiificient — it  was  ordainpi 
by  the  34  Edward  III.,  c.  i,  that 
one  lord,   with   three  or    four  of 
the  best  reputation  in  the  county 
together  with  men  learned  in  the 
law,  should  bo  assigned  for  keeping 
the  peaoe.     The  office  being  one  of 
considerable    importance,     and  of 
no    little   honour,   and  men  being 
then  as  now  ambitious,  this  num. 
her  was   soon    exceeded,  and  the 
increase  was  so  great  that  it  was 
deemed   expedient   to   curtail   ihe 
number,  and  this  was  done  by  the 
Statute    12,    Richard    II.,    c.    10, 
which  limited  the  number  to  six  in 
each  county,  besides  the  justices  of 
assize  and  certain  lords  created  by 
Parliament.     Afterwards   this  was 
increased  to  eight  by  the  Statute  14, 
Richard  11.,  c.  11.     These  statutes 
do  not  appear  to  have  ever  been 
repealed — at  any  rate  not  specifi- 
cally— but  there  is  no  doubt  they 
have  become   quite  obsolete,   and 
there  is  now  no  restriction  what- 
ever as  to  the  number  which  may 
be  assigned  on  the  commission  of 
the  peace  in  any  county. 

The  power  of  making  justices  of 
the  peace  is  vested  in  the  sove- 
reign ;  but  it  is  needless  here  to 
say  that  an  appointment  is  never 


1878] 


Justices  of  the  Peace. 


163 


made  hj  the  sovereign  personaUj-. 
Virtaallj  the  Lord  Chancellor,  as 
Keeper  of  the  Great  Seal,  has  the 
assignmeiit   entirely    in    his    own 
bands.    And  instead  of  the  country 
having  a  voice  in  the  nomination  of 
persons   for   the  office,    the  only 
reconunendation  required  and  the 
only     reoommendation     generally 
receiTabk,  is  a  nomination  by  the 
Lord  Lieatenant  of  the  connty  to 
the   Lord  Chancellor,   wherenpon 
the  comimssion  is  made  oat,  as  a 
roles,  as  a  matter  of  course.     In- 
deed, not  only  have  the  people  no 
voice  in  the  nomination,  but  it  has 
happened  that  where  tbe  people  felt 
strongly  against  the  appointment 
of  an  individual  as  justice  of  the 
peace  and  memorialised  the  Lord 
Chancellor,  the  latter  considered  it 
bisdniy  ioplease  the  Lord  lieutenant 
rather  than  to  grant  the  petition  of 
the  people.     It  is  difficult  to  ascer- 
tam  how,  when,  or  wherefore  this 
privilege  of  nominating  persons  as 
jusUceB  of  the  peace  came  to  be 
exercised  by  the  Lord  Lieutenant, 
whose  office  is  more  of  a  militaiy 
nature  than  civil,  and  certainly  a 
much  more  modem  one  than  that  of 
justice  of  the  peace.     There  can, 
however,  be   no   question  that   it 
gives  immense  power  and  influence 
to  Lords  Lieutenant ;  and  consider- 
ing that  most  of  these  are  promi- 
nent and  zealous  members  of  either 
of  the  two  great  political  parties 
and  often,  if  not  generally,  members 
of  either  of  the  Houses  of  Parha- 
nient;  and  considering  how  high 
political  feelings  run  sometimes  in 
connties  and   that  the  Lord  Lieu- 
tenant holds  his  position  for  life,  it 
is  not  exactly  a  matter  of  surprise 
to  find  political  bias  in  very  strong 
reHef  in   these   nominations — and 
the  magistracy  of  a  county  often  of 
a  very  marked  type — either  very 
bine  or  very  red,  in  strict  unison 
irith  the  political  party  to  which 
the  Lord  Lieatenant  may  belong. 
Chqoeism  also  is  very    powerful, 
^bny  men  pre-eminently  qualified 


are  often  conspicuous  by  their  ab- 
sence from  the  commission  of  the 
peace,  because  they  happen  to  differ 
in  politics  from  the  Lord  Lieutenant, 
or  are  not  on  the  best  terms  with  a 
clique  of  which  the  latter  forms  the 
centre,  or  care  not  to  trouble  them- 
selves in  getting  their  claims  sub- 
mitted to  the  Lord  Chancellor, 
while  in  almost  every  commission 
there  are  numbers  of  persons  who 
are  there  simply  on  account  of  their 
Whiggism  or  Toryism,  as  the  case 
may  be,  and  because  of  their  posses- 
sions. 

This  leads  us  to  the  consideration 
of  the  qualifications  necessary  for 
a  justice  of  the  peace.  The  first 
statute  for  the  assignment  of  war- 
dens of  the  peace  (as  justices  were 
then  called) — i  Edward  III.,  statute 
2,  c.  1 6 — required  such  as  were 
appointed  should  be  'good  men 
and  lawful,  which  be  no  maintainers 
of  evil,  or  barretours  in  the  coun- 
try.' Later  statutes  of  the  same 
reign  required  them  to  be  of  the 
best  reputation  and  the  most  sub- 
stantial in  the  county;  and  the 
13  Bichard  11.,  statute  i,  c.  7,  or- 
dained that  justices  of  the  peace 
should  then  be  made  of  new  in  all 
places,  because,  it  is  presumed,  some 
names  had  crept  into  the  com- 
mission that  were  not  deemed 
quahfied  for  the  office,  and  these 
were  to  be  made  of  the  most  suffi- 
cient knights,  esquires,  and  men  of 
the  law.  It  was  not,  however,  until 
the  eighteenth  year  of  the  reign  of 
Henry  VI.  that  a  fixed  property 
qualification  was  finally  determined 
upon.  The  eleventh  chapter  of  the 
statutes  passed  in  that  year,  after 
reciting  that  by  various  earlier 
statutes  it  had  been  ordained  that 
in  every  county  should  be  assigned 
of  the  most  worthy  of  the  same 
counties  to  keep  the  peace,  &c.,  but 
that  notwithstanding  there  had 
crept  into  the  commission  'some 
of  small  having  (petit  avoir)  by 
whom  the  people  will  not  be  go- 
verned nor  ruled,  and  some  for  tl^ir 

N  2 


164 


Justices  of  the  Peace. 


[February 


necessity  do  great    extortion  and 
oppression  npon  the  people  whereof 
great  inconvenience    be   likely  to 
rise  daily  if  the  King  thereof  do 
not  provide   remedy/  and  having 
farther  recited  that  the  King  was 
willing  against  such  inconveniences 
to  provide  remedy,  ordained  :  *  That 
no  justice  of  the  peace  within  the 
realm  of  England  in  any  county 
shall  be  assigned  or  deputed,  if  he 
have  not  lands  or  tenements  to  the 
value  of  2oZ.  by  the  year.*     There 
was,  however,  this  further  proviso, 
'  that  if  there  be  not  sufficient  per- 
sons, having  lands  and  tenements  to 
the  value  aforesaid,  learned  in  the 
latv  and  of  good  governance  within 
any  such  county,   that   the    Lord 
Chancellor  of  England  for  the  time 
being  shall  have  power  to  put  other 
discreet  persons,  learned  in  the  law, 
in  such  commissions  though  they 
have  not  lands  or  tenements  to  the 
value    aforesaid.'      The    property 
qualification  thus  rendered  neces- 
sary reciained  unaltered  until  the 
5  George  II.,  cap.   i8,  which  en- 
acted that  no  justice  of  the  peace 
should  be  appointed  who  had  not  a 
freehold  or  copyhold  estate  to  and 
for  his  own  use  in  possession  for 
life,  or  for  some  greater  estate  either 
in  law  or  equity,  or  an  estate  for 
years  determinable  on  a  life  or  lives, 
or  for  a  certain  term  originally  cre- 
ated for  twenty-one  years  or  more 
of"  the  clear  yearly  value  of  looZ. 
over  and  above  what  will  satisfy 
and  discharge  all  incumbrances  af- 
fecting   the     same.      By    the    18 
George   II.,  cap.    20,  which  is  the 
Act  at  present  in  force  (subject  to  a 
partial  repeal  by  an  Act  of  Parlia- 
ment passed  in  1871  to  which  refe- 
rence will  hereafter  be  made),  the 
same  qualification  is  rendered  ne- 
cessary :  but  with  this  addition  or 
modification,  that  any  persons  en- 
titled to  an  immediate  reversion  or 
remainder  in  lands,  &c.  of  the  value 
of  300Z.  a  year  may  be  assigned  on 
the  commission  of  the  peace.     An 
oath,  as  prescribed  by  the  Act  last 


referred  to,  to  this  effect  must  be 
made  by  every  person  on  qualif jing 
himself  as  a  justice,  and  if  anyone 
acts  without  this  qualification,  he 
is  liable  to  a  penalty  of  lool.,  and 
the  proof  of  the  qualification  l< 
made  to  lie  on  the  defendant.  Thus 
it  has  come  to  pass  that  a  mere 
property  qualification — without  any 
regard  to  a  special  knowledge  of 
the  duties  of  the  office  or  even 
possession  of  common  sense — is  all 
that  is  now  required  to  enable  a 
person  to  occupy  one  of  the  most 
important  offices  in  the  country,  to 
become  an  administrator  of  the 
law  and  an  arbiter  of  the  liberties 
of  the  people.  It  is  indeed  a  most 
remarkable  thing  that  in  a  conntrr 
like  this,  so  proud  of  its  freedom 
and  liberties,  and  so  boastful  of  the 
excellence  of  its  laws — a  mere  pro- 
perty  qualification — ^the  possession 
of  so  many  broad  acres  and  friend- 
ship with  an  irresponsible  offici&l 
like  the  Lord  Lieutenant — should 
be  all  that  is  necessary  to  enable  a 
man  to  become  a  judge  over  his 
fellow-men. 

It  was  not  always  so.  Our  ances- 
tors  were  in  this  respect  more  saga- 
ciousthan  we  are.  The  whole  tenonr of 
the  ancient  law  was  most  decidedlr 
in  favour  of  the  qualificationof  lean- 
ing, and  a  knowledge  of  the  laws  of 
the  land  was  deemed  necessary. 
When  the  right  of  election  was 
vested  in  the  people,  of  course  every 
precaution  was  taken  to  appoint 
the  fittest  men  for  such  an  im- 
portant office,  or  if  not,  the  people 
had  only  themselves  to  blame.  iJid 
when  the  sovereign  took  the  matter 
into  his  own  hands  the  public  weal 
and  interest  was  at  any  rate  so  far 
studied  that  mere  wealth  and  md 
fluence  were  not  sufficient  qu&lij 
fications  for  the  office  of  justice  ofl 
the  peace.  In  all  the  early  com- 
missions there  were  sages  of  tha 
law  assigned.  The  18  Edward  EI., 
st.  2,  c.  2,  which  enacted  that  twd 
or  three  of  the  best  of  reputation  vt 
every  county  should  be  assigned 


1873] 


Justices  of  tlie  Peace. 


165 


keepers  of  the  peace  by  the  king's 
commisflion,  took  care   to  provide 
.tbat  the  determining  of  felonies 
and  trespasses    done    against   the 
peace  in  the  same  oonnties  shonld 
be  done  hy  the  same  loith  other  wise 
ami  learned  in  the  law.     These  wise 
men,  learned  in  the  law,  were  not 
mere  assessors  or  clerks  bat  were 
in  the  commission,   and    without 
them  no  cases   of  the  higher   or 
graver  class  could  be  dealt  with  or 
disposed  of.     The  34  Edward  EQ., 
c.  I,  also  required  some  men  learned 
in  the  lair  to  be  joined  in  the  com- 
mission in  every  county,  together 
with  one  lord  and  three  or  four  of 
the  most  worthy  in  the  shire.     By 
the  17    Rich.   11.,   c.    10,   it  was 
specifically  enacted  that  in  every 
commission  of  the  peace  through- 
oat  the  realm,  two  men  learned  in 
the  law,  of  the  same  county  where 
such  commission  should  be  issued, 
shonld  he   assigned    to    go     and 
proceed  to  the  deHverance  of  thieves 
and  felons  as  often  as  should  be 
deemed  expedient ;  and  the   same 
tender  care  for  the  due  administra- 
tion of  justice  is  manifestly  clear 
from  the    whole   tone   of   the    18 
Henry    VI.,     c.     11 — indeed    the 
only  construction  which  the  last- 
named    Act    is     reasonably      ca- 
pable of  is,  that  though  it  required 
a  property  qualification,    such    a 
qaab'fication  alone  was  not  sufficient, 
but   was    to    be   united   in  every 
person  nominated  to  the  office  with 
the  higher  qualification  of  an  ac- 
quaintaDce  with  the  laws  which  as 
justice  of  the  peace   he  would  be 
called  upon  to   administer.      The 
earher  statutes  do  not  convey  this 
idea  so  distinctly  as  the  last-named 
Act,  but  it  was  always   held   ne- 
3essary  that   a  certain  number  of 
men  skLUed  in  the  law  should  be 
Included     in    every     commission, 
rhey  formed  what  was  called  the 
Jnomm.      Two  justices  were   ne- 
%8sary  to  determine  all  the  more 
mportant  cases  in  ancient  times, 
md  of  the  two  in  every  case  one 


was  bound  to  be  of  the  Quorum — 
thus  affiDrding  a  guarantee  that  the 
decision  in  every  case  would  be  ac- 
cording to  the  law  of  the  land  and 
not  according  to  the  whim  or  caprice 
of  an  ignorant  j  ustice .  Lambard  in 
his  Eirenarcha,  to  which  allusion  has 
already  been  made,  says  that  *  those 
of  the  Quorum  were  wont  (and  not 
without  just  cause)  to  be  chosen 
especially  for  their  knowledge  in 
the  laws  of  the  land  ;  *  and  further, 
in  the  quaint  style  of  the  period,  he 
justifies  this  :  — '  For,  albeit  a 
discrete  person  (not  conversant 
in  the  studie  of  the  lawes)  may 
sufficiently  follow  sundrie  par- 
ticular directions  concerning  this 
service  of  the  peace,  yet  when 
the  proceeding  must  be  by  way  of 
presentment  upon  the  evidence  of 
witnesses  and  the  oaths  of  jurors 
and  by  the  order  of  hearing  and 
determining  according  to  the 
straight  rule  and  course  of  law,  it 
must  be  confessed  that  learning  in 
the  lawes  is  so  necessary  a  light, 
as  without  the  which,  all  the  labour 
is  but  groping  in  the  darke,  the 
end  whereof  must  needes  be  errour 
and  dangerous  falling.* 

Lambard  pubUshed  his  work  over 
two  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago, 
and  it  must  be  confessed,  if  we 
consider  how  matters  have  since 
changed,  that  there  has  been  a  *  dan- 
gerous falling ;  *  for  since  his  day 
the  Quorum,  though  existing  in 
name  up  to  a  session  or  two  ago, 
no  longer  existed  in  reality,  and  no 
guarantee  whatever  remained  that 
they  of  the  Quorum  were  in  any 
way  whatever  acquainted  with  the 
laws  they  had  to  administer.  In- 
deed the  contrary  was  the  fact ;  for 
of  late  the  practice  was  to  name  all 
in  the  commission  of  the  peace 
simply  in  the  first  instance  and 
to  name  them  over  again  as  of 
the  Quorum  omitting  from  the 
latter  list  one  or  two  names  for  the 
sake  of  appearance.  How  this  came 
about  it  is  difficult  to  understand, 
but  with  the  laxity  which  generally 


166 


Justices  of  the  Peace.  ^ 


[February 


permeates  a  system  in  itself  faulty, 
it  is  very  easy  for  matters  from  bad 
to  become  worse.  And  now  even 
the  semblance  of  the  Qnorum  is 
gone.  By  an  Act  passed  two  Ses- 
sions ago  (introduced  by  the  present 
Lord  Chancellor)  the  Quorum  is 
entirely  swept  away  and  all  magis- 
trates are,  by  their  commission, 
equal  and  have  the  same  powers. 

It  is  thus  seen  that  in  earlier 
times  every  precaution  was  taken 
that  only  men  duly  qualified  should 
be  appointed,  while  with  us  who 
live  in  better  and  more  enlightened 
times  no  precaution  whatsoever  is 
deemed  necessary  so  long  as  a 
man  has  the  requisite  property 
qualification.  It  might  be  fancied 
that  an  improved  public  opinion, 
aided  by  an  intelligent  and  indepen- 
dent Press,  would  not  have  re- 
mained so  long  without  having 
effected  a  much  needed  change  in 
this  important  matter — a  change 
which  should  at  any  rate  place  us 
in  as  good  a  position  as  our  remote 
ancestors.  And  it  is  very  strange 
that  the  only  measure  of  late  which 
had  for  its  object  any  improvement 
in  this  respect  elicited  no  mark  of 
public  approbation,  indeed,  was  not 
even  discussed,  but  fell,  still-bom, 
as  it  were,  from  its  promoter's 
hand  and  was  withdrawn  after  a 
first  reading.  Reference  is  made 
to  the  Earl  of  Albemarle's  Bill  in 
1870  for  repealing  the  Act  requiring 
property  qualification,  a  BiQ  excel- 
lent and  fair  in  its  principle, 
so  far  as  it  went,  but  falling 
far  short  of  the  requirements  of 
the  case.  It  would  of  course  re- 
move a  gross  injustice  but  it  would 
not  secure  a  much  better  adminis- 
tration of  justice. 

It  is  very  difficult,  almost  impossi- 
ble, to  account  for  the  public  indif- 
ference in  a  matter  of  such  moment. 
Many  scandals  and  gross  acts  of 
injustice,  popularly  known  as  'Jus- 
tices' justice,'  have  from  time  to 
time  been  exposed  in  the  papers, 
but  beyond  raising  a  passing  angry 


controversy,  such  exposures  have  as 
yet  produced  no  fruit.  No  action 
has  been  taken  by  the  public  in  the 
matter.  Surely  it  is  full  time  that 
some  able  and  persevering  pohtician 
should  take  this  subject  up  with  a 
determination  to  effect  a  change 
which  would  give  greater  security  to 
the  subject.  Besides,  the  times  are 
very  different  to  what  they  were. 
Originally  the  jurisdiction  of  jus- 
tices of  the  peace  was  very  limi- 
ted, while  now  they  are  enabled 
summarily  to  dispose  of  almogt 
every  case  that  can  possibly  be 
brought  before  them.  If,  there- 
fore, in  a  more  unenlightened  age 
only  men  having  special  knowledge 
of  the  law  were  appointed  as  jus- 
tices— or  at  any  rate  it  was  neces- 
sary in  trying  every  case  of  felony, 
that  one  of  the  justices  should  be  ac- 
quainted with  the  law— and  this  at 
a  time  when  their  duties  were  not 
by  any  means  so  great,  nor  their 
jurisdiction  by  any  means  so  ex- 
tensive, as  at  present — if  under 
such  circumstances  such  guarantees 
were  deemed  necessary  to  secure  the 
public  confidence,  how  far  more  ne- 
cessary is  it  now  that  only  qualified 
men  should  be  appointed  when  the 
jurisdiction  of  justices  of  the  peace 
at  Quarter  Sessions  falls  scarcely 
short  in  criminal  matters  of  tk 
jurisdiction  of  the  Judges  of  AssiK, 
and  when  so  very  large  a  propor- 
tion of  our  criminal  cases  are  triable 
and  constantly  tried  by  the  former, 
both  atPettyandat  Quarter  Sessions. 
I  doubt  whether  among  the  insti- 
tutions of  this  country — varied  as 
they  are — there  is  anything  so  ut- 
terly indefensible  as  the  presem 
system  of  appointing  justices  of  the 
peace.  It  is  true,  in  very  populous 
counties  there  are  generally,  where 
practicable,  appointed  as  Chaimian 
of  Quarter  Sessions  gentlemen  who 
as  barristers  are  supposed  to  have 
had  a  legal  training ;  but  in  many 
instances  they  are  barristers  onljk 
name,  totally  ignorant  of  even  the 
elementary  principles  of  law ;  while 


IS7-^ 


Justices  of  the  Peace. 


167 


in  many  other  counties  there  are 
Qiairmeii  who  are  lawyers  neither 
in  name  or  in  fact,  and  who,  '  good 
bonest  men,'  make  no  pretence  that 
they  are  either.     We  have  not  one 
word  to  saj  against  these  men,  who 
no  doubt  often  feel  acutely  their  own 
anonmloas  position.      We  hare  not 
the  slightest  doubt  they  are  con- 
sdentious,  and,  so  far  as  the  light 
that  is  in  them,  painstaking  men, 
whose  aim  and  endeavour  is  to  ad- 
minister justice  fairly  and   impar- 
tially; bnt  that  they  often  commit 
graTe  errors  cannot  be  denied.   And 
this  has  brought  about  a  want  of 
confidence    on    the     part     of    the 
pablic  which  is   fatal   to  the  due 
administration  of  justice.     Still   it 
is  not  of  the   men   we   complain. 
It  is  not  their  conduct  we  impugn, 
for  it  would  be  absurd  to  expect 
anything  better.     But  it  is  the  sys- 
tem which  permits  men  so  incom- 
petent to  sit  as  expounders  of  law 
and  as  administrators   of  justice. 
And  by  the  term  incompetent  it  is 
not  intended  to  disparage  them  in 
the  least,  or  to  insinuate  that  they 
are  men  of  inferior  calibre — which 
in  the  majority  of  cases  would  be 
untrue;  but  it  would  be  strange  if 
persons  who  have  not  systematically 
studied  law,  or  accustomed  them- 
selves to  weigh  evidence,  were  com- 
petent to  unravel  the  tangled  skeins 
of  legal   difficulties    which    often 
puzzle  men  who  have  devoted  their 
lives  to  its  study.     In  answer  to 
this  it   is  maintained    that    with 
the  present  property  qualification 
we  secure    the    services     of    the 
wealthy,  most  of  whom  have  been 
trained  at  the  Universities — all  of 
whom  have  received  a  liberal  edu- 
cation.   But  what  has  liberal  educa- 
tion to  do  with  it?     The  law  is  a 
science  so  peculiar  that,  unless  the 
jiiind  has  been  thoroughly  trained 
in  its  study,  the  chances  are  that 
anyone  attempting  to  dabble  with 
it  will   be    constantly    'groping,* 
as  Lamhard  has  it,  *  in  the  dark,' 
and  eventually  come  to  grief.    And 


tQ  contend  that  hecaiise  a  man  has 
had  a  liberal  education  he  is  capa- 
ble of  expounding  our  law — ^with  all 
its  niceties  and  all  its  technicalities 
— is  as  absurd  as  it  would  be  to  con- 
tend that  because  a  theologian  has 
received  a  liberal  education  he  is 
quite  as  competent  as  an  astronomer 
to  expound  the  laws  which  govern 
the  heavens. 

No  one  is  now  disqualified  from 
being  in  the  commission  of  the 
peace  if  he  is  in  possession  of  the 
necessary  propertj'-  qualification. 
No  matter  what  may  be  oik/s  call- 
ing or  profession.  But  curiously 
enough,  up  to  the  very  last  Session 
of  Parliament,  solicitors  and  proc- 
tors— the  very  men  one  would  think, 
who  would  be  best  qualified  for  the 
oflice  were  ineligible  for  the  magis- 
tracy. Their  incapacity  was  a 
statutory  enactment  dating  back  to 
the  first  statute  of  George  11.,  to 
which  reference  has  already  been 
made.  The  grounds  why  they 
were  rendered  ineligible  are  mani- 
fest. By  an  Act,  however,  passed 
in  the  Session  of  Parliament  of  187 1 
this  exception  has  been  removed; 
and  with  the  restriction  that  no 
solicitor  who  is  in  the  commis- 
sion, or  his  partner  are  to  practise 
in  the  courts  of  the  district  in 
which  he  may  be  assigned  as  a 
justice,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
the  Act  in  question  will  have  a 
most  salutary  and  beneficial  influ- 
ence inasmuch  as  it  will  secure  the 
-appearance  on  the  bench  of  men 
trained  to  the  work.  ^ 

Though  now,  therefore,  all  ex- 
ceptions have  been  removed,  still 
there  are  callings  which  subject 
those  belonging  to  them  who  are  in 
the  commission  of  the  peace  to 
certain  restrictions.  And  this  on 
the  ground  of  interest.  One  of 
the  fundamental  maxims  of  our 
law  is  that  no  one  may  be  a  judge 
in  his  own  cause  (nemo  debet  ease 
judex  in  propria  causd),  and  it  is  in 
furtherance  of  this  excellent  maxim 
that  a  class  interest  is  occasionally 


168 


Justices  of  the  PecLce. 


[Febmaiy 


made  synonymous  with  an  indi- 
Yidnal  interest.  For  instance,  no 
o-wner  of  a  factory  can  sit  as  a  jus- 
tice to  try  a  case  arising  nnder  the 
Factory  Acts.  No  owner  of  a  mine 
can  hear  a  case  arising  nnder  the 
Mines  Inspection  Acts.  No  miller 
or  baker  may  try  cases  nnder  the 
Bread  and  Flour  Act.  Under  the 
Truck  Act  there  are  disqualifica- 
tions. No  brewer,  distiller,  or  malt- 
ster can  as  a  magistrate  take  a  part 
in  the  granting  of  licences  to  public- 
houses.  In  some  instances  the  dis- 
qualificaiion  is  made  to  extend  to 
persons  who  are  allied  by  blood  or 
marriage,  or  in  partnership  with 
persons  so  prohibited.  Lord  West- 
bury  while  he  was  Lord  Chancellor 
is  said  to  have  expressed  an  opinion 
that  brewers  should  not  be  in  the 
commission  of  the  peace  at  all, 
because  of  the  influence  they  might 
bring  to  bear  on  the  granting  of 
licences  to  public-houses — the  source 
of  the  greater  part  of  the  crime  of 
the  country ;  and  during  the  time  he 
held  the  Great  Seal  no  brewer,  we 
believe,  was  made  a  justice  of  the 
peace.  No  other  chancellor  has 
gone  the  length  of  Lord  West  bury 
in  this  respect,  but  it  is  evident 
that  our  legislature  looks  with  a 
certain  degree  of  distrust  on  the 
influence  which  men  of  certain 
callings  may,  as  justices,  exercise 
on  the  trial  of  cases  connected  with 
their  trades  or  avocations.  But  the 
principle  is  not  carried  out  to  any- 
thing like  its  full  extent.  For  in- 
stance, the  great  majority  of  county 
justices  are  large  landed- proprietors 
and  almost  invariably  strict  pre- 
servers of  game;  still  they  are 
allowed  to  adjudicate  on  all  ques- 
tions of  poaching  or  trespassing  in 
pursuit  of  game.  Of  course  the 
maxim  above  quoted  prevents  the 
prosecutor  from  sitting  as  judge — 
though  it  is  said  cases  have  occxuTcd 
where  even  this  equitable  maxim 
has  been  ignored.  But  is  it  not 
almost  as  bad  that  other  magis- 
trates who,  as  strict  game  preserv- 


ers in  a  particular  locality,  have  a 
direct  interest  in  putting  do-vm 
poaching  in  their  neighbourhood, 
should  be  allowed  to  try  poachers  ? 
Possibly  they  all  try  to  do  their 
duty  fairly  and  impartially ;  but  so 
long  as  human  nature  is  what  it  is, 
and  so  long  as  game  preserving  is 
protected  by  law,  the  decisions  of  a 
game-preserving  magistracy  will  be 
more  or  less  tainted  by  prejudice 
and  harshness.  The  game  laws  are 
utterly  indefensible,  and  their  con- 
tinuance is  no  credit  to  the  legisla- 
ture and  extends  crime,  but  while 
they  remain  in  force  we  should 
at  any  rate  endeavour  to  secure 
justice  which  will  be  above  sus- 
picion, and  this  may  well  be  de- 
spaired of  if  the  offender  is  tried 
by  a  game-preserving  fraternity. 
Mr.  Seeley  gave  notice  of  his  in- 
tention to  introduce,  at  the  last  Ses- 
sion of  Parliament,  a  Bill  to  trans- 
fer to  Judges  of  the  County  Courts 
the  juris£ction  now  exercised  hr 
justices  of  the  peace  in  criminal 
cases  under  the  Acts  relating  to 
game.  But  he  did  not  do  so.  This 
would  be  an  improvement,  though 
we  would  far  rather  see  the  total 
abolition  of  the  game  laws.  It 
may  be  contended  that  the  above 
argument  is  unsound,  and  that  t  he 
magistrates  who  happen  to  be  game- 
preservers  have  no  more  direct  in- 
terest in  putting  down  poachers  than 
magistrates  who  possess  any  other 
property  have  in  putting  down 
stealing,  and  that  there  is  the  same 
chance  of  a  fair  decision  when  a 
poacher  is  tried  as  when  a  thief  is 
the  subject  of  trial.  But  this  is 
mere  casuistry.  The  difference  is 
really  a  substantial  one.  It  will  1» 
at  once  manifest  to  anyone  who 
will  seriously  consider  the  subject. 
In  many  other  instances  which 
could  be  named  there  is  a  consider- 
able danger  of  the  failure  of  justice. 
Magistrates,  not  from  personal  in- 
terest, but  from  class  interest — ^which 
often  exercises  as  powerful  an  in£a- 
ence  over  the  mind  as  where  the 


1873] 


Justices  of  the  Peace. 


169 


indindnal  is  more  directlj  con- 
cerned—  are  sometimes  carried 
av&j  by  their  class  prejudices  to  do 
what  maj  be  not  strictly-  jnst. 

This  is,  however,  off  the  subject. 
Alltheseare  only  so  many  anomalies 
and  ineoDgnxities  in  a  system  utterly 
feulty,  and  even  if  they  were  removed 
would  in  fact  be  only  as  so  many 
patches.  And  it  is  very  question- 
able ii?hether  the  policy  of  patching 
a  system  so  much  at  variance  with 
the  tendencies  and  with  the  re- 
qniremeDts  of  the  age  is  desirable, 
and  whether  it  would  answer.  It 
might  silence  for  a  while  opposition 
to  the  system  ;  but  beyond  that,  it 
would  result  in  no  practical  good. 

^The  unpaid  magistracy,'  says 
Mr.  W.  R.  Greg,  a  very  moderate 
critic,  *is'  a  relic  of  past  days 
which  is  unsuitable  to  the  vastly 
enlarged  requirements  of  the  pre- 
sent .  .  .  The  gentlemen  who 
discharge  the  gravest  and  some- 
times most  difficult  function  of  the 
jodge,  are  nearly  all  untrained 
men.  If  lawyers,  they  are  so  only 
as  baring  nominally  been  called  to 
the  Bar,  or  having  attended  a  cir- 
cuit or  two  as  spectators.  They 
trust  to  their  common  sense  and 
their  natnral  feelings,  depend  upon 
their  clerk  for  the  announcement 
and  interpretation  of  the  law.  On 
the  whole  they  fall  into  fewer  er- 
rors and  give  fewer  questionable 
dedsions  than  could  be  expected 
.  .  .  and  it  is  only  in  rare 
cases  that  the  full  inadequacy  and 
anomaly  of  our  magisterial  arrange- 
ments are  brought  into  clear  light.' 

This,  at  any  rate,  is  taking  the 
most  temperate  view  of  the  matter. 
'  On  the  whole  they  fall  into  fewer 
errore  and  give  fewer  questionable 
decisions  than  could  be  expected  ! ' 
Why  should  Judges  be  expected  to 
give  any  questionable  decisions  ? 
Nothing  tends  so  much  to  shake  all 
faith  and  confidence  in  the  admin- 
istration of  justice  as  the  periodical 
c^qKWure  of  the  *  inadequacy  and 
anomaly  of  our  magisterial  arrange- 


ments '  bv  means  of  '  questionable 
decisions.  The  reign  of  Mr.  Jus- 
tice Shallow  and  of  Mr.  Nupkins 
has  been  long  enough.  The  pub- 
lic have  no  confidence  in  their 
decisions.  They  perhaps  satisfied 
the  requirements  of  a  ruder  age, 
but  are  quite  incompatible  with 
the  present  times ;  and  it  is  full 
time  that  the  subject  should  be 
thoroughly  considered  with  a  view 
to  a  remodelling.  In  no  other 
country  is  the  administration  of 
justice  left  to  the  tender  mercies 
of  untrained  and  unqualified  judges. 
In  no  other  country — despotic 
or  otherwise — ^would  such  a  sys- 
tem as  ours  be  tolerated.  The 
British  public  are  long-suf- 
fering and  patient,  not  by  any 
means  eager  for  changes ;  and 
to  this  is  due  the  fact  that,  in  this 
respect,  matters  stand  thus  in  the 
nineteenth  century.  It  is  quite 
clear  it  cannot  remain  so  much 
longer.  If  there  is  one  thing  cer- 
tain, it  is  the  fact  that  the  unpaid 
system  is  doomed — that  sooner  or 
later  it  must  give  way — unless  in- 
deed (a  contingency  by  no  means 
probable  however)  patriotism  in- 
duce qualified  lawyers  to  give  their 
services  gratuitously,  and  even  in 
that  case  the  existing  state  of  affairs 
must  cease  to  exist. 

The  only  remedy  for  the  evil  is 
the  appointment  of  stipendiary 
magistrates  throughout  the  coun- 
try. This  has  already  been  done 
in  the  metropolitan  districts,  and 
most  of  the  large  towns  throughout 
the  Kingdom  have  followed  the 
example.  All  our  stipendiary  ma- 
gistrates are  efficient  and  thorough- 
ly qualified  men — not  mere  nominal 
barristers,  but  carefully  selected 
from  the  number  of  those  actually 
practising  at  the  bar.  And  so 
w;ell  has  this  partial  change  an- 
swered, that  though  in  many  in- 
stances this  has  been  so  for  over 
thirty  years,  no  complaints  have 
been  made  and  no  fault  has  been 
found  with  their  decisions. 


168 


Justices  of  the  Peace. 


I'     i 


made  sjnoiijinous   with   an    indi- 
vidual interest.     For  instance,  no 
owner  of  a  factory  can  sit  as  a  jus- 
tice to  try  a  case  arising  ncder  the 
Factory  Acts.    No  owner  of  a  mine 
can  hear  a  case  arising  nnder  the 
Mines  Inspection  Acts.     No  miller 
or  baker  may  try  cases  nnder  the 
Bread  and  Flour  Act.     Under  the 
Truck  Act  there   are  disqualifica- 
tions.   No  brewer,  distiller,  or  malt- 
ster can  as  a  magistrate  take  a  part    t 
in  the  granting  of  licences  to  public- 
houses.     In  some  instances  the  dis- 
qualification is  made  to  extend  t 
persons  who  are  allied  by  blood 
marriage,  or  in   partnership   "   ' 
persons  so  prohibited.    Lord  ''        \ 
bury  while  he  was  Lord  Ch'  ^ 

is  said  to  have  expressed  a' ,    i^ 
that  brewers  should  not   jf* 

becaiifio  of  the  infiuen  .  -d,  and 

bring  to  Lear  on  tj^*  o  instantly 
licences  to  public-hi^  ^fis  before  a 
of  the  greater  pp  ^  he  cost  of  keep- 
the  country ;  ai^  ^^^  ia  not  inconside- 
held  the  Groa  ;,Lirijjjfti'i-^on  be  made 
belieTe,  was  y^^.^i  hills  ignored  where 
peace.  Nv;"^^^  magistrate  is  a  sti- 
g-onethe  ['^^d  the  n umber  ignored 
in  thia  ^S?  ordinary  coimty  magis- 
thafc  f  ^u^'^  eommittedi  it  may  well 
certF  ^  itnd^^  ^1^^^  tlje  question  of 
fefi*  #  ^iiJtl  be  mutb  reduced.  Be- 
m  <!f_  wL>  slirtll  not  require  a  very 
I*       0^ 


ers  in  a  particular  If 
direct    interest    if  ^ 
poaching  in  thf '|  ;| 
should  be  allo'^;?  ^  ? 
Possibly  the*^  1 1, 


duty  fairly  ^ 
long  as  h;  " 
and  so  ^'  \ 
proter  /  • 
gam-    y  t-  , 
mr  '  ■  :: ,/ ', 


i 


Ih. 

vm 
.  staf 
worl 
3  ei 
m  fai 
J  wcri 
peace 
ies  wen 
•f  counu 
.till  be  I 
ntalwork 
.  .1 " .  .     "  '    '  jrks  of  tk 

J  ;'  ;•  '  on    resemble  it- 

t:  ^  '  ounty    courts— only 

:  *eir    delegated    judicial 

On  the  whole  such  a  sys- 
would  work  most  admirably, 
,  ould  not  be  much  more  expensiu 
to  the  ratepayers  (if  at  all),  would 
secure  the  maintenance  of  the  peace. 
protect  life  and  liberty,  win  ^iie 
confidence  of  the  pubhc  in  the  im- 
partiality of  justice,  and  put  us  on  a 
level  in  this  respect  with  other 
countries.  We  have  refraiDed  from 
entering  into  detail  as  to  tlie  ma- 
chinery to  be  adopted — our  object 
has  been  to  show  that  we  are  now 
much  worse  off  than  our  acceston 
were,  that  a  change  is  desirabk, 
and  to  indicate  the  direction  ic 
which  this  i^eform  should  be  cv 
fected. 

J.  R.  P. 


"^^v^^^3^^ 


J 


171 


^TNATH  AND  HIS  WORSHIP. 


^ad,  but 

>f  him. 

rch- 


<^. 


^.A.-^ 


tP    <<?i» 


''^. 


"^'^ 


^ 


.ungs 
.oe.  The 
nero  can  be 
.adle  standard.  In 
asme  proportion  as  he 
.jied  bj  his  partisans  he  is 
'  bj  bis  opponents ;  and  the 
fsadon  of  his  virtues  on  the  one 
mk  18  accepted  by  the  other  as  a 
direct  cballoDge  to  enumerate  his 
vices. 

A  cnricms  illustration  of  this  has 
hely  been  afforded  bj  a  contro- 
icrsf  concerning  the  Hindoo  di- 
vinitr  Jagannath.  The  question, 
vlucb  at  first  related  to  the  mo- 
n%  or  immoralitj  of  his  worship, 
bas  at  length  been  transferred  to 
tlie  personal  character  of  the  god. 
Jagannath,  as  is  well  known,  has 
not  hitherto  borne  the  best  of  repu- 
tations; bat  mythic  immortals  have 
been  maligned  before  this  time,  and 
it  is  moie  than  probable  that  pos- 
teri^  Trill  reverse  the  verdict  which 
Anglo-Indians  have  been  wont  to 
pass  npon  <  Jagannath  and  his  car.' 
We  knoir  that  the  early  Christian 
ETangehsts  showed  considerable 
prejadico  as  well  as  temper  in  their 
treatment  of  the  Olympic  pantheon ; 
tbat  they  put  a  more  unfavourable 
coQstrociion  upon  the  characters  of 
its  members  than  was  warranted  by 
classic  scripture;  and  that  the 
^cal  systems  of  heathenism  re- 
ceived very  scanty  justice  at  their 


hands.  Our  Indian  missionaries 
have  frequently  laid  themselves 
open  to  the  same  censure  with  even 
less  excuse  in  these  days  of  liberal- 
ity than  the  men  who  laid  the  foun- 
dations of  our  faith   in  the  Dark 

■^es.  When  Ward,  the  venerable 
*ist  missionary  of  Serampore, 
^ed  his  great  work  upon  the 
literature,  and  mythology 
i.indoos,  he  gave  such  undue 
-iinence  to  the  obscener  parts  of 
.iieir  traditions  and  morals,  that 
Henry  Martyn  jocularly  suggested 
the  text,  *  And  the  dirt  came  out ' 
(Judges  iii.  22),  as  the  most  appo- 
site motto  that  could  be  found  for 
the  book. 

Some  allowance  is,  of  course,  to 
be  made  for  the  feelings  of  men 
who  pass  their  lives  in  a  hot  com- 
bat with  heathenism ;  and  it  could 
hardly  be  expected  of  ordinary 
mortals  that  in  such  a  position 
their  judgments  could  be  kept  alto- 
gether free  from  bias.  But  from 
the  prejudiced  and  illiberal  treat- 
ment of  another  faith  Christianity 
receives  no  assistance.  The  simple 
assertion  of  its  intrinsic  religious 
and  ethical  superiority  will  do  infi- 
nitely more  to  forward  the  mission- 
ary cause  than  captious  and  un- 
generous attacks  upon  the  Hindoo 
systems. 

A  brief  resmne  of  the  Jagannath 
controversy  will  throw  a  good  deal 
of  light  upon  modem  Hinduism  as 
well  as  missionary  work.  We  gene- 
rally suppose  ourselves  to  be  better 
acquainted  with  Jagannath  than  any 
of  the  other  Hindoo  deities.  '  Jug- 
gernaut's car '  is  familiar  to  thou- 
sands who  know  nothing  else  of 
Hindoos  and  Hinduism.  Sensa- 
tional stories  of  the  atrocities  prac- 
tised at  his  festivals,  of  devotees 
ground  to  dust  beneath  his  chariot 
wheels,  of  pilgrims  perishing  by  the 
ten  thousand  of  want  and  disease  at 
every  gathering  upon  the  plains  of 


172 


Jagannath  and  his  Worship. 


[Febmary 


Puri,  and  of  the  obscene  and  loath- 
some rites  nsed  in  solemnising  his 
worship,  have  long  since  been  worn 
threadbare.  From  what  we  know  of 
Hindoo  superstition  we  can  easily 
conceive  that  fanatics  wonld  be  mad 
enough  to  immolate  themselves  at 
the  shrine  of  Jagannath  in  the  hope 
of  a  certain  immortality;  we  can 
imagine,  too,  that  the  priests  wonld 
find  it  to  their  profit  to  encourage 
such  sacrifices.  But  the  incontest- 
able fact  that  from  the  acquisition 
of  Orissa  by  the  English  the  great 
seat  of  Jagannath's  worship  was 
kept  closely  under  the  surveillance 
of  our  officers,  and  that  Government 
exercised  an  intimate  interference 
with  the  management  of  the  shrine 
and  the  conduct  of  the  festivals,  is 
sufficient  to  show  that  these  stories 
are  grossly  exaggerated.  Had  self- 
immolation  at  Jagannath*s  festival 
been  as  notorious  as  alleged,  we 
cannot  doubt  that  it  would  have  been 
prohibited  by  a  special  Act  of  the 
Legislature  as  well  as  the  rite  of 
Sati.  The  revenues  of  the  shrine 
of  Puri  were,  moreover,  under  the 
control  of  Government  up  to  1849, 
and  too  much  depended  upon  their 
deference  to  the  opinion  of  the 
English  for  the  priests  to  become 
active  promoters  of  fanatical  suicide. 
But  the  mortality  from  other  causes 
was  quite  sufficient  to  make  the 
name  of  Jagannath  ominous.  In 
an  immense  concourse  of  pilgrims, 
not  unfi^equently  carrying  with  them 
the  germs  of  disease,  their  minds  as 
much  intoxicated  by  excitement  as 
their  bodies  are  physically  reduced, 
and  all  huddled  together  night  and 
day  in  a  miserable  little  town  upon 
a  low-lying,  malarious  strip  of  coast, 
epidemics  are  inevitable,  and  the 
loss  of  life  has  sometimes  been  suffi- 
ciently appalling.  But  the  pre- 
cautions taken  by  the  authorities 
now-a-days  reduce  the  risk  of  an 
epidemic  to  a  minimum.  The  other 
charge,  of  obscene  and  immoral 
practices^  seems  to  be  even  more 
captious/     Of   course,   in   gather- 


ings of  such  magnitude  as  the 
annual  melas  at  Puri,  Serampore, 
and  other  seats  of  Jagannath's 
worship,  excess  and  immorality  mast 
to  some  extent  occur ;  but  all  the 
reliable  evidence  has  hitherto  gone 
to  show  that  the  people  are  more 
decent  and  orderly  than  any  Eng- 
lish multitude  of  the  same  dimen- 
sions would  be.  From  a  personal 
observation  of  three  festivals  of 
Jagannath  at  Serampore,  in  the 
vicinity  of  Calcutta,  the  second 
seat  of  Jagannath's  worship,  the 
writer  has  no  hesitation  in  asserting 
that,  apart  from  the  feeling  that  the 
whole  ceremonial  is  essentiaUyidola- 
trous  and  barbaric,  there  is  nothing 
said  or  done  by  either  priests  or 
worshippers  that  need  ofiend  the 
taste  of  the  most  extreme  precisian. 
Jagannath  is  one  of  the  newest 
of  Hmdoo  deities.  He  belongs  to 
the  Krishnaic  cycle  of  divine  mani- 
festations, all  of  which  have  been 
developed  long  subsequent  to  the 
Vedic  age,  and  to  none  of  which  is 
a  high  antiquity  assignable.  After 
the  supernatural  has  been  elimi- 
nated, all  that  can  bo  gleaned  Irom 
tradition  regarding  Krishna  appears 
to  be  that  he  belonged  to  the 
Yadava  clan,  a  sept  of  the  great 
Aryan  family  but  lately  arrived  in 
India,  and  which  at  the  time  of 
Krislma's  birth,  at  Mathura  within 
the  Aryan  pale,  had  not  obtained 
a  fixed  settlement;  that  his  tribe 
subsequently  occupied  the  lands  of 
Dwarka  in  the  Guzerat  peninsula; 
that  he  freed  his  people  from  the 
oppression  of  tyrants;  that  his 
cliaracter  was  cast  in  an  uncommon 
mould,  in  which  strong  virtues  and 
the  grossest  vices  were  freely 
mingled ;  and  that  he  was  pre- 
eminent in  cunning  and  wisdom 
above  all  his  compeers.  To  ns  he 
seems  a  shadowy  sort  of  Hindoo 
Solomon;  but,  in  course  of  time, 
the  Brahmins  succeeded  in  clothing 
him  with  a  new  personality,  in 
inventing  for  him  a  new  biography, 
and  in   placing  him  in  the  fore- 


1873] 


Jagannath  and  his  WoraJiip. 


173 


front  of  the  Pauranic  pantheon. 
Krishna,  the  Yadavan  cowherd,  is 
now  reco^ised  as  an  avatara  of 
the  god  Viahnn.  The  destroyer  of 
a  few  tyrants  is  celebrated  as  the 
deliverer  of  the  earth  from  giants 
and  oppressors.  A  lofty  Imeage 
has  been  fonnd  ont  for  him,  con- 
necting him  with  the  princes  of  the 
solar  race.  Miracles  without  end 
have  been  invented  to  magnify  his 
name  and  authenticate  his  divinity ; 
all  the  artifices  that  Brahmins  could 
command  have  been  employed  in  his 
apotheosis  ;  whole  books  have  been 
forged  in  support  of  his  divinity; 
and  by  the  time  that  Hinduism  has 
assnmed  its  present  form,  Krishna 
has  become  the  most  popular  of  its 
deities.  The  old  Vedic  gods,  typi- 
fying the  great  agencies  of  nature, 
have  been  forgotten  ;  the  Pauranic 
triad  and  its  sateUites  have  in  a 
great  measure  been  cast  into  the 
shade,  and  the  people  are  prostrate 
before  the  altars  of.  a  new,  a  na- 
tional divinity. 

Our  enquiries  into  the  causes 
which  led  to  the  sudden  deification 
of  Krishna  and  the  general  establish, 
ment  of  his  worship  cannot  in  the 
present  condition  of  Oriental  re- 
search pass  the  bounds  of  conjec- 
ture. But  there  are  a  few  historical 
facts  which  we  can  hardly  err  in 
connecting  vrith  the  subject.  Budh- 
ism  had  become  so  popular  a  creed 
that  the  very  foundations  of  Brah- 
minism  were  being  shaken  by  its 
successes.  The  democratic  teach- 
ing of  Gautuma,  the  new  and  lofty 
estimate  which  he  took  of  humanity, 
and,  above  all,  the  future  freedom 
from  sorrow  and  suffering  which 
he  held  out  to  an  oppressed  and 
priest-ridden  people,  met  with  no  • 
comterpoises  in  the  religion  of  tlie 
Brahmins.  A.  spirit  of  rationalism 
was  abroad,  and  priests  could  no 
lon^r  command  men's  religious 
allegiance  by  appeahng  to  suoli 
legends  as  Yishnu  diving  in  dsh 
&rm  into  the  eternal  abyss  to  bring 
up  the  holy  Vedas,  or  that  the  same 


deity  in  the  form  of  a  tortoise  sup- 
ported the  new-made  earth  upon 
his  back.  No  means  of  stimulating 
men's  devotion  and  saving  the  Brah- 
minical  order  remained  except  a  re- 
ligious revival.  To  men  possessed 
of  the  learning  and  inflnence  of  the 
Brahmins  it  was  no  difficult  ta^k  to 
kindle  such  a  feeling.  Accordingly 
they  gave  out  that  Kama,  the  prince 
of  Ayodhya,  in  whose  fame  the 
whole  Aryan  stock  claimed  an  in- 
terest, and  in  whom  Brahmin  ism 
had  found  its  most  illustrious  cham- 
pion, was  an  avatara  of  the  god 
Vishnu ;  and  the  great  poem  of 
Valmiki  which  commemorates  the 
life  and  exploits  of  the  hero  became 
thus  invested  vrith  a  sacred  charac- 
ter. There  can  be  little  doubt  that 
the  Brahmins  have  interpolated  in 
the  original  epic  many  passages  in 
support  of  their  order.  Thus  we 
discover  half-way  through  the  poem 
that  all  the  troubles  of  Biuna's 
father,  the  bereaved  King  Dasara- 
tha,  sprang  from  a  curse  laid  upon 
him  by  a  Brahmin,  whose  son  he  had 
unintentionally  slain;  an  idea  which 
we  may  safely  assume  could  not 
have  been  present  in  Valmiki's  mind 
when  he  cast  the  plot  of  the  Bor- 
mayana.  By  such  artifices,  and 
by  identifying  their  enemies  the 
Budhists  with  the  demons  and 
monsters  against  whom  Rama  had 
combated,  the  Brahmins  instilled  a 
new  life  into  Hinduism. 

But  Bamawas  not  alone  sufficient 
to  serve  their  turn .  The  history  of  a 
Kshetrya  prince  who  had  won  fame 
and  immortality  chiefly  by  his  aid- 
ing and  obeying  the  Brahmins 
might  serve  to  excite  the  devotional 
feelings  of  the  two  higher  castes,  but 
how  were  the  masses  to  be  moved  ? 
To  meet  this  want,  a  more  demo- 
cratic deification  was  next  at- 
tempted. Krishna,  the  popular 
hero,  the  subverter  of  tyrants,  was 
raised  to  the  rank  of  a  divinity; 
and,  as  in  the  case  of  Kama,  re- 
course was  had  to  literary  forgery 
to  give  credit  to   the   apotheosis. 


174 


JagannatJi  and  his  Worship. 


[Febmaiy 


There  is  a  grave  stLspicion  attacliing 
to  the  introiduotioii  of  Krishna  into 
the  great  epic  poem  of  the  Mahah- 
harata.  Such  an  episode  as  the 
Bhagavat  Oita  in  the  Bishma 
Parva  or  sixth  book  of  the  poem, 
in  which  Elrishna  and  the  wounded 
Arjima  hold  a  long  religions  and 
philosophical  disputation  before  the 
commencement  of  the  battle,  and 
in  which  Krishna,  of  course,  trium- 
phantly vindicates  the  favourite 
dogmas  of  Brahminism,  is  incon- 
testably  spurious.  But  for  the 
wholly  illiterate  character  of  the 
people,  such  frauds  as  the  Bha^ 
vat  could  never  have  been  per- 
petrated. But  the  character  and 
attributes  of  the  new  god  must  have 
at  once  captivated  the  enthusiasm  of 
the  masses,  even  without  the  aid 
of  scripture.  In  the  worship  of 
Krishna  caste  was  for  the  first  time 
disregarded  ;  and  the  pariah  might 
'participate  in  the  holiest  rites  of  his 
worship  as  freely  as  the  twice-born 
Brahmin.  His  deification  was  also 
intended  to  appeal  to  the  genial 
side  of  human  nature,  and  hence  the 
stress  laid  upon  his  amatory  and  mu- 
sical exploits.  The  whole  character 
of  Krishna  seems  to  have  been  skil- 
fully delineated  to  catch  the  afi*ec- 
tions  of  the  Hindoo  masses:  his 
faults  are  those  which  they  could 
most  readily  condone;  and  his 
virtues,  especially  the  overthrow  of 
oppression  and  brute  force  by  intel- 
lectoal  cunning,  such  as  could  not 
fail  to  win  their  sympathy.  Like 
Rama,  Krishna  is  also  put  forth  as 
the  deadly  foe  of  Budhism.  Com- 
bining these  facts  with  the  leading 
idea  of  Krishna's  divine  character, 
his  accessibility  to  men  of  all  castes 
and  classes,  we  may  be  able  to  conjec- 
ture the  way  in  which  the  Hindoo 
revival  was  brought  about,  so  as  to 
ultimately  extinguish  the  worship 
of  Budha  on  the  Indian  continent, 
and  the  feelings  which  secured  for 
Krishna  the  popularity  which  we 
find  his  worship  enjoying  in  modem 
times. 


It  has  been  the  prevailing  ten- 
dency of  Hindoo  mythology,  be- 
ginning from  the  time  that  they 
first  subjected  divine  nature  to  au 
analysis,  to  break  up  all  thegreatgods 
into  a  number  of  smaller  divinities. 
So  important  a  personage  as  Krishna 
could  scarcely  escape  this  process. 
We  accordingly  find  the  god  wor- 
shipped under  three  other  principal 
forms.  As  Gopala  he  is  adored  under 
the  form  of  an  infant^  and  is  a 
popular  object  of  female  and  ma- 
ternal worship;  as  Gopinath,  the 
milkmaids*  god,  he  is  held  out  to 
the  homage  of  lovers  and  rural 
swains ;  but  it  is  as  Jagannath,  *the 
Lord  of  the  World,'  that  the  distiac- 
tive  characteristics  of  Krishna  have 
been  preserved  in  modem  Hinduism. 

What,  now,  is  the  connection  be- 
tween Jagannath  and  Krishna? 
This  point  is  still  a  matter  of  con- 
troversy, and  our  safest  plan  is  to 
give  both  sides  of  the  story.  The 
popular  version  states  that  Krishna 
was  accidentally  slain  by  a  hunter 
in  the  jungle,  and  his  body  lay  un- 
discovered until  only  the  bones 
remained.  Vishnu,  whose  spirit 
had  inhabited  the  form  of  Krishna, 
put  it  into  the  heart  of  a  pious  king 
called  Indradyumna  to  make  an 
image  in  which  these  sacred  rehcs 
might  be  placed.  ludradyrunna 
sought  and  obtained  the  assistance 
of  Yishvakarma,  the  architect  of 
the  gods,  but  the  condition  was 
annexed  that  the  divine  artist  was 
not  to  be  disturbed  until  his  work 
had  been  perfected.  In  a  single 
night  a  lofty  temple  of  unrivalled 
splendour  made  its  appearance  upon 
the  hills  of  Orissa  ;  but  the  king  was 
unable  to  control  his  curiosity,  and 
•he  broke  in  upon  Yishvakarma 
when  only  the  head  and  trunk  of 
the  image  was  completed.  The 
indignant  Yishvakarma  returned 
to  heaven,  nor  could  any  supplica- 
tions induce  him  to  resume  the 
work,  and  thus  it  happened  that  the 
image  of  Jagannath  remains  a  mem- 
berless  trunk. 


1873] 


Jagarmatk  and  his  Worship. 


175 


}iow  for  the  version  whicli  bears 
tbelatestanthorilyof  thepnndits.  In 
Angnst  last  the  Shome  Frokashy  the 
leading  Ternacalar  paper  of  Bengal, 
contained  an  interesting  article  upon 
the  subject,  which   embodies    the 
popular  idea  of  orthodox  Hinduism 
concerning  Jagannath  and  his  wor- 
ship.   The  legend  is  as  follows : — 
"The  Causeless  and  the  Eternal  One 
was  visible  in  his  glory  on  the  blue 
lulls  of  Orissa  on  the  sea  coast  to 
the  south  of  the  Mabanudd  j  in  the 
form  of  Xilmadhub.    Once  on  a  day 
Easinath^a  certain  king,  thought  of 
warring  with  Visbnu,  tiie  destroyer 
oi  the  Asnras.    Mahadeva  promised 
Uiiii  the  king.     On  the  occasion  a 
great  war  ensued   between  Maha- 
deva and  Vishnu.     The  former  was 
defeated  and  compelled  to  seek  the 
protajtion  of  the  victor.   Mahadeva 
was  now  commanded  to  proceed  to 
Hachul,'  and     there    to    glorify 
Vishnu,  manifest    in  the  form    of 
Xilmadhnb.    In    the    Satya  Yuga 
(the  golden  age)    at  the   city  of 
Oojein  (m    Central    India)    there 
lived  a  king  named  Indradyumna. 
One  day  the   divine  sage  Narada 
sang  to  him  the   glories  of   Nil- 
Baadhub  of    Nilachul,    which     so 
^^TFOught  upon  him   that,    accom- 
paniei  bj  his  people  and  his  priest, 
he  started  for  Orissa  to  worship  the 
god.    It  took  him  three  months  to 
reach  his  destination.  On  his  arrival 
he  heard  that  Nilmadhub  had  dis- 
appeared from  the  earth.  The  king's 
sorrow  was  now  boundless.     Food 
and  rest  were  no  longer  his,  till  at 
length  Nihnadhub  appeared  to  him 
in  a  dream  and  comforted  him  with 
the  assurance  that,  though  no  longer 
visible  to  man  in  his  former  shape, 
he  would  still  reappear  under  his 
holKT  form  of  wood,  and  that  this 
divine  wooden  form  would  be  visible 
in  all  ages.     The  king  now  began 
to  look  for  this  piece  of  wood.     It 
so  happened  that  a  man  informed 
him  of  a  piece  of  mmba  wood  which 
had  been  cast  ashore  in  Pooroosha- 
tnm  by  the  sea  waves  from  the  8het 


Dwipa  (white continent) .  This  piece 
of  wood  was  said  to  have  been  dis- 
tinguished by  the  marks  of  a  conch, 
wheel,  club,  and  lotus,  the  usual 
badges  of  the  divinity,  and  the  king 
with  great  delight  caused  it  to  be 
brought,  and  by  the  advice  of 
Narada  had  it  cut  into  the  shape  oT 
Jagannath,  by  the  divine  architect 
Yishvakarma.  All  this  took  place 
in  the  Satya  Yuga.' 

We  give  this  legend  verbatim 
from  the  native  translation,  not  be* 
cause  it  has  any  mythological  value, 
but  because  it  afiPords  us  a  curious 
illustration  of  the  tactics  of  modem 
Binduism.  It  will  be  observed  that 
the  connection  between  Krishna  and 
Jagannath  has  been  repudiated,  and 
that  the  latter  iff  made  to  derive  his 
divinity  direct  from  Vishnu.  An- 
other Pauranic  tradition  might  be 
cited  in  support  of  this  view,  for  the 
piece  of  nimba  wood  mentioned 
above  is  said  to  have  sprung  from  a 
single  hair  of  Vishnu,  which  took 
root  in  the  earth  and  became  a  tree. 
But  unless  the  authority  of  the 
Pauranas  is  to  be  entirely  set  aside, 
as  well  as  the  current  belief  of  the 
masses,  the  sanctity  of  Jagannath 
flows  fix)m  the  relics  of  Krishna 
which  were  placed  within  the  ori- 
ginal image,  and  the  interest  mani- 
fested in  Jagannath  by  Vishnu  was 
only  due  to  the  relationship  between 
Krishna  and  the  new  god.  An  ob- 
jection taken  in  the  same  article 
upon  chronological  grounds  to  the 
possibility  of  Jagannath,  who  be- 
came manifest  in  the  Satya  Yuga  or 
golden  age,  being  an  incarnation  of 
Krishna  in  the  end  of  the  Dwapara 
Yuga,  or  the  second  age  after  the 
golden  one,  or  a  diflerence  of  at 
least  five  thousand  years,  is  too 
frivolous  to  be  mentioned,  for  the 
whole  body  of  the  Pauranic  scrip- 
tures is  composed  of  as  glaring 
anachronisms.  Whatever  the  pun- 
dits may  say,  the  identity  of  Krishna 
and  Jagannath  cannot  be  disproved 
in  the  present  day,  for  besides  the 
current  tradition  there  are  historical 


176 


Jagannath  and  his  Worship, 


[February 


facts  wliich  nnmistakably  indicate 
the  connection. 

Both  accounts  agree  in  attribut- 
ing the  establishment  of  Jagan- 
nath* s  worship  to  Indradyumna,  a 
king  who  came  to  Orissa  fix>m  the 
far  west.  Indradyumna  was  pro- 
bably one  of  those  Aryan  chieftains 
who  had  not  yet  obtained  a  settle- 
ment for  his  people,  and  whose  clan 
brought  with  them  the  creed  which 
was  then  popular  in  Central  India 
and  Hindustan.  Whether  or  not 
they  carried  with  them  any  sup- 
posed relics  of  Krishna  we  cannot 
say;  but  it  was  by  no  means  im- 
probable, and,  we  could  point  to  a 
parallel  in  the  history  of  more  than 
one  European  migration.  The  title 
Jagannath,  *the  Lord  of  the  World/ 
may  at  first  have  simply  been  an  as- 
sertion of  the  image's  pre-eminence, 
but  it  was  unmistakably  Krishna 
that  was  worshipped  under  that 
designation.  But  whatever  may 
have  been  the  exact  date  of  In- 
dradyumna's  arrival,  it  was  long 
before  the  worship  of  Jagannath 
gained  an  ascendency  in  Orissa. 
The  legends  of  the  early  greatness 
of  the  shrine  before  the  Christian 
era  are  as  idle  as  the  story  of  the 
temple  built  by  Vishvakarma  in  a 
single  night.  The  worship  of  Ma- 
hadeo  was  the  prevailing  religion 
in  Orissa  as  late  as  the  seventh 
century,  and  to  Mahadeo  succeeded 
the  worship  of  the  Sun,  which  con- 
tinued to  flourish  far  into  the  thir- 
teenth century,  so  that  Jagannath 
did  not  acquire  pre-eminence  until 
between  four  and  five  hundred 
years  ago.  According  to  Stirling, 
who  until  Dr.  Hunter's  recent  work 
was  the  highest  authority  upon  the 
province  of  Orissa,  Jagannath's 
present  temple  was  built  in  1 196-98, 
and  it  was  with  the  erection  of  the 
new  temple  that  the  fame  of  the 
shrine  began  to  spread.  But  it  is 
highly  probable  that  the  popularity 
of  Puri  as  a  place  of  pilgrimage  did 
not  spring  so  much  from  the  in- 
trinsic sanctity  of  the  idol  as  from 


the  general  diffusion  of  the  worship 
of  Krishna  throughout  the  conti- 
nent.   The  Muhammedans  had  now 
overrun  ^he  country,  and  the  exer- 
cise  of  the  Hindoo  religion,  though 
tolerated  by  the  State,  was  shorn 
of  much  of  its  ancient  importance. 
The  remote  province  of  Orissa  was, 
however,  out  of  the  way  of  Mc^hal 
arms,     and     until    the     sixteenth 
century,   when  the  Muhammedans 
gained  a  permanent  footing,  Jagan. 
nath  presented  this  advantage,  that 
the    Hindoos   could   celebrate  the 
rites  of  their  religion  with  no  scorn- 
ful  Mussulman  standing  by  to  deride 
their  piety.     This  feeling,  we  might 
suppose,   must  have   added  nmch 
to  the  attractions  of  Jagannath's 
shrine^  as   a  place  "of  pilgrima^. 
But  as  the  Muhammedan  annalists, 
from  whom  alone  we  can  learn  any- 
thing of  India  during  the  Middle 
Ages,   contemptuously  ignore  the 
creed  of  the  conquered,  it  is  almost 
impossible  for  us  to  trace  the  in- 
temal  progress  of  Hinduism  nntil 
the  arrival  of  the   British  in  the 
East.     We  know,  however,  that  in 
1733  the  oppressions  of  Muhammad 
Takki    Khan,    the    deputy  of  the 
province,  brought  the  service  of  the 
shrine  to  a  standstill,  and  the  Rajah 
fled  with  the  idol  to  the  wild  hiUs 
beyond  the  ChilkaLake.  Pilgrimage 
was  now  at  an  end,    so   was  the 
pilgrim  tax  which  the  Moghals  had 
early  begun  to  levy,  and  the  result 
was  a  loss  to  the  Bengal  excheqa^ 
estimated  at  9o,oooZ.  per  annum. 
The  first  care  of  the  zealous  Mu- 
hammedans  who  succeeded  Takki 
in  the  government  was  to  compel  the 
Bajah  to  place  the  idol  again  in  the 
temple,  and  to  reopen  the  annual 
pilgrimage ;  and  the  pious  moolavis 
who  wrote  the  history  of  the  period 
do  not  seem  to.  have  said  a  word 
of  censure  to  these   promoters  of 
idolatry. 

Early  in  the  sixteenth  century  a 
remarkable  revival  of  the  worship 
of  Vishnu  upon  the  basis  of  Krishna's 
divinity  took  place  in  Bengal.   Tliis 


Jagawnath  and  his  WaraMp. 


177 


wu  effected  almost  solely  hy  the 
i^oy  of  an  enthusiastic  fanatic 
named  Chaitan ja.  HJe  was  bom  at 
Kaddiah,  then  the  most  famons 
school  for  theology  and  philosophy 
in  Bengal,  in  the  year  1485.  Al- 
tfaoQgh  bom  a  Brs^bmin,  he  seems 
from  his  yonth  to  have  spnmed 
the  restrictions  of  caste,  and  to  have 
early  imbibed  the  idea  that  the 
lowest  are  as  the  highest  in  the 
sight  oC  God.  Nevertheless  he 
went  through  the  regular  Brah- 
minical  cnrriculam,  begone  himself 
a  teacher,  and  was  twice  married 
aoooidiog  to  the  orthodox  rites. 
KiishiOL  was  the  great  object  of  his 
devotion,  the  Bhagtwat  QUa  his 
diief  study,  and  his  enthnsiasm  led 
him  at  length  to  undertake  a  pil- 
grimage to  Mathnra,  the  scene  of 
the  god's  birth  and  early  exploits. 
Oa  his  road,  however,  he  was 
stopped  by  a  voice  from  heaven, 
which  sent  him  back  to  his  own 
couitrj  to  proclaim  the  riches  of 
Krishna's  love  to  his  own  people, 
hi  fact,  his  enthusiasm  seems  at 
diis  time  to  have  culminated  in 
insaniiy;  but  there  was  a  method 
in  his  madness,  inasmuch  as  he 
nerer  lost  sight  of  the  divine  cha- 
racter of  Enshna  which  he  was 
commissioned  to  preach.  There  is 
no  doubt  that  by  study  and  medi- 
tation Chaitanya  had  discovered 
those  principles  which  first  made 
the  doctrine  of  Krishna's  divinity  a 
powerfiLl  creed,  but  which,  having 
served  its  turn,  had  in  time  been 
corropted  and  dlisplaced  by  the  tra- 
ditionsofiheBndunins.  He  taught 
that  Krishna  was  the  soul  of  the 
nniyerBe^ifae  being  in  whom  nature 
existed,  and  by  wnom  its  functions 
were  performed;  but  he  taught 
likewise  that  caste  was  removed 
bj  unity  of  faith  in  the  god,  that 
all  might  obtain  salvation  by  a 
simple  exercise  of  faith,  and  that 
the  penances,  formulas,  and  works 
of  merit  insisted  upon  by  the 
Brahmins  could  work  no  deliver- 
ance for  men  unless  accompanied 

^OL.  VII. — NO.  XXXVIII.  MEW  SERIES. 


by  fikith.  He  held  out  Elrishna  as 
the  great  saviour  from  sin,  and 
from  its  natural  consequences.  The 
following  prayer,  translated  in 
Baneijea's  Hindoo  Philosophfy  will 
show  how  a  follower  of  Chai- 
tanya seeks  spiritual  relief  in  ad- 
dressing himself  to  Krishna: — 
'Obeisance,  Obeisance,  to  Krishna, 
even  Gk)binda,  the  benefactor  of  the 
world.  I  am  sin,  my  works  are  sin, 
my  spirit  is  sin,  my  origin  is  sin. 
Save  me,  O  thou  lotus-eyed  Hari, 
who  art  the  lord  of  all  sacrifices. 
None  such  a  sinner  as  myself,  none 
such  destroyer  of  sin  as  thyself; 
taking  this,  O  GK>d,  into  considera- 
tion, do  what  is  proper.'  Faith  and 
a  seeking  after  spiritual  communion 
with  the  divinity  were  now  the 
modes  by  which  men  might  purify 
their  sinful  natures,  work  out  their 
spiritual  deliverance  from  the  evils 
of  transmigration,  and  reign  for 
ever  with  the  Eternal,  amid  the  in- 
conceivable glories  of  his  heaven, 
Vofikcmtha.  We  can  easily  imagine 
how  attractive  such  a  creed  must 
have  proved  when  contrasted  with 
the  formal,  unsympathetic,  and  un- 
natural systems  to  which  Brahmin- 
ism  gives  the  preference ;  and  at  the 
present  day  the  Yaishnavas,  or  fol- 
lowers of  Chaitanya^  form  a  sect  be- 
tween eight  and  nine  millions  strong. 
The  history  of  Chaitanya  affords 
an  excellent  illustration  of  the  quick 
development  of  a  Hindoo  divinity. 
In  little  more  than  a  hundred  years 
after  Chaitanya^  in  his  madness, 
flung  himself  into  the  sea  near  the 
temple  of  Jagannath,  his  divinity, 
as  an  avaiara  of  Krishna,  was  com- 
pletely established ;  portents  which 
attended  his  birth  were  recorded ; 
miracles  were  circumstantially  at- 
tested which  he  wrought  while  aJive ; 
and  his  rising  again  from  the  dead 
at  the  sound  of  Krishna's  name  was 
adopted  as  a  fundamental  part  of 
the  Yaishnava  belief. 

The  point  to  be  noticed  in  this 
paper  is  that  Chaitanya  made  a 
pilgrimage  to  Jagannath,  and  that 


178 


Jagcmnath  and  his  Worship. 


[Pebmaiy 


the  greater  pf  t  of  his  religionii  life 
-was  spent  in  the  vicinity  of  that 
shrine.  His  testimony,  if  it  were 
necessary,  wonld  go  far  to  show 
that  Jagannadi  has  no  divinity  but 
what  he  derives  £rom  Krishna,  and 
all  his  teaching  and  ]^ractice  showed 
that  he  regarded  the  two  as  identi- 
cal. The  ritual  at  Puri  would  be' 
qnite  in  accordance  with  Ghait&nya's 
taste,  for  within  the  temple  caste 
fonnd  no  place,  and  the  lowest 
Sndra  oonld  demand  the  sacred 
food  from  the  hands  of  the  priest 
as  well  as  the  highest  Brahmin. 
It  is  only  at  a  late  period  that  the 
lower  castes  have  b^en  refused  this 
communion,  and  it  is  a  sign  that 
the  Erishnaio  faith  is  relaxing  its 
hold.  As  in  many  other  Hindoo 
ceremonies,  the  baro  ritual  had  out- 
lived the  feelings  which  at  first 
gave  it  a  shape. 

As  one  of  the  great  buttresses  of 
modem  Hinduism,  Jagannath  has 
been  much  exposed  to  the  attacks  of 
our  Christian  missionaries.  At  first 
they  took  their  stand  upon  the 
prevalence  of  suicide;  when  this 
became  untenable  they  alleged  that 
the  worship  was  obscene  and  calcu- 
lated to  debauch  native  morality. 
Oiie  Baptist  missionary,  a  few 
months  ago,  went  the  length  of 
hinting,  upon  a  shadow  of  native 
authority,  that  the  rites  of  Exishna 
had  not  lof):  one  chaste  woman  in 
the  whole  of  Muttra,  a  district 
which  in  the  latest  official  census  is 
set  down  as  having  a  population  of 
241,252  women  to  270,518  men. 
^uck  disgraceful  assertions  will 
serve  to  suggest  one  among  other 
reasons  why  Christianity  does  not 
make  that  progress  in  India  which 
we  all  desire,  u  only  upon  grounds 
of  civilisation.  The  fiust  is  that  no 
immoralities  connected  with  the 
worship  of  Jagannath  are  practised . 
but  such  as  are  common  to  all 
mixed  multitudes  of  both  sexes, 
whether  Europesn  or  Asiatic.  Such 
charges  are  d  priori  deductions  from 
the  history  of  Krishna's  amour^, 


which,  as  tradition  has  handed 
them  down  to  us,  are  filthy  enongh. 
But  the  Hindoo  Shastras  are  as  far 
from  allowing  men  to  imitalie  the 
license  adopt^  by  the  gods  as  tiie 
Old  Testament  is  firom  holding  up 
tbe  social  characters  of  David  or 
Solomon  as  examples  to  be  followed. 
With  the  exception  of  the  SbaktLs 
in  Eastern  and  the  Maharajahs  in 
Western  India,  we  are  not  aware  of 
any  sect  that  confers  a  religions 
sanction  upon  avowed  vice.  And 
in  endeavouring  to  discover  im- 
moral  tendencies  in  a  system  which 
they  are  seeking  to  supersede,  oar 
missionaries  have  not  displayed 
mtich  of  that  charity  which,  in  the 
word^  of  the  Apostle, '  thinketli  no 
evil.' 

To  do  the  Hindoos  justice,  their 
theologians  have  been  honestlj 
ashamed  of  their  obscene  traditions, 
and  have  done  their  best  to  diav 
distinctions,  which  would  prevent 
their  affecting  human  morality. 
Some  appear  to  have  considered 
that  the  gods,  by  virtue  of  their 
divine  nature,  did  not  suffer  con- 
tamination from  indulging  in 
breaches  of  morality,  or  Uiat  they 
could  do  no  wrong.  It  most  be 
remembered,  too,  that  the  Hindoos 
have  never  had  in  view  the  assinii* 
lation  of  the  human  to  the  divine 
nature  as  the  perfection  of  human- 
iiy.  It  is  thus  that  Sir  William 
Jones  is  able  to  say  of  Krishna  that 
*'  he  was  pure  and  chaste,  in  realitj, 
but  exhibited  every  appearance  of 
libertinism^'  But  a  different  vindi- 
cation is  now  adopted ;  one  which 
nuudfestLy  shows  that  rationalism 
is  at  work  with  the  Hindoo  Shos- 
tras.  The  identity  of  Krishna  the 
avaiara  of  Vishnu  with  Krishm 
the  son  of  Devaki,  the  Yadavan 
cowherd,  is  now  emphatically  de- 
nied. The  Shastras  will  undoubt- 
edly fuinish  proofs  of  this  view,  ss, 
wi&  proper  manipulation,  they  m&y 
be  made  to  prove  anything.  But 
in  «etual  JbeUef,  in  the  practice  of 
their  worship,  the  masses  of  India 


1873] 


Jagawnaih  aaid  Ms  Worship, 


179 


recognise  only  one  KriBbna)  at  once 
the  chief  of  sinners  and  the  de- 
liTcrer  from  od.    When  we  find 
mentbn  of  two  Kiishnas,  at  periods 
widely  remote  in  Hindoo  legendary 
Mstory,  and  each  possessing  a  dif- 
&reat  penonaliiy,  we  mnst  remem- 
ber how  tbe  apotheosis  of  the  Yada- 
vsn  wu  effected.     In  interpolat- 
ing E^iishna's  name  into  the  great 
Vedic  poems  the  priests  were  free 
to  clothe  him  with  all  their  concep- 
tions of  dimity ;  in  dealing  with 
his  actml  history  their  imaginations 
were  limited  by  extant  traditions. 
Thus  the  two  &rishnas  are  Krishna. 
the  ideal  sod   and    Krishna    the 
actual,  deified  hero,   but  there  is 
onlyoneindividoality  between  them. 
Upon  snch  a  question  the  carrent 
belief  is  a  more  trostworthy  guide 
than  the  reiSned  opinions  of  the 
pundits;  and  the  first  band  of  pil- 
grims yon  meet  upon  the  high  road 
going  towards  Jagannath  will  tell 
jon  that  the  Krishna  whom  they 
worship  is  the  SIrishna  who  fought 
za  the  Saitja  Ynga  in  the  rank& 
of  the  PandaTas  as  well  as  the 
Krishna  who  toyed  with  Radha  in 
the  groves  of  Bindraban,  in  the 
Dwapara  Yuga,  some  4,000  or  5,000 
jeacs  after.    But  chronology  im- 
poses no  fetters  upon  Hindoo  cre- 
dnJiij. 

Bat  thoDgh  Jagannath's  festivals 
continue  to  be  celebrated,  his  wor- 
ship 18  &8t  losing  its  hold  upon 
the  minds  of  the  people.  The 
secret  of  its  old  popularity,  the 
democni^  and  levwing  tendencies 
of  ita  litna],  is  forgotten ;  and  the 
pOgrims  who  flock  to  the  temple  at 
Pari  aie  impelled  by  the  native 


predilection  for  iamasTia  or  sight-* 
seeing,  or  by  a  restless  desire  for 
religious  excitement,  rather  than  by 
any  matured  t&oughts  of  devotion. 
But  the  car  festival  has  taken  a 
secure   hold    upon    native    senti- 
ment,  a  hold    too    deep  and  too. 
delicate    to    be  shaken    by  argu- 
ment.   You  may  abuse  Vishnu,  and 
Krishna,   and    Jagannath    by  the 
hour  to  an  intelligent  Hindoo  with- 
out   raffling    his  equanimity,  but 
tell  him  that  the  annual  festival  is 
on  obscene  and  disgusting  spectacle 
which  ought  to  be  suppressed  by  a 
civilised  government,  and  his  re- 
sentment is  at  once  kindled.     We 
believe  that  such  festivals  as  the 
Batha  Jatra  or  oar  procession   of 
Jagannath  and  the  Doorga  Puja, 
the  great  &.mily  reunion   of   the 
Hindoos,  are  likely  to  outlive  all 
the    religious    feelings    in    which 
they  have  originated,  and  that  these 
feeUngs  would  soon  die  a  natural 
death  but  for  the  attacks  to  which 
the  festivals  are  constantly  exposed. 
It  is  only  the  poorest  and  most 
ignorant  classes  that  go  to  Jagan- 
nath in  the  hope  of  obtaining  sal- 
vation ;  and  the  educational  projects 
which  Government  is  carrying  into 
execntion  must  soon  stamp  out  such 
superstition.     But  whatever  form 
the    ^ture    religion   of    India   is 
to   assume,    the   remembrance    of 
Krishna,  whose  worship  first  gave 
spiritual  freedom    to  the   masses, 
and    through    many    centuries    of 
dark    superstition    lightened    the 
load    which    Brahndnism    forced 
upon  men's    shoulders,  will  long 
haunt  the  minds  of  the  Hindoos. 

A.  A. 


-^f^Sf^^ 


0  2 


180 


[February 


CHARLES    DE    MONTALEMBERT.' 


FROM  hero-worship  to  biography 
— ^from   snch  fictions  as  the 
author  of  the  Chronicles  of  Oarling' 
ford  can  produce  to  such  portraits 
as  she  can  paint — ^there  is  only  one 
step.  Accordingly,  a  new  biography 
from  her  hand  is  welcome,  and  we 
can  believe  that  this  memoir  of  M. 
de  Montalembert  has  been  to  Mrs. 
Oliphant  a  thoroughly  sympathetic 
piece  of  work.     More  finished  than 
the  Life  of  8t  Francis,  it  bears  also 
fewer    marks    of  haste,  but    she 
must  forgive    us   for    thinking  it 
inferior  in   execution    and   move- 
ment   to    her    excellent    Life    of 
Edward    Irving,      The    difference 
between  the  subjects  made  this  pro- 
bable; the  difference  between  the 
creeds  and  races  perhaps  made  it 
unavoidable.    For  Mrs.  Oliphant  is 
of  one  kindred  and  tongue  with  the 
orator  who  so  passionately  tried  to 
throw  over  the  Kirk  of  Scotland, 
'  the  most  severe  and  uncompromis- 
ing of  Christian  churches,'  a  light 
that  never  was  on  sea  or  shore.    She 
could  learn  from  kinsfolk  and  ac- 
quaintance   many    details    of  the 
Scottish  drama  which  was  to  as- 
sume at  last  all  the  proportions  of 
a    tragedy,    but,  great  as  is  her 
power  of  sympathy,  Mrs.  Oliphant 
could  hardly  denationalise  herself 
enough  to  measure  correctly  the 
influences  that  surrounded  M.  de 
Montalembert.     We  have  here  a 
Frenchman  who,  with  a  few  ardent 
Catholics,  is  to  attempt  a  Catholic 
revival  between  the  pauses  of  two 
French  revolutions;  and  the  subject, 
perhaps  from  its  very  strangeness 
and  novelty,  has  attracted  her.    The 
memoir  is  carefully  elaborated,  and 
yet  it  lacks  completeness,  while  Mrs. 
Oliphant  is  too  often  betrayed  into 
indulgence   for  her    hero's    senti- 
mental pedantries,  perhaps  because 


she  has  tried  to  write  a ^. 

of  which  French  Catholics  in  general 
and  the  Montalembert  &mily  in 
particular  should  have  no  reason  to 
complain. 

The  book  opens  with  an  acconnt 
of  Charles  de  Montalembert's  child- 
hood, which  was  almost  entirely 
spent  in  the  society  of  his  grand- 
&ther.  the  Indian  merchant  and 
natunOist,  Mr.  James  Forbes.  This 
pair  of  friends,  an  old  man  and  a 
young  child,  when  living  in  the 
library  at  Stanmore,  make  a  picture 
pleasant  to  the  mind  and  to  the  eye, 
and  there  the  little  Charles  grew 
in  knowledge  and  reverence  and 
docility,  and  in  that  ready,  charm- 
ing, spontaneous  docility  of  the 
h»Btrt,  which  was  at  once  the  bless- 
ing and  the  weakness  of  his  life. 
THien  what  Mrs.  Oliphant  tenm 
'  the  soft  tranquillity  of  those  narrow 
childish  skies'  was  exchanged,  after 
Mr.  Forbes'  death,  for  a  colder  and 
rougher  atmosphere,  the  boy  had 
been  already  in  great  measnn 
formed.  When  college  succeeded 
to  school,  early  habits  gave  pkoeto 
early  plans,  for  already  we  hear 
this  very  young  reaaoner  detennine 
to  write  a  great  work  on  the  philo- 
sophy of  Christianily,  and  then, 
again,  these  early  plans  get  mixed 
up  with  early  friendships,  with  Rio, 
who  was  to  be  the  associate  of  his 
future  labours,  and  with  the  Abbe 
Studach,  who  first  opened  to  Mont- 
alembert that  portion  of  the  world 
of  German  speculative  thought  to 
which  ScheUing  had  given  a  Catholic 
tinge. 

He  travelled  also,  until  the  year 
1830,  that  which  followed  the  death 
of  his  sister  £lise,  saw  him  esta- 
blished in  Paris,  a  Paris  just  enter- 
ing on  a  new  year  of  disquiet. 

The  first  fVench  Bevolution,  so 


1  Memoir  of  Count  de  Montalembert    By  Mrs.  Oliphant. 
Son,  1872.    Edinhuigh  and  London. 


William  Blackwood   ud 


1873] 


Charles  de  Montalembert, 


181 


far  from  oorrectiiig  kings  orezbanst- 
ing  the  explosive  forces  of  France, 
lu^  left  the  country  watchftd  and 
irritable;  and  if  some  looked  on 
Uiat  condition  with  hope,  others 
again  could  only  regard  it  with 
dread  or  with  disgust.  And  France 
vas  not  religious.  She  had  a 
church,  the  work  of  Napoleon  and 
of  a  Concordat ;  bat,  in  the  new 
heayens  and  new  earth  which  had, 
80  to  speak,  appeared  after  the  sub- 
sidenoe  of  the  great  deluge,  the 
religions  element  was  wanting,  and 
Catholfciam  seemed,  to  use  Mont- 
alembert's  own  expression,  to  be  a 
corpse,  with  which  nothing  re- 
mained to  be  done  but  charitably  to 
tmiT  it.  The  pious  and  liberal  ^fts 
of  more  than  forty  generations  had 
perished  with  them;  the  40,000 
tlefs  and  arriere-fiefs  once  held  by 
the  Galilean  Church,  when  taken 
from  her  grasp,  had  accrued  to  a 
horny-handed  peasantry ;  and,  after 
a  thousand  years  of  life,  the  reli- 
gions orders  had  ceased  to  exist. 

In  other  countries  Catholicism 
had  also  much  to  depress  her,  and 
much  to  deplore,  but  France  had 
been  the  scene  of  her  greatest  dis- 
asters ;  and  so  France  ought  to  be, 
in  the  opinion  of  the  young  Mont- 
alembert andof  his  friends,  the  scene 
of  her  most  striking  revival.  And 
their  wish  became  father  to  the 
event.  What  a  Stolberg,  a  Bahnes, 
a  Thnn,  or  a  Galitzine  did  in  other 
lands  was  outdone  in  France,  until 
the  Church  there  grew  to  count 
among  her  champions  all  that  the 
conntry  had  noblest,  most  culti- 
vated, and  best. 

Their  enthusiasm  was  contagious. 
Yet  the  saddest  part  of  their  history 
18  that  theirs  was  nothing  but  an 
enthusiasm:  that  whatever  force  the 
inoTement  possessed  expended  itself 
in  emotional  discussions,  emotional 
articles,  and  emotional  measures; 
that  it  seemed  to  lend  ite  coun- 
tenance to  a  clergy  guilty  of  teach- 
ing the  miracle  of  Ia  Salette; 
and  that,  after  one  splendid  ana- 


chronism, it  collapsed.  Not,  how- 
ever, witiiout  raising  the  tone  of 
a  portion  of  the  society  that  sur- 
rounded them,  for  that  was  true 
which  Mdme.  Swetchine  said  in 
writing  of  Paris:  'It  is  true  that 
nowhere  is  Qod  more  sinned  against 
than  He  is  here,  but  that  nowhere  is 
He  also  more  loved.'  How  Mont- 
alembert and  his  friends  loved,  and 
how  their  love,  when  diverted  from 
its  legitimate  objects,  Ood  and  the 
country,  and  deprived  of  its  legiti- 
mate expression,  was  maimed  and 
crippled  by  its  subservience  to 
Rome,  it  will  be  the  business  of  this 
paper  to  show. 

The  most  prominent  of  this  band 
of  friends  was  M.  La  Mennais,  so 
unprophetically  christened  F61icit6. 
A  Catholic,  a  Boyalist,  and  above 
all  a  Breton,  he  was  the  very  man 
to  head  a  religious  movement.  Al- 
ready in  middle  life,  his  bold  pages 
had  for  some  years  stirred  the 
minds  of  the  thinking  classes  in 
France.  Most  likely  from  his 
temper  to  be  a  keen  partisan,  he 
was  as  likely  to  become  a  jour- 
nalist as  a  reformer.  Accordingly 
when  Montalembert  came  a4:c(mru 
du  fond  de  VIrlandSf  as  he  says, 
to  join  a  society  whose  watch- 
words were  '  God  and  Liberty,'  his 
first  visit  was  to  La  Mennais.  On 
every  point  they  can  hardly  have 
agreed,  since  La  Mennais  was  a 
^publican,  with  a  brain  that,  like 
that  of  Bnchez,  teemed  with  social 
extravagances.  As  'helpers  of 
humanity,'  however,  he  and  his 
young  disciple  soon  stood  pledged 
to  one  another ;  the  Avenir  journal 
was  started,  and  Montalembert, 
who  had  felt  his  life  objectless  and 
tasteless,  found  it  transfigured  when 
following  in  the  channel  of  Catholic 
liberty. 

And  on  the  horizon,  which  he  felt 
to  be  always  widening,  a  new  star 
was  yet  to  rise. 

In  the  autumn  of  that  year  he  first 
met  Henri  Lacordaire,and  he  saw  in 
him  a  priest  in  very  deed,  a  teacher 


182 


Charles  de  MontcUemberL 


[February 


elect  to  suffering, '  one  predestined 
to.  genios  and  to  glory.'  It  is  need- 
less to  say  that  a  strdmg  friendship 
was  made  betw^een  them,  though  at 
first  the  two  men  seem  to  have  ex- 
changed their  rolea  since  the  Aventr 
waa  suspended  for  two  papers, 
which  were  the  work  of  Lacordeiire, 
while  Montalembert*s  mind  was  oc- 
cupied in  deciding  whether  he  would 
or  ^ould  not  beeome  a  priest.  He 
finally  decided  against  it,  and  then 
expended  his  spare  energies  in  open- 
ing a  school  which  was  speedily 
closed  by  the  police,  and  in  writing 
warnings  in  the  Avenvr — ^warnings 
to  France  which  read  like  the 
knell  of  a  society  and  of  a  country. 
By  these  remarks  the  Avenir  was 
brought  into  collision  with  the  au- 
thorities and  suspended.  This,  as 
we  know,  was  not  to  be  Montalem- 
bert's  last  experience  of  this  sort  of 
political  situation,  and  just  now, 
even  though  it  startled  him,  it  did 
not  depress  him.  He  and  his 
colleagues  were  young,  and,  as  La- 
cordaire  wrote,  'However  cruel 
time  may  be,  it  can  take  nothing 
from  the  happiness  of  the  year  that 
is  just  gone.'  To  understand  the  ex- 
pression one  must  have  been  young 
oneself,  or  have  been  bom  when  reli- 
gion was  hardly  named  in  France. 
Then  to  have  lived  to  see  the 
revival  of  £uth,  and  the  resus- 
citation of  such  charitable  orders  as 
that  of  St.  Vincent  de  Paul,  might 
well  have  caused  a  joy  which  the 
police  of  Louis  Philippe  could  not 
takeaway.  .  .  ' Those  men,' Lacor. 
daire  adds,  *  who  have  not  lived  in 
both  periods,  can  never  represent 
to  themselves  what  was  the  passage 
fronnthe  one  to  the  other.  As  for  us, 
we,  who  have  been  of  both  epochs, 
who  have  seen  the  shame  and  the 
honour,  our  eyes  at  the  recollection 
fill  with  unsummoned  tears,  as  we 
give  thanks  to  Him  who  is  unspeak" 
able  in  His  gifts.' 

More  coadjutors  now  added  them- 
selvestothe  young  reformers.  Albert 
de    la    Farronays,    young,    gifted. 


and  supersensitive,  wafl  there ;  and 
thither  came  the  Pere  Gterbet,  after- 
wards Bishop  of  Perpignan,  that 
'mystic  angel'  who  was  such  a  fit 
director  for  Alexandrine  de  la  Fer- 
ronays,  and  upon  whose  wonderful 
Oredo  de  la  Douleur  many  a  sobbing 
face  has  surely  been  pressed ;  there 
also  Bio  reappeared,  full  of  impulses 
towards  mediedval  art,  and  of  love 
for  that  Italy  to  which,  in  Novem- 
ber 1831,  when  the  Avenir  had 
fairly  made  shipwreck,  the  little 
colony  transferred  themselves. 

With  no  small  emotion  they  found 
themselves  actually  in  Rome,  and 
under  the  shadow  of  St.  Peter's 
chair.  They  burned  with  high 
hopes  that  here  at  least  they  would 
be  understood,  and  thus  their  aspira- 
tions for  the  welfare  of  Catholic 
Christendom  would  deserve  and 
receive  the  blessing  of  its  august 
head.  But  the  notes  that  had  been 
too  loud  for  the  cabinet  of  lionis 
Philippe  sounded  just  as  ill-omened 
in  the  ears  of  the  Pope.  The  policy 
of  the  Papacy  with  regard  to  merit 
has  often — nay,  generally — been 
that  of  the  Tarquins  with  regard  to 
poppies,  and  Liberty  and  Infallibi- 
lity can  never  kiss  each  other.  Thus 
the  *  Society  for  the  Defence  of  Beh- 
gious  Liberty '  met  with  no  sympa- 
thy. An  ^OGcneil  irhs-reserve*  was 
all  that  was  accorded  to  its  leaders, 
and  before  many  weeks  they  were 
asked  to  consent  to  the  withdrawal 
of  all  their  plans,  and  to  see  the 
downfall  of  all  their  hopes. 

The  leaders  were  differently  af- 
fected by  the  Papal  censure. 

La  Mennais,  with  strong  passions 
and  self-love,  dung  to  his  plan  as 
his  plan,  and  at  times  fancied  that 
he  could  coax,  or  lead,  or  even  force 
the  Pope  to  his  way  of  thinking. 
He  failed,  as  everyone  knew  he 
must,  and  as  he  neither  could  nor 
would  brook  the  disappointment, 
he  wandered  away.  One  more  un- 
grateful son  of  the  Church  the  Ultra- 
montanes  declared  him  to  be,  while 
their  opponents  pointed  to  huh  as 


im] 


OhcaHes  de  MontalemhefiU 


183 


000  more  martyr  to  liberty^  a  faXL 
JB%  liar  whose  brightness  attracted 
some  disciples;  »  living  protest  to 
tiie  incompatibility  of  Bomi^  tenets 
and  pretoMaons  •  with  freedom   of 
thought  or  action,  oar  with  the  new 
necessities    of    a    new    age.      La 
Meimais  the  rebel,  with  his  high 
temper  and  marked  indiyidnality, 
started  with  a  detennined,  absolute 
sense  thst  he  was  right,  and  in  the 
right.     Lacordaire  and  Montalem« 
bertliad  father  anabsolnte  anddeter- 
mined  mil  to  serv'e  God  and  sooieiy, 
and  ^  tilt  means  and  the  machinerj 
tfaai  thej  had  first  adopted  were  dis* 
approTed  of  by  the  head   of   the 
Chmeh,  they  were  able  to  submit. 
They  were  vnlling  also  to  try  again^ 
at  another  time  and  in  another  way, 
Iflcordaire  left  Rome,  however,  and 
the  nest  time  that  he  arrived  for- 
mally to  ask  for  the  Pontifical  bles- 
sing vas  in  1844,  when  he  planned 
that  revival  of  the  Dominican  bro- 
thefbood  which  Kved  and  died  at  La 
Qnercia  and  at  Nancy.    Montalem- 
l^ri  also  left  Rome.     He  travelled, 
and  falling  in  love  with  the  memory 
of  St.  Elizabeth  of  Hungaiy,  he 
followed  her  footsteps  from  fiMyt  to 
legend,  firom  castle  to  city,  threw 
t<i^therthe  materials  for  his  first 
work,  a  life  of  that  royal  saint, 
went  to  Pisa  and  read  extracts  from 
his  notes  to  Albert  and  Alexandrine 
^  la  Eerronays,  and  rdid  not  return 
to  Paris  till  the  year  1835,  when  he 
came  to  take  his  seat  in  the  Chamber 
of  Peers.    He  .was  twenty-fivo  years 
of  age. 

Once  more  then  he  and  Lacordaire 
oonld  hold  counsel  together,  and 
Ozanam  and  Rio  and  Mdme.  Swet- 
chine  were  with  them  to  witness 
jfoiitalembert*s  parliamentary  (2eM, 
^  to  hear  those  conferences  of  the 
priest  which  made  the  pulpit  of 
Notre  Dame  the  centre  of  the  reU- 
giooa  life  of  Paris.  Again,  as  before, 
^se  men  reasoned  with  the  Paris* 
ttM  of  God,  of  liberty,  of  courage, 
of  justice,  and  of  judgment  to  come. 
^g^asbefore^acorruptaadtrutH-' 


less  society  listened  to  them  with 
wonder,  or  turned  a  deaf  ear,jSo  that 
the  ^ends  mightagain  havo  asked, 
as  they  had  done  before,  ^  Where 
is  the  tie  that  has  not>  been  broken  ? 
Where  is  the  cause  that  has  not 
been  distrusted  ?-  Where  is  the^prin* 
ciple  that  reigns  as  master  over  one 
single  soul  ?    An  indescribable  ver- 
tigo has  seized  on  men:   no  one 
knows  where  he  is  going ;  no  one 
wishes  to  go  where  his  fate  urges 
him.   They  lie  ;  they  heap  oath  upon 
oath;  yet  all  their  vain  words,  in 
which  God  is  not  so  much  as  once 
named,  are  quickly  effaced  from  the 
recollection  of  men.  .  .  .  They  be- 
lieve with  a  blind  &ith  in  the  im« 
mortal  power  of  a  .family,  in  the 
miraculous  destiny  of  a  child,   in 
the  tercLble  punishment    of   their 
enemies;  but  tell  them  there  is  a 
Ood  in  the  midst  of  these  crumbling 
theories,  of  this  volcanic  agitation, 
of  the  peoples,  and  they  wiU  shake 
off  the  dust  from  their  feet  against 
you.' 

The    bishops  of   Stance  looked 
rather  coldly  on  this  pair  of  plain- 
spoken  friezidsi     '  Le  hruit^*  said  one 
prelate,  ^ne  fcdt  jarniais  du  btetiy  ei 
le  hi&n  ne  fait  jamais  du  bruit ;'  and 
though /in  France  a  mot  like  this 
is  damaging  indeed,  Montalembert 
found  himself,,  in  1844,  obliged  te 
risk  some  more  noise  for  the  cause 
of  education,  which  he  had  so  long 
advocated,   and  for  that  constitu- 
tional policy  which  has  been  so  often 
attempted  >  in  France.     He  spoke 
well  and  worked  well,  and  if  we 
were  abruptly  asked  to  say  what, 
with  all    his  enthusiasm    and  his 
good  intentions^  Charles  de  Mont- 
alembert really  did  for  his  country, 
we  should  reply,  that^  in  the  &ce 
of  a  Government  whose  educational 
policy  was  neither  more  nor  less 
than  a  monopoly,  he  tried  to  ob- 
tain for  all  ranks  a  liberal  educa- 
tion, of  which  the  basis  was  a  faith 
in  Christianity.;  and  that  again,  be- 
fore the  elections  of  1846,  he  roused 
the/^eleGtorSy^uEid  begged  them  U>^ 


J 


184 


Charles  de  MontaJemhert, 


[Febmaiy 


realise  the  reBponaible  power  which 
was  lodged  in  their  hands. 

In  consequence  of  his  exertions 
one  hundred  and  thirty  deputies 
came  np  to  that  parliament  pledged 
to  the  cause  of  religious  and  edu- 
cational liberty;  a  liberty  subject 
only  to  constitutional  restrictions. 
When  we  remember  that  the  clouds 
were  already  gathering  for  the 
storm  of  1848,  it  is  not  necessary  to 
ask  what  became  of  the  hundred  and 
thirty  members,  of  their  influence 
and  their  votes.  Tn  a  l^Vench  political 
convulsion  it  is  not  the  men  of  order 
or  education  who  are  heard ;  it  is  the 
men  of  extremes,  extremes  of  abso- 
lutism and  extremes  of  democratic 
violence  which,  by  changing  the  na- 
ture but  not  the  degree  of  tyranny, 
smother  at  last  the  principles  of 
freedom. 

When  Louis  Philippe  was  sent 
into  exile  by  the  most  *  purposeless 
and  severely  punished  of  revolu- 
tions,' the  Chamber  of  Peers  was 
doomed.  M.  de  Montalembert  might 
then  have  felt  for  a  moment  as  if 
his  career  was  closed,  but  he  was 
returned  ere  long  as  deputy  for  the 
Department  of  Doubs,  and  allowed 
to  raise  his  voice  again  for  the  causes 
he  had  at  heart.  Lord  Normanby 
sajs  of  his  first  appearance  in  the 
Assembly,  *  Upon  my  first  visit  to 
the  Assembly  this  morning  (June 
23),  even  in  the  midst  of  the  agi- 
tation caused  by  the  struggle  already 
begun,  I  heard  that  an  intense  sen- 
sation had  been  produced  yesterday 
by  the  first  great  speech  of  M.  de 
Montalembert,  in  his  new  character 
of  representant  du  peuple^  and  upon 
the  subject  of  the  proposed  decree 
authorising  the  Government  to  take 
possession  of  the  railroads.  He 
made  this  an  occasion  for  stating 
his  opinion  boldly,  as  he  was  sure 
to  do  upon  the  general  state  of  the 
country.' 

The  successful  orator  himself  was 
in  the  habit  of  saying  that  the  year 
1849  was  the  most  brilliant  one  of 
his  life.    It  must  have  been  one  of 


many   hopes    and    fears.      France 
seemed  to  pause  before  confirming 
or  choosing  a  form  of  government^  | 
and  the  many,  the  very  many,  men 
of  merit  and  ability  who  at  that  time^ 
like  Montalembert,   wished    for  a 
<  manly  and  regulated  liberty,'  did  at 
moments  believe  themselves  to  be 
approaching  the  fulfilment  of  their 
hopes.     Setting  aside  the  party  of 
brUliant  and  eager  Republicans,  it 
did  seem  as  if  France  possessed  in 
a  Berryer,    a    De    Tocqneville,   a 
Guizot,  a  B^musat,  a  Faueher,  a 
Duvergier  de  Hauranne,  a  Falloux, 
a  Montalembert,  a  Kergolay,  a  De 
Beaumont,  and  a  De   BrogHe  the 
ten  righteous  men  who  might  haye 
saved  a  city  and  nation,  conld  the 
Grovemment  but  be  confided  to  such 
hands.     But  property  was  menaced 
by    the  Communistic  tone  of  the 
great    towns,    and    the    party,  so 
called,  of  order,  was,  not  unnatarallj, 
bent  on  establishing  a  '  strong  go* 
vernment,*  one  which  would  secure 
property  and  peace.   And  for  the  ten 
righteous  men  we  have  named,  the 
President,     Louis    Napoleon,    had 
among  his  personal   friends   quite 
as  many  men  of  precisely  opposite 
description.      They   had    not   been 
so  much  as  named  for  office  in  his 
first  cabinet,  but  not  the  less  had 
they    bided     their     time.       By   a 
stroke   of  unexampled  daring  and 
rascality  they  possessed  themadves, 
on  one  memorable  morning  in  De- 
cember,   of  the    chief   power  and 
places  in  the   State,  and  on  that 
day    the   legitimate    career   of  all 
honest  and  constitutional  statesmen 
in    France    was    ended.       M.    de 
Montalembert's  fate  was  no  excep- 
tion to  the  general  rule.     Not  that 
he    altogether    ceased    to    protest. 
The  incident  in  his  life  with  w^hich 
the  English  public  is  most  familiar, 
is  his  condemnation  in    November 
1858   for  articles  published  in  the 
Correspondantf  said  to  contain  'at- 
tacks on  universal  suffirage ;  on  the 
rights  of  the  Emperor ;  on  the  re- 
spect due  to  the  laws,  and  to  the 


1873] 


Charles  de  MontcdemberL 


185 


Gorernment  of  the  Emperor,'  -while  * 
ihey  were  also  of  a  nature  to  dis- 
turb the  public  peace.     We  extract 
a  portion  of  Mrs.  Oliphant's  account 
of  the  trial  and   its  consequences : 

The  penalties  attAcfaed  to  these  aficusa* 
lions  were  serious ;  not  only  were  the 
culprits  liable  to  sentences  of  imprison- 
nent,  Tarying  from  three  months  to  five 
years,  and  to  fines  varying  from  500  to 
6,000  ftancS)  but  they  were  enbject  to  a 
lasting  sorreillAnce,  and  might  be  either 
expelled  from  French  territory,  or  be  shut 
up  in  some  French  or  Algerian  town. 
The  trial  was  therefore  no  child's  play  to 
M«  de  MoDtalembert.  The  court  was 
t^rovded  with  the  best  and  highest  audience 
that  Puis  could  collect  To  hear  the  first 
of  French  lawyers  plead,  and  one  of  the 
mofeit  illustrious  of  French  orators  submit 
to  an  examination,  was  enough  to  attract  a 
crowd.  .  .  .  M.  de  Montalembert  was  ex- 
amined as  to  the  meaning  of  the  passages 
iillt^  as  libellous — whether  he  did  not 
iD«an  to  describe  the  Imperial  Gorernment 
by  the  words  •  the  chroniclers  of  anti- 
chambers,  the  atmosphere  charged  with 
serrile  and  corrupt  miasmas,'  and  whether 
he  did  not  imply,  by  saying  that  he  went 
to  breathe  an  air  more  pure,  to  take  a 
bath  of  life  in  free  England,  an  attack  on 
the  institations  of  his  country.  ...  No  one 
who  has  ever  seen  M.  de  Montalembert  can 
hare  any  difficulty  in  representing  to  him- 
Hflf  the  curiously  significant  position  in 
which  the  foolish  malice  of  his  prosecutors 
tb\is  placed  him.  With  his  imperturbable 
composore,  that  'aristocratic  calm'  which 
his  critics  had  so  often  remarked,  he  stood 
Wore  all  Paris,  with  the  curl  of  sarcasm 
a)joat  his  lips,  enjoying,  there  can  be  no 
doobt,  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart  this 
\mlooked-for  chance  of  adding  a  double 

?niit  to  erery  arrow  he  had  launched.  .  .  . 
he  calm  gravity  with  which  he  acknow- 
led^B  each  damning  implication  as  an 
historical  fiut  not  to  be  denied,  the  suave 
and  eeiioas  composure  of  his  aspect,  the 
irmistible  and  undeniable  force  of  that 
poliahedwiteration,  the  ironical  disavowal 
of  sjiy  attack  *  in  the  sense  implied  by  tlie 
law,'  all  make  up  the  most  characteristic 
picture  which  could  possibly  be  given  of 
the  man.  .  .  .  When  he  calmly  repeated  his 
tt«t  moderate  and  gentle  explanation^'  I 
hate  merely  stated  a  fact;  avertUsementa 
are  giten ;  France  did  possess  certain  insti- 
taUons which  she  possesses  no  longer'— -it 
» impossible  not  to  add  in  imagination  the 
gl^m  of  the  eye,  the  movement  of  the 
aim  lip,  the  sense  of  power  with  which  this 
"wmingly  innocent  response  was  given. . . . 
■Che  Proeoreur  Imperial   conducted   the 


prosecution,  and  the  distinguished  and 
eloquent  M.  Berryer  made  a  speech  of  two 
hours'  duration  for  the  defence.  As  to  the 
decision,  of  course  there  could  be  no  doubt. 
The  defendants  were  found  guilty  upon  the 
first  three  counts ;  the  fourth  count,  that  of 
having  endeavoured  to  disturb  the  public 
peace  by  exciting  citizens  to  hatred  and 
contempt  of  each  other,  was  dropped.  The 
sentence :  six  months  of  imprisonment  and 
a  fine  of  3,000  francs  for  the  Count  de 
Montalembert ;  one  month's  imprisonment 
and  1,000  ^ncs  of  fine  for  M.  Douniol, 
the  publisher  of  the  Correspondant. 

The  sentence,  however,  was  followed  by 
no  immediate  enforcement  of  the  penalty. 
Montalembert  left  the  court  quietly  on 
foot,  a  group  of  people  momentarily  as- 
sembling in  the  street  to  gaze  at  him.  He 
appealed  at  once,  as  he  had  a  right,  to  the 
superior  court.  Before  the  time  for  the 
appeal  was  completed,  the  Emperor  made 
an  effort  to  reclaim  the  ground  which  had 
been  lost  by  fully  remitting  the  sentence, 
on  the  occasion  of  the  anniversary  of 
December  2.  The  culprit  had,  however, 
no  mind  to  accept  the  grace  thus  awarded 
to  him,  and  on  the  same  day  addressed  the 
following  letter  to  the  Moniieur : 

'  Pakis  :  December  2,  1858. 

'  M.U  RSdactetir^^The  Moniteur  of  this 
morning  contains,  in  its  unofficial  part,  a 
piece  of  news  which  I  learned  only  in 
reading  it  It  is  expressed  as  follows: 
**  His  Majesty  the  Emperor,  on  the  occasion 
of  December  2,  remits  to  M.  le  Comte  de 
Montalembert  the  sentence  pronounced 
against  him."  Condemned  on  November 
24,  I  had  already  appealed  against  the 
sentence.  No  power  in  France,  up  to  the 
present  moment,  has  any  right  to  remit  a 
penalty  not  yet  definitively  pronounced.^  I 
am  one  of  those  who  still  believe  in  justice^ 
and  do  not  accept  mercy.  I  beg  you,  and 
if  necessary  I  require  you,  to  publish  this 
letter  in  your  next  number. 

<  Accept  the  assurance  of  my  consideration. 

*Ch.  de  Montalbhbkrt.' 

The  superior  court  decided  the  appeal  on 
December  21.  It  repeated  the  previous 
condemnation,  but  reduced  the  sentence 
firom  six  to  three  months'  imprisonment. 
The  Emperor,  however,  a  few  days  later 
repeated  his  act  of  grace,  and  remitted  all 
the  penalties  of  Montalembert.  M.  Dou- 
niol had  his  fine  of  1,000  francs  to  pay, 
and  thus  the  whole  business  ended. 

After  this  storm  was  laid  the 
compilation  of  his  great  work,  Les 
Moi/tiea  de  V  Occident^  occupied  the 


180 


•€harle8  de  Montalentbeti, 


[Fetnaiy 


mind  of  Monfcalcmbert ;  and  liis 
leisore  was  apt  to  be  spent  in 
jonsnejs  to  countrieB  whose  sites, 
like  those  of  Ireland,  Scotland,  and 
Germany,  were  connected  with  his 
book.  Two  volumes  were  published 
in  i860y  and  the  renxaining  ones 
appeared  in  1866  and  1867. 

This  history,  or  rather  this  beau- 
tiftil  apologia  for  the  monks  of  the 
West,  for  the  evangelists  of  the 
Isles,  for  the  civilisers  of  the  darkest 
comers  of  Christendom,  was  but 
the  literary  context  to  a  most  re- 
markable movement  in  France,  a 
movement  to  which  the  friends  of 
Montalembert's  youth  gave  the  first 
impulse: 

When  Lacordaire  had  been  by 
the  suspension  of  the  Avemr^  and 
the  disapproval  of  the  Pope,  thrown 
back  upon  his  own  resources  and 
reflections,  it  could  not  be  but  that 
that  ardent  heart  and    ingenious 
head  should  find  another  medium 
of  communicating  with  society.  "  To 
give  expression  to  his  love  of  God, 
the  supreme  and  satisfying  passion 
of  his  life,  and  to  warn  a  world  (for 
whose  welfare  he  was  ready  to  hee 
any  aaorifice),  that  by  losing  faith  in» 
its  God  it  would  die  to  youth,  to 
honour,  and  to  freedom,  were  neces- 
sities to  him.     From  the  pulpit  of 
Notre  Dame  he  declared  them,  and 
of  the  many  who  came  there  to 
wonder,  some  certainly  remained  to 
pray.    Yet  he  was  not   satisfied. 
What  was  one  voice  in  this  Babel  of 
folly  and  crime  P  and  so  the  priest 
who  had  been  baffled  as  a  reformer 
and  a  journalist  grew  to  think  that 
the  presence  of  a  preaching  order  in 
Fiunce   would  send  a  quickening, 
spirit  through    society.     At  that 
epoch  the  Jesuits  were  the  only 
rehgious    order    residing    in    the 
country.     What  if  the  rule  of  St. 
Dominic  could   be    revived,    wit^ 
its  third  estate  of   teachers?    A 
place  was  vacant  in  the  religious 
machinery  of  the  Church  in  France, 
and  the  Dominican  order  would  fill  it } 
then  srhy  not  a,dopt  a  mlo  thatjhad. 


once  shed  such  lustre  P  or  why  pre- 
fer  to  that  rule  some  system  bearing 
the  stamp  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury P 

The  confidante  of  this  scheme 
was  Madame  Swetchine,  and  its 
first  convert  was  Requedat,  in 
whose  company  we  see  Lacordaire 
once  more  taking  his  way  to  Rome. 
This  time  the  Pope  was  finvoor- 
able.  Lacordaire  assumed  in  1844 
the  garb  of  the  order,  the  white  and 
black  robes  of  innocence  and  of 
penitence,  and  he  began  a  Hfe  of 
monastic  solitude  in  the  Dominican 
convent  of  La  Qaercia. 

We  can  not  and  ought  not  here 
to  follow  the  details  of  this  Domi- 
nican revival,  or  of  its  leader's 
oareer,  from  the  first  tears  shed  in 
the  cell  at  La  Quercia^  to  the  hst 
sigh  breathed  in  the  school  of 
Sorreze;  but  the  spirit  that  ani* 
mated  Lacordaire  and  his  friends 
was  the  Hisiory  of  tJb^  Monks  ofik 
West  put  into  action;  set  as  it 
were  to  music,  and  surely  to  no 
ordinary  strain.  Beautiful  as  they 
were,  still  truth  compels  us  to  own 
that  lives  like  those  of  Beqaedat, 
Besson,  and  Picl  were  failures  for 
France ;  for  one  by  one  these  dis- 
ciples of  Lacordaire  withered  into 
early  graves;  Italy  and  Mossoulke^ 
their  ashes,  and  their  spirits  rest. 
They  were  of  those  who,  like  tbe 
Pere  Gratry,  had  early  heard  somo 
unearthly  voice  adjure  them: 
*  Friend,  come  up  higher,'  but,  alas! 
society  has  not  been  bom  again 
through  their  great  devotion,  their 
prayerful  vigils,  or  their  unrepining 
deaths. 

No  trait  of  French  national  cha- 
racter  in  this  century  is  so  painfjil 
as  the  want  of  moral  courage  in 
Frenchmen  to  resist  a  personal  or 
a  popular  impulse,  and  in  this  re* 
vival  of  the  conventual  life  we  can- 
not but  see  another  phase  of  the 
same  fatal  evil. .  Not  a  contemptible 
phase,  but  not  the  leas  a  permcions 
one.  To  »e8cape,fipom  the  jffesent 
iifc]f>mBaftj  laad  to  construct  inimagi^ 


1873J 


OharUs  d6  Monfalemhert, 


187 


oation  a  new  sitnation  oat  of  new 
but  imaginaiy  elements,  is  not  to 
regenerate  societj,  ^  but  to  make  a 
sentimental  mistake. 

W^t  was  finest  in  these  men 
was  their  earnest  devotion,  their 
readiness  to  saerifioe  the  person 
to  the  cause,  the  present  to  the 
^tore,  the  few  for  the  many,  the 
life  for  the  work.  Montalembert, 
less  heroic  than  the  rest,  praised  St. 
Bernaid,  St.  Benedict,  and  St.  Domi- 
nic, and  he  praised  his  friends ;  but 
while  be  felt  with  them,  he  did  not 
do  as  thejdid.  It  was  only  in  later 
life  that  he  had  to  drink  of  their 
rap. 

In  his  honse  in  the  Bne  da  Bac, 
and  in  his  chlLteaa  at  Villersexell, 
his  danghter  Catherine  had  grown 
np  beside  him.  She  had  inherited 
his  talent;  she  was  gay,  sweet- 
tempered,  and  accomplished,  and 
her  appearance  in  society  had  real- 
ised every  wish  her  &ther  might 
hare  formed.  Saddenly  she  an- 
nounced to  him  her  desire  to  be- 
come a  nun.  This  daaghter  of  the 
historian  of  the  cloister  said  it, 
meant  it,  and  did  it,  for  her  father 
could  not  well  refate  her  arguments. 
^  Cochin  describes  the  scene  that 
took  pbce  between  them.  '  One 
day  hM  charming  and  beloved  child 
entered  that  library  which  all  his 
friends  knew  so  well,  and  said  to  him, 
"  I  am  fond  of  everything  around  me. 
[  love  pleasure,  wit,  society,  and 
its  amnsem^its ;  I  love  my  family, 
my  stodies,  my  companions,  my 
youth,  my  life,  my  country;  but  I 
love  God  better  than  all,  and  I 
desire  to  give  myself  to  Him."  And 
when  he  said  to  her,  «*  My  child, 
is  there  something  that  grieves 
fon  ?  "  she  went  to  the  book^elves, 
md  sought  one  of  the  volumes  in 
jvhichhe  has  narrated  the  history 
)f  the  monks  of  the  West.  "  It  is 
ron,"  she  answered,  "who  have 
anght  me  that  withered  hearts  and 
reaty  souls  are  not  the  things 
rhich  we  ought  to  offer  to  God.'* 
k>mfi  months  afber  Madeittoiflelle 


de  Montalembert  carried  oat  her 
purpose,  as  her  father  said,  **A 
sa  grande  desolation.**  *  The  gap 
she  left  in  his  life  was  never  filled 
up  ;  and  though-  Mrs.  Oliphant 
says  that  he  grew  to  forget  his 
individual  disappointment  and  pain 
in  seeing  her  useful  and  happy  in 
her  vocation,  no  one  who  saw  him 
could  doubt  but  that  in  giving  her 
np  he  had  given  up  the  light  and 
brightness  of  his  last  years.  They 
were  years  of  physical  suffering, 
though  of  unblunted  sympathies 
and  of  undimmed  faith.  Death 
came  painlessly  and  gently  at  last 
on  March  13,  1870,  to  one  who  wa» 
'cast  in  gentle  mould,'  and  saved 
an  honourable  French  statesman 
from  beholding  the  humiliation  of 
his  beautiful  France  at  the  hands  of 
a  foreign  foe,  and  the  destruction  of 
Paris  at  the  hands  of  the  Commune^ 

Those  whom  the  gods  love  die 
young ;  yet  even  to  have  died  in  the 
spring  of  1870,  was  to  have  been 
spared  much  that  Montalembert  had 
foreseen,  and,  that  in  common  with 
the  whole  constitutional  party,  he 
had  been  too  feeble  to  prevent 

His  youth  had  been  one  of  so 
great  promise,  that  the  question  is 
forced  upon  one.  Why  was  the 
after  life  incommensurate  with  it  P 
Why  did  all  those  graces  of  adoles- 
cence and  enthusiasm  not  ripen  and 
harden  into  a  fuller  stature  of  manly 
greatness  P  He  fell  on  evil  days, 
and  his  mental  fibre  was  delicate  in 
no  common  degree.  A  nature  like 
this  has  one  great  drawback ;  it 
suffers.  Time  is  needed  to  recover 
from  suffering,  and  way  and  g^und 
are  both  lost  during  a  process 
which  time  only  can  accomplish. 
The  wound  heals,  as  wounds  in  all 
sound  minds  and  bodies  do  heal, 
bat  the  man  starts  again  at  a  di8«< 
advantage.  No  one,  for  example, - 
who  16oked  at  Montalembert's  ftoe 
in  late  life  could  mistake  for  a 
moment  that  he  was  a  man  who 
had  been  shaken  by  mental  as  well' 
as  phyHcal  paiigs.    Only  less  iMnfli*- 


188 


Charles  de  Monialenihert» 


[February 


tive  than  De  Tocqueville,  his  was 
a  temperament  unfitted  to  succeed. 
Only  the  men  of  blood  and  iron 
really  succeed,  for  they  have  no 
hesitations,  no  regrets,  no  relent- 
ings,  no  doubts,  and  no  despairs. 
But  there  .was  another  and  a 
heavier  cause  for  Montalembert's 
failures.  It  lay  in  what  he  con- 
sidered his  strcngth,  in  his  utter 
subservience  to  Rome.  In  1870, 
and  when  M.  de  Montalembert  was, 
through  'suffering,  rejoicing,  and 
sorrowing,'  slowly  making  his  way 
to  his  rest,  the  agitation  of  the 
Papal  Infallibility  as  a  verite  patente 
and  a  dogma  came  to  a  crisis.  The 
almost  dying  man  wrote  on  Febru- 
ary 28th  a  letter,  published  in  the 
Gazette  de  France,  condemning  the 
eager  servility  with  which  French- 
men were  carrying  out  Ultramon- 
tane principles  in  the  Church.  Yet 
in  the  last  days  of  his  life  the 
following  remarkable  conversation 
took  place.  A  visitor  put  a  direct 
question  to  Montalembert :  '  If  the 
Infallibility  is  proclaimed,  what  will 
you  do  ? '  *  I  will  struggle  against 
it  as  long  as  I  can.'  But  when  the 
question  was  repeated,  'What  should 
I  do  ?'  he  said.  '  We  are  always  told 
that  the  Pope  is  a  father ;  eh  hien ! 
there  are  many  fathers  who  demand 
our  adherence  to  things  very  far 
from  our  inclinations  and  contrary 
to  our  ideas.  In  such  a  case  the  son 
struggles  while  he  can;  he  tries 
hard  to  persuade  his  father,  dis- 
cusses and  talks  the  matter  over 
with  him;  but  when  all  is  done, 
when  he  sees  no  possibility  of  suc- 
ceeding, but  receives  a  distinct  re- 
fusal, he  submits.  I  shall  do  the 
same.'  '  You  will  submit  as  far  as 
form  goes ;  you  will  submit  exter- 
nally. But  how  will  you  reconcile 
that  submission  with  your  ideas  and 
convictions  ? '  *  I  will  make  no 
attempt  to  reconcile  them;  I  will 
simply  submit  my  will,  as  has  to  be 
done  in  respect  to  all  the  other 
questions  of  the  faith.  I  am  not  a 
theologian:   it  is  not  my  part  to 


decide  such  matters,  and  God  does 
not  ask  me  to  understand.  He  asks 
me  to  submit  my  will  and  intelli- 
gence, and  I  will  do  so.' 

This  confession  of  his  fiekith  needs 
no  commentary.  Under  the  cir- 
cumstances, which  painfully  recall 
those  of  the  death-bed  of  Adolphe 
Gratry,  it  can  have  but  one  expla- 
nation. The  children  of  the  Church 
of  Rome  love  her — through  right 
and  through  wrong  they  love  her — 
and  in  France  no  wonder.  In  an 
age  all  chaotic  she  stands  firm  on 
the  rock  of  the  Fisherman's  faith. 
Vexed  tides  and  contrary  winds 
have  often  wi*ecked  the  vessel  of  the 
State ;  the  ship  of  the  Church  will 
outride  the  storm.  Society  is  flip- 
pant, godless,  and  sensual,  but  she 
trains  up  Spartan  sons.  Modem 
schools  of  thought  for  the  *  very 
God '  of  the  Credo,  can  at  best  sub- 
stitute and  acknowledge  an  Un- 
knowable and  an  Unknown ;  bnt  in- 
stead of  a  force  offerees,  recognised 
beyond  the  limits  of  the  known,  the 
Church  points  to  the  Light  of  Lights, 
as  lightening  every  man  that  cometh 
into  the  world.  Immortality  and  Ha 
hopes  may  be  fading  out  of  many 
minds  too  gross  to  need  its  promises 
or  to  note  its  foreshadowings,  bat 
the  Church  still  proclaims  as  God's 
last,  best  gift '  the  life  of  the  world 
to  come.' 

The  disorders  and  distractions, 
the  ignorance,  idleness,  and  selfish- 
ness of  modem  France  might  also 
well  have  inclined  Montalembert  and 
his  friends  to  revert  fondly  to  a  time 
when  French  churchmen  were  su- 
preme in  politics,  piety,  and  thought, 
till  they  felt  that  the  eclipse  of  faith  is 
the  night  of  a  nation.  What  wonder, 
then,  if  as  French  society  emerged 
from  the  darkness  of  a  quarter  of 
a  century  these  men  turned  to 
the  Catholic  Church  as  to  a  fountain 
of  rejuvenescence  ?  And  when,  as 
from  the  roots  of  trees  that  have 
been  felled,  Montalembert  saw  fresh 
saplings  spring,  green  with  beauty 
and  with  promise,  what  wonder  that 


1873] 


Charles  de  Montalernbert. 


189 


be  looked  upon  his  Cbnrch  as  the 
snrsiDg  mother  of  society,  saw 
with  prophetic  joy  issne  from  her 
Agates,'  in  unbroken  snccession  and 
in  inexhaustible  supply,  'the  ser- 
rants  and  the  handmaids  of  Ood?' 

La  Querela  bid  &ir  at  one  time 
to  be  a  second  Port  Boyal.  So 
mach  the  Catholic  revivalists 
schievod,  but  no  more.  But  this  re- 
vival of  an  obsolete  monastic  sys- 
tem had  to  be  nursed  in  a  foreign 
country,  and  their  scheme  for  the 
restoration  of  society  was  withered 
like  the  oak  leaves  from  the  convent 
trees.  False  as  an  anachronism,  it 
was  false  to  common  sense,  and  it 
was  in  its  details  false  to  patriotism. 

Yet  where  the  Avenir  propa- 
ganda had  been  condemned,  this 
plan  received  the  Papal  sanction, 
and  with  all  its  £gital  errors  it 
had  Uie  delighted  approval  of  M. 
de  Montalernbert.  The  Pontiff  pro- 
hablj  thought  it  harmless,  but  the 
statesman  must  have  failed  to  see 
that  it  never  could  leaven  society 
since  it  began  by  renouncing  it, 
or  save  a  country  since  the  first 
step  was  to  leave  it.  Why  did  he 
fidl  to  see  this  ?  Because  Borne 
gives  a  deadly  wine  to  her  sons; 
because  when  integrity  of  mind 
has  once  been  lost,  the  sense  is  lost 
bj  which  men  distinguish  truth 
from  error.  Had  these  friends  been 
tnie  in  early  lif^  to  the  light  which 
was  in  them,  their  lives,  which 
could  not  have  been  more  saintly, 
wonld  have  been  perhaps  more 
stormy  and  certainly  more  useful. 


Given  over  to  a  strong  delusion,  be- 
cause they  persistently  preferred  a 
system  to  the  truth,  and  to  all  its 
consequences,  their  plan  was  written 
on  water.  It  was  not  the  com- 
mencement of  a  great  social  work, 
but  rather,  when  understood  aright, 
the  expression  of  a  profound  social 
despair,  and,  like  despair,  it  has  had 
no  offspring  and  no  future.  The 
taste  for  conventualism  which  it 
has  imported  into  Prance  is  one  of 
the  many  evils  with  which  French 
society  has  now  to  contend,  and  the 
cloister  now  receives  many  a  life 
and  too  many  an  endowment  sorely 
needed  in  another  field.  The  ex- 
tent to  which  this  affects  provin- 
cial life  is  perhaps  not  well  known, 
or  much  realised  out  of  Prance, 
though  it  is  probably  not  unknown 
to  the  acute  statesman  who  has  just 
banished  the  religious  orders  from 
the  new  German  Empire. 

The  staff  of  the  Avenir  and  the 
brotherhood  of  La  Quercia  are  both 
now  things  of  the  past  in  Prance, 
where  events  follow  each  other  so 
fiercely  fast.  But  her  Church  is 
unquiet  still.  One  or  two  daring 
men  have  sympathised  with  the  Old 
Catholic  party  in  Munich,  but  the 
Ultramontane  policy  is  very  vigor- 
ous, and  in  recent  years  the  private 
convictions  of  such  teachers  as  Du- 
panloup  and  Adolphe  Gratnr  have 
experienced  an  eclipse  like  those  of 
Montalembert.  In  fact,  there  are 
at  this  moment  but  few  rifbs  in 
the  clouds  that  overhang  the  future 
of  the  Gallican  Church. 


190 


[February 


A  SKETCH  OP  CHARLES  LEVER. 


rE  writer  of  this  paper  knows 
something  of  Lever;  and  while 
that  lonely  grave  at  Trieste  is  still 
^resh,  and  the  public  gaze  yet  fixed 
upon  ity  he  Would  honestly  tell  that 
something,  pruned  of  all  unkind- 
liness,  and,  as  far  as  possible,  in 
the  spirit  of  Hamlet's  '  Alas  !  poor 
Yorick.' 

Leaving  the  coffin  for  the  cradle, 
and  beginning  with  Lever's  birth, 
it  might  be  said  that  he  himself 
would  seem  not  to  have  been  very 
accurately  informed  about  bis  age, 
ii  the  memoir,  revised  by  his 
own  hand,  in  Men  of  the  Tinie 
be  taken  as  evidence.  Mechanically 
following  this  guide,  the  blunder 
has  been  repeated  in  different 
sketches  that  have  appeared  since 
his  death;  but  a  mortgage  pre- 
served in  the  Registry  of  Deeds 
Office,  Dublin,  conclusively  esta- 
blishes the  truth,  and  furnishes  an 
interesting  glimpse  of  the  unpre- 
tentious calling  of  his  father: — 
'  1809.  James  Foxall  to  James 
Lever,  carpenter  and  builder; 
premises  North  Strand;  dwelling- 
house,  outhouses,  yard,  and  garden, 
bounded  east  by  North  Strand, 
west  by  Montgomery  Street — 
lives  of  John  Lever,  eldest  son  ot 
lessee,  and  Chas.  Jas.  Lever,  hia 
second  son — John  then  aged  13 
years,  Charles  J.  3  years.' 

Thus  it  appears  that  Charles  Lever 
was  not  born  in  1809,  but  in  i8o6. 

Mr.  C n,  of  Dublin,  an  emi- 
nent builder,  now  in  his  seventy- 
eighth  year,  and  for  many  years 
the  neighbour  of  James  Lever,  de- 
scribes him  as  an  English  carpenter 
who,  emigrating  to  Lreland,  ob- 
tained, through  the  favour  of  the 
ruling  powers,  the  work  of  the 
Custom  House,  and  rose  to  wealth 
in  the  enjoyment  of  a  monopoly 
much  coveted  by  his  brethren  in 
the  trade.  A  book  called  Sketchea 
of  Irish  PoUHeal  Characters^  pub- 


lished in  1 799,  describes  the  Custom 
House  as  then  recently  built  by  the 
Right  Hon.  John  Claudius  Beres- 
ford,  Commissioner  of  Revenue, 
nominally  for  the  public  service, 
but  really  as  a  palace  for  personal 
residence.  He  was  the  backstairs 
Viceroy  who  manipulated  every 
department  of  the  Executive,  and 
in  comparison  to  whose  power  the 
Lord^-lAeutenant  himself  was  little 
better  than  a  cypher.  This  potential 
family  is  still  represented  by  persons 
wielding  high  influence.  In  a  recent 
visit  of  the  Lord  Primate  to  the  Soli- 
citor's Office  in  the  Custom  House, 
Dublin,  he  gaaed  so  steadfe^sUy 
around,  that  one  of  the  officials  ven- 
tured to  say,  *'  Your  Grace  seems  to 
know  this  room? '  '  I  ought,'  was 
the  reply,  '  for  I  was  bom  in  that 
comer.'  The  patronage  of  Lever 
by  the  Beresfords  proved  of  incal- 
culable advantage  to  his  own  inte- 
rests and  that  of  his  family. 

It  may  be  added  that  James 
Lever  before  he  died  became  a  very 
extensive  contractor,  building  some 
of  the  finest  churches  in  Dablin. 
He  had  his  country  seat^  too,  at 
Raheeny,  known  as  Moat-field,  which 
afterwards  became  the  residence 
of  Michael  Staunton,  Esq.,  editor 
of  the  Morning  Begister  and  later 
an  important  public  officer  in  Dub- 
lin, who  took  it  diieot  from  Lever. 

James  Lever's  will  is  preserved 
in  the  Prerogative  Court,  Dablin^ 
dated  May  26,  1833,  in  whicb  all 
his  property  is  devised  between  his 
sons,  John  and  Charles  James. 
This  John,  we  may  observe,  having 
graduated  in  Trinity  College,Dabliny 
and  attained  Holv  Orders,  was  sent 
as  cniate  to  TulLunore,  (where  be 
attended  in  his  last  illness  the 
celebrated  Lord  Chief  Justice 
Norboi^,  whose  taste  for  a  capital 
conviction  was  notorious)  and  after- 
wards received  the  living  of  Ard- 
nucber,  in  the  diocese  of  Meath. 


1873] 


A  Sketch  of  GharUs  Lever. 


191 


The  DMin  Directory  for  the  year 
1^21  records,  for  the  first  time,  the 
uame,  *Eev.G.N.  Wnght,  Principal 
of  tbe  Proprietary  School,  «  Great 
Denmark  Street.'  To  this  academy 
yoTing  Charles  Lever  was  sent,  and 
he  is  vividly  remembered  for  his 
powers  of  story-telling  by  several 
of  bis  schoolfellows  with  whom  we 
haye  conversed,    inolading    .John 

A ,  Esq.     He  is  described  as  a 

not  veiy  diligent  student,  fonder 
of  taming  over  the  leaves  pf  ro- 
mances dian  those  of  grammars  and 
lesicona^  and  rather  disposed  to  in- 
terrupt the  studies  of  the  other 
hoys  by  the  narratives,  '  to  be  con- 
tboed,'  concocted  in  his  own  brain, 
wberewith  \o  enchained  them 
from  day  to  day.  Of  the  gentle- 
man just  allnded  to,  Lever  was  six 
jcars  the  s^or,  and  his  age 
oamraUy  gave  him  an  ascendency 
and  influence  in  the  school.  John, 
the  elder  though  more  diminutive 
brother,  received  his  education,  as 
we  are  informed  by  his  class-fellow, 

^-  C ^n,  in  a    school  distinct 

^m  Mr. Wright's,  and  of  somewhat 
lesser  mark,  namely,  *The  Mer- 
cantile Academy,  No.  io6  Mecklen- 
bnr^h  Street,'  presided  over  by 
John  Fowler,  Grand  Masonic 
Secretaiy,  who — in  the  estimation 
of  his  awe-stricken  pupils  at  least 
— ^Welded  mysterious  terrors  by 
sbooldering  the  poker  and  cane 
akcraately. 

Charles  Lever  does  not  seem  to 
have  remained  very  long  at  Mr. 
WnghVs  academy,  for  the  books  of 
Trinity  Coll^^B,  Dublin,  record  his 
admission  there  on  October  the  14th, 
i8i2.  He  went  through  his  course 
withont  disgrace  and  without  dia- 
tincdan,  &  more  creditably  than 
Goldsmith,  and  with  much  less 
diligence  than  Sheridan.  To  tell 
the  nnvamished  truth,  he  seems 
chiefly  remembered  for  his  rollick- 
mg  fun  and  indomitable  love- 
J»aking.  But  he  tamed  down  a 
httieimder  parental  remonstrance, 
^  in  1828  took  out  his  degim  as 


Bachelor,  and  proceeded  to  the  UniJ 
versity  of  Gottingen  to  study  medi« 
cine.  His  progress  from  Rotterdam 
to  the  Bhine,  explorations  of  all 
sights  along  the  route,  and  student 
hie  in  Germany,  are  veiy  folly  de- 
scribed in  a  series  of  papers  now 
before  us,  entitled,  Notes  from  the 
Log  Book  of  a  Eamhler,  These  are 
marked  by  all  the  pleasant  characte- 
ristics of  Lever's  later  style,  and 
appeared  in  the  ephemeral  pages 
of  a  Dublin  journal  which  reached 
twenty-six  numbers  only.  Snatches 
of  impromptu  song  and  outbursts 
of  rich  animal  spirits  are  delight- 
fully intermingled,  and  formed  a 
pleasant  contrast  to  the  Dryasdust 
school  of  writing  travels  pre- 
viously in  vogue.  The  public  are 
grasped  warmly  by  the  hand  and 
asked — 

Know  ye  the  land  where  the  students  pug« 

nadons 
Strut  the  streets  in  long  frocks  and  loose 

trousers  and  caps, 
Who,  proud  in  the  glory  of  pipes   and 

moustaches, 
Drink  the  downfall  of  nations  in  flat  beer 

or  Schnapps  ? 
Know  ye  the  land  whore  professors  are 

tripping 
In  the  light    airy  waltz  and  the    swift 

galopade; 
Or  retired  within  dark  groves  their  negus 

are  sipping, 
And   mixing    soft    speeches    with    stout 

Kalte-Schade? 

Which  KaJte-Schade,  by  the  way,  is 
a  beverage  used  as  a  preventive 
against  catching  cold  by  the  Ger- 
man ladies,  who  are  marvellously 
fond  of  it.  It  is  made  by  grating 
brown  bread,  sugaar,  and  nutmeg 
into  warm  beer  till  the  whole  has 
attained  the  consistency  of  gruel. 

From  the  time  of  the  premature 
death  of  the  Irish  literary  journal 
to  which  we  have  just  referred, 
until  the  establishment  of  the  Buhlm 
TlniversUyMckgazine  in  January  1833, 
young  Lever's  pen  seems  to  have 
been  laid  aside  in  &your  of  the 
lancet  and  scalpel.  At  lladame 
Stevens'  Hospital  and  the  Medical 


192 


A  Sketch  of  Charles  Lever. 


[February 


School  of  Trinity  College,  both  were 
brought  into  constant  play  nnder 
Gusack  in  the  first,  and  MacGartney 
in  the  latter.  MacGartney,  who  was 
a  strange  bat  able  man,  set  np  in 
the  yarcl  of  the  dissecting  room  a 
marble  tablet  (afterwards  plastered 
over,  but  now  once  more  exposed) 
to  the  effect  that  it  was  consecrated 
to  the  remains  of  those  whose 
bodies  have  been  nsed  for  the  pur- 
poses of  science.  On  Gusack  many 
a  characteristic  trick  was  played  by 
Lever,  who  (like  his  co-novelist, 
Dickens)  was  so  full  of  dramatic 
talent  that  he  absolutely  succeeded 
in  personating  Gusack  to  the  class 
one  morning  for  a  short  time,  pro- 
bably during  the  arrangements  pre- 
liminary to  the  lecture.  The  gay 
young  Doctor  organised  a  Baccha^ 
nalian  Glub,  rdoicing  in  the  title 
of  *  Burschenschafb,'  of  which  he 
became  the  Orand  Lavia,  Redolent 
of  tobacco,  and  thoroughly  German 
in  its  proclivities,  this  social  reunion 
evidenced  a  love  of  all  things  Ger- 
man, unless,  perhaps,  German  silver, 
if  the  title  of  one  of  its  high  officers 
— ^Hereditary  Bearer  of  the  Wooden 
Spoon — may  be  taken  as  evidence. 
German  songs  were  sung  and  trans- 
lated by  Lever,  who  afterwards  gave 
them  a  place  in  The  Oonfessions  of 
Hamj  Lorrequer.  Sparkling  recol- 
lections of  these  jovial  nights  have 
been  expressed  by  one  who,  as  a 
him  raconteur  and  a  pleasant  singer, 
contributed  not  a  little  to  make 
them  enjoyable. 

On  the  outburst  of  that  terrible 
•epidemic,  the  cholera  morbus,  in 
f  832,  Gharles  was  appointed  by  the 
Government  to  minister  profes- 
sionally to  the  sufferers  at  Port- 
rush  and  Goleraine  successively. 
His  experiences  at  that  trying  time 
are  effectively  embodied  in  8i, 
Pairick*8  Eve,  While  engaged  in 
the  perilous  and  irksome  duty  to 
which  we  refer,  it  was  his  good 
fortune  to  make  the  acquaintance 
at  Pot'trush  of  William  Hamilton 


Maxwell,  author  of  The  Wild  Sports 
of  the  West  and  Stories  of  Water- 
ho.    This  distinguished  person  was 
Rector  of  Balla,  in  Mayo,  but  those 
who  remember  his  dashing  and  im* 
provident  disposition  will   not  be 
surprised  to  learn  that  pecuniary  dif. 
ficulties  overtook  him,  and  that  at 
the  period  of  Lever*s  first  interview 
with  him    he  was    rusticating  at 
Portrush,  in  the  hope  of  evading 
writs  and  duns.     A  congeniality  of 
tastes  brought  Lever  and  Maxwell 
together  constantly  and  closely:  the 
latter,  as   the  ^author  of    Captain 
Blake  of  the  Bifles,  may  be  said  to 
have  been  the  founder  of  the  nuli- 
tary  novel ;  and  Lever's  plans,  which 
had  been  long  simmering  in  his 
brain,  gradually  attained  boiling  heat 
in  the  fervid  companionship  of  the 
brilliant  parson,  who  enjoyed  wine 
and  punch  at  night,  and  was  given 
more  to  'soda  water'  tiian  'sermons' 
the  next  momiiu^.     Mr.  Maxwell 
had  never  been  in  the  army,  thi 
statements  in    published  sketches 
of  him  to  the  contrary  notwith- 
standing.     But,  like  Lever,  he  had 
a  sympathetic  knowledge  of  mili- 
tary life  and  manners,  and  while 
Rector    of   Balla   he  enjoyed  the 
privilege    of    having    apartments 
m  the  barracks  of   Gastlebar,  so 
genial  a  companion  did  he  prore 
to    the   officers   of   the  regiments 
quartered     there.     He  once  wrote 
a     letter    against     Lord     Grej's 
Ghurch    Bill,    for   which    he   got 
&om  O'Oonnell  a  Roland  for  his 
Oliver.      The    great    agitator,   in 
a    public    letter    which    playfully 
pilloried  him,  began,  *  Prebendary 
of  Balla,  thou  art  a  wag ! '    When 
he  reiairned   to  his  living.  Lever 
went  on  a  visit  to  him,  was  brought 
into  close  association  with  the  mili- 
tary, met  Jackson,  whose  brother 
was  sub-inspector  of  constabulary  at 
Gastlebar,  and  embodied  in  his  note- 
book those  experiences  of  Glare  Me 
and  its  gentry  of  which  Jackson 
had  already  given  some  rich  sam- 
ples.    In  ilie  Confessions  of  Ban j 


1873] 


A  SI: etch  of  CJiarles  Lever, 


193 


Loneqwr  mncb  material  which 
Lever  gathered  at  this  period  will 
l«  found  worked  up. 

The  success  of  that  series  of  plea- 
sant papers,  the  Kilnish  Petty  Ses- 
thtiSy  contributed  to  the  Morning 
Herald  in  1832,  are  believed  to 
have  had  effect  in  Btimulating 
Lever's  pen  to  do  likewise.  The 
author  was  Mr.  Jackson,  alluded 
to  aboTB,  better  known  by  his 
pseudonym  of  Temj  Driscoll,  to 
whose  memory  a  fiiie  monument 
has  been  raised  in  Mount  Jerome 
Cemetery,  bearing  the  inscription : 
*A  man  whose  genial  satire  left 
so  sting  behind.'  Jackson  had  been 
a  reporter  on  the  Herald^  but  having 
given  np  to  the  Government  his 
shorthand  notes  of  a  speech  made 
ly  ilr.  O'Connel'l,  he  was  very 
properly  dismissed  by  the  pro- 
prietary. To  compensate  him  for 
this  loss  Jackson  received  from 
the  Crown  an  appointment  in 
Dnhlin  Castle,  worth  150^.  a  year, 
which  he  enjoyed  until  his  death, 
at  the  age  of  forty-five,  in  1857. 

Lever  had  been  for  some  time 
betrothed  to  Catharine  Baker,  but 
an  nntoward  circumstance  threat- 
ened to  delay  their  marriage.  Mean- 
while his  intimacy  with  Maxwell 
became  every  day  of  a  closer  charac- 
ter ;  the  parson  inoculated  his  young 
friend  with  his  views,  and  even  fail- 
ings; and  Lever  with  thorough 
dhandon  flung  himself  into  the  same 
iDllieking  manner  of  life.  Like  Max- 
well,he  aJfio  was  threatened  with  ser- 
vice of  writs,  and  one  day  he  asked 
his  Mentor  to  recommend  him  some 
refugium,  without  being  obliged  to 
start  for  Douglas  or  Boulogne.  Max- 
well counselled  him  by  no  means 
to  leave  the  land  of  bright  eyes  and 
potatoes,  and  that  teland  con- 
tained many  spots  of  picturesque 
beanty  hitherto  unexplored  by  bai- 
lifls,  and  eminently  suited  for  lite- 
rarjr  men  requiring  retirement  or 
inspiration.  Lever  made  enquiries, 
and  a  kind  friend  of  his,  who  after- 
vards  filled  the  oflBce  of  head  engi- 

TOL.  Tll.— NO.XXXVIIL  NEW  SERIES. 


neer  under  the  Government  during 
the  famine,  informed  him  that  he 
knew  a  priest  in  Glare  who,  he  felt 
assured,  would  be  delighted  to  place 
at  his  disposal,  for  any  length  of 
time,  the  shelter  of  his  hospitable 
hermitage. 

The  priest  had  been  under  some 
favours  to  the  engineer,  who  had 
previously  exerted  his  influence 
successfully  to  obtain  a  grant  of 
ground  for  the  enlargement  of  the 
graveyard  attached  to  the  Roman 
Catholic  chapel  in  which  he  offi- 
ciated. The  name  of  this  priest 
was  Comyns ;  and  the  details,  which 
we  have  gleaned  from  the  engineer's 
family,  may  be  relied  upon  for  their 
accuracy. 

A  correspondence  was  accord- 
ingly opened  with  the  good  pastor, 
who  replied  in  the  most  encou- 
raging manner,  and  Lever,  in  love, 
debt,  and  disguise,  proceeded  to 
Kilkee.  For  three  calendar  months 
Lever  continued  the  guest  of  Father 
Comyns,  enjoying  the  good  cheer  so 
hospitably  provided,  and  no  less 
the  laughable  stories  and  sallies  of 
his  host.  And  when,  at  last,  the 
character  of  Father  Tom  Loftus  was 
introduced  to  the  public  by  Lever, 
no  one  more  promptly  recognised 
the  portrait  than  Father  Comyns 
himself,  and  in  a  letter  to  the  worthy 
engineer  who  had  been  the  means  of 
bringing  them  together,  he  warmly 
protested  against  the  mode  in  which 
his  hospitality  had  been  abused. 

The  character  of  the  priest  had 
been  overdrawn  by  Lever  for  dra- 
matic eflect,  and,  it  must  also  be 
confessed,  in  deference  to  that  party 
whose  traditional  prejudices  he  re- 
spected and  upheld  ;  but  some  al- 
lowance may,  perhaps,  be  made  for 
a  man  of  the  avowed  Lorrequer 
type,  ardently  anxious  for  adven- 
ture, not  very  particular  as  to 
the  sort,  and  one  ready  to  turn 
to  literary  account  the  result  of 
his  experiences.  The  character  of 
Father  Comyns  is,  on  the  whole, 
a  tolerably  correct  picture   of  the 


194 


A  Sketch  of  GJiarles  Lever. 


[February 


traditional  Soggarth  aroon — ^his  only 
weakness  imputed  being  a  disposi- 
tion to  imbibe  a  moderate   share 
of  alcohol,    like    Father    Tom    of 
Boncicault's   Colleen  Baicn,   which 
that  accomplished  re-dresser  of  old 
character  seems  to  have  borrowed 
from  Lever.     Vainly  was  it  repre- 
sented   to    Mr.   Comyns    that  the 
character  of  Father  Tom    Loftus 
was  interesting  and  even  venerable 
— that  the  use  of  stimulants  by  the 
Irish  clergy  was  noticed  as  a  cha- 
racteristic by  Giraldus  Cambrensis, 
the  great  Welsh  bishop — who,  how- 
ever,  strongly    praised    them    for 
chastity.      It  was  all   to   no   use; 
the  Pastor  of  Kilkee  folded  his  arms 
in  anger,  and  refused  to  give  abso- 
lution to  the  author  of  the   (7o7i- 
fessimiSf  who  meanwhile  continued 
his  genuflections,  but  more  in  the 
attitude   of  coaxing  than  of  peni- 
tence.     We  have   spoken    of   the 
absence    of    fastidious     taste     by 
which  the  earlier  of  his  rollicking 
writings  are  marked ;  but  it  is  to 
his    credit  that  nowhere    are    we 
induced  to  breathe  an  atmosphere 
of  impurity.     Love-making  galore^ 
we  have  no  doubt,  but  it  is  honest 
and  legitimate  love-making,  with- 
out any  unhealthy  exhibition  of  the 
anatomy  of  the  passions.    If  his  he- 
roes are  not  of  the  most  scrupulous 
character  and  deserving  of  our  imi- 
tation, it  must,  at  least,  be  conceded 
that  his  heroines  are  everything  that 
can  be  desired.    They  are  full  of  re- 
finement, good  breeding,  and  ele- 
gance, and  seem,  indeed,  incapable 
of    an   unworthy  thought.      Kate 
Dodd  was  the  favourite  girl  of  his 
creation;    he   considered    her    the 
type  of  a  true  Irishwoman.      The 
Dodd  Family  Abroad,  written  in  the 
form  of  letters  after  the   plan  of 
Smollett's    Humphrey    Clinker y    is, 
perhaps,  one  of  the  best  of  his  books. 
Smollett,  by  the  way,  like  Lever, 
combined  the  parts  of  physician  and 
comic  novelist. 

Shortly  after  the  establishment 
of  the  DuhUn  University  Magazine 


in  January  1833,  Lever  joined  its 
ranks  and  contributed  some  papers 
of  more  than  average  ability.  Mean- 
while he  threw  oflf^  roughly,  the 
Coufessimis  of  Harry  Lorrequer^ 
which  embodied  many  stirring  re- 
collections of  the  Continent  and  of 
Clare.  Samuel  Lover,  the  then 
leading  litterateur  of  Dublin,  was 
invited  by  Lever  to  read  the  manu- 
script and  recommend  it  'to  his 
publishers,  who,  however,  were  un- 
willing to  take  it  up.  The  first  in- 
stalment of  the  Confessioiis  was  ne- 
vertheless, published  in  the  Duhlit 
University  Magazine  for  March  1 834. 
The  secret  was  so  well  kept  that 
Lever's  brother,  the  clergyman,  did 
not  know  him  to  be  the  author.  It 
proved  a  hit,  though  all  the  London 
reviews  seem  to  have  either  pooh- 
poohed  or  ignored  it,  as  the  *  opi- 
nions of  the  press,'  gathered  by  Mr. 
W.  Curry,  the  publisher,  would 
seem  to  confess.  The  praise  is  all 
cited  from  provincial  papers,  with 
the  exception  of  one  from  a  military 
journal,  where  the  reviewer  declared 
that  he  would  rather  be  the  author 
of  Harry  Lorrequer's  Confessions  than 
of  all  the  PickwicJcs  or  Nichlehys  m 
the  world.  Ere  long,  however, 
Lever  took  his  stand  amorig  the  | 
most  popular  of  European  novelists.    1 

The  influence  of  Lever's  family 
with  the  Government  was  again 
proved  by  his  appointment  in  i  S37 
to  the  post  of  physician  to  the  British 
Embassy  in  Brussels.  Here  the 
best  society  was  opened  to  him, 
and  a  rich  field  for  the  study  and 
seizure  of  character  as  welL  Jnst 
as  Thackeray,  day  after  day,  in- 
vited to  his  table  an  eccentric 
Irishman,  all  brogue  and  blarney, 
who  furnished  material  for  Captain 
Costigan,  Lever  daily  feasted  a 
retired  major  who  had  served  in 
the  Peninsula,  and  the  character 
of  Monsoon  was  the  result.  The 
major  well  knew  the  uses  to  which 
his  presence  was  to  serve,  but  Le- 
ver's wine  was  so  good,  that  he 
merely  contented  hiniself  with  plea- 


1873] 


A  Sketch  of  Charles  Lever, 


195 


s&utly  apbraiding  liis  host,  now  and 
again,  for  the  too  free  dashes  with 
vhich  his  portrait  was  put  in  from 
Dumber  to  number. 

During  the  progress   of  Charles 
O'MaUttjf  which  had  rapidly   fol- 
lowed up  the  Confessions  in  1840, 
Lever  was  in  the  habit  of   riding 
iLto  Dublin     from     Templeogne, 
and    gathering    from    the    knots 
of  bairifiters  who  thronged  the  hall 
of  the  Four  Courts  material  for 
the  story  in  hand.      One  day  the 
noveb'st  joined  a  group  of  pleasant 
talkers,  with  memories  much  better 
dock^  than  their  bags,  and  in  the 
miiL't  of  whom  our  informant,  Mr. 
Porter,  stood,  narrating  how  in  pass- 
ing through  Tralee  a  short  tinae  be- 
fore he  cdled  to  see  an  old  friend, 
Mr.  Roche,  stipendiary  magistrate 
there,  whose  servant^  when  very  ill, 
said,  'Oh,  masther,  I  don't  think 
it'b  a  right  sort  of  a  docther  that's 
attending  me,  for  he  gave  me  two 
df»5e8  that  ho  called   emetics,  and 
neither  0'  them  would  rest  on  my 
stomach.'    In  the  following  num- 
ber of  Charles  O'Malleij,  Mr.  Porter 
recognised  the  anecdote  put  into 
the  mouth  of  Mickey  Free.     In  the 
same    way  our    late    friend    Mr. 
Brophj,   the     dentist,     a     perfect 
CYclopadia  of  slang  anecdote,  was, 
as  he  himself  assured  us,  frequently 
put  under  contribution  by  Lever. 
The  well-known  incident  in  Harry 
Wre^per,    of  the    officer    coming 
cm  parade  at  Cork  without  remem- 
bering to  wash  ,the  black  oflf  his 
face,  which  had  made  him  a  capital 
Othello  at  priyate  theatricals  the 
previous  night,  really  happened  to 
Captain  Frizelle,  an  ancestor  of  the 
yresent  writer's  family.     The  cha- 
acter  of  Con  Hefieman,  in  another 
level,  is  a  highly  coloured  portrait 
>f  Mr.  O'Connell.    And  *  Davenport 
)ann,  the  Man  of  our  Day,'  is  no 
ther  than    John    Sadleir.     Arch- 
ishop  Whately  likewise  figures  in 
be  i^orelist's  pages,  and  so  do  many 
ther  prominent  persons  familiar  to 
hiblin    society.      That   rich    cha- 


racter, *  Frank  Webber,'  whose 
thoroughly  veracious  adventures 
proved  profitable  stock-in.trade  to 
Lever,  was  Bobert  Boyle,  as  his 
own  family  assure  us.  He  was  a 
well-known  man  at  Trinity  College, 
and  stopped  at  no  daring  feat,  from 
the  horse-whipping  of  Major  Sirr, 
the  Fouche  of  Dublin,  to  practical 
jokes  on  the  Dean  of  his  University. 

One  incident,  however,  of  which 
Webber  is  made  the  hero,  is  due  to 
Dr.  Seward,  a  worthy  man,  still 
amongst  us.  We  allude  to  the  feat 
of  ventriloquism,  whereby  the  people 
were  induced  to  tear  up  the  pave- 
ment for  the  purpose  of  rescuing 
from  a  sewer  in  York  Street  a  man 
who  announced  himself  as  just  es- 
caped from  Newgate.  One  of  the 
shrewdest  professors  of  the  College 
of  Surgeons,  Dr.  Benson,  was  so 
deceived,  that  he  reprimanded  a 
young  doctor  present  for  his  heart- 
lessness  in  laughing  at  the  suffer- 
ings of  a  fellow-creature  in  dis- 
tress. Lever's  talent  in  dressing 
up  old  stories  for  his  novels, 
was  only  equalled  by  the  tact  with 
which  he  made  a  rechauffe  for  his 
semi -political  papers.  Sir  Brook 
Foshrooke,  Cornelius  O^Dowd,  and 
Lord  Kilgohhin^  of  all  the  old 
points  which  for  many  years  have 
constituted  the  stock-in-trade  of 
Conservative  journalism. 

Mickey  Free  was  originally  in- 
tended as  a  mere  stage  servant  for 
the  removal,  so  to  speak,  of  tables 
and  chairs ;  but  Lever  finding  him 
prove  a  capital  vehicle  for  enun- 
ciating the  good  things  he  had 
picked  up,  he  altered  his  plan  and 
made  him  an  important  figure  of 
more  than  one  book.  In  some 
respects  he  attained  a  celebrity 
second  only  to  Sam  Weller. 

The  name  of  Samuel  Ferguson  has 
been  recently  mentioned  among  the 
men  of  genius  whom  Lever  gathered 
round  him  when  he  undertook,  in 
1842,  the  editorship  of  the  Dvilin 
University  Magaaine ;  but  so  an- 
noyed was  Dr.  Ferguson  with  Lever 

P  2 


196 


A  Sketch  of  Charles  Lever, 


[Febniary 


for  accepting  Thackeray's  dedication 
of  the  Irish  Sketch  Book,  in  which 
the  country  was  to  some  extent 
travestied,  that  he  refused  to  join 
the  magazine  under  Lever,  and 
even  avoided  meeting  him.  But 
there  were  several  brilliant  men 
left  who  frequented  Lever's  house 
at  Templeogue,  near  Dublin,  and 
made  the  reunions  there  very  delect- 
able. These  pleasant  noctea  are  well 
remembered ;  and  the  beaming  face 
of  our  host,  every  muscle  trembling 
with  humour;  the  light  of  his 
merry  eye ;  the  smile  that  expanded 
his  mouth  and  showed  his  fine 
white  teeth ;  the  musical,  ringing 
laugh,  that  stirred  every  heart ;  the 
finely  modulated  voice,  uttering  some 
witty  Twof,  telling  some  droll  incident, 
or  some  strange  adventure. 

Though  Lever's  fascinating  man- 
ners made  him  one  of  the  most 
popular  of  men,  he  could  sometimes 
say  a  bitter  thing.  It  is  well 
known  that  the  late  Archbishop 
Whately  was  remarkably  suscep- 
tible to  flattery.  One  morning  at 
Redesdale,  near  Stillorgan,  Dublin, 
his  Gbuce  received  a  number  of 
guests,  including  a  large  proportion 
of  the  expectant  clergy,  who  paid 
profound  court  to  the  ex-Fellow  of 
Oriel.  While  walking  through  the 
grounds  Dr.  Whately  plucked  a 
leaf,  which  he  declared  had  a  most 
nauseous  flavour.  *  Taste  it,'  said 
he,  handing  it  to  one  of  the  acolytes. 
The  latter  blandly  obeyed,  and  then 
with  a  wry  face  subscribed  to  the 
botanical  orthodoxy  of  his  master. 
*  Taste  it,'  said  the  gratified  prelate, 
handing  the  leaf  to  Lever.  '  Thank 
your  Grace,'  said  the  latter,  as  he 
declined  it,  *  my  brother  is  not  in 
your  Lordship's  diocese.' 

In  1845,  Lever  vacated  his  edito- 
rial chair  and  returned  to  Brussels, 
from  which  he  was  soon  summoned 
to  fill  a  diplomatic  post  at  Florence. 
Here  he  continued  the  delight  of 
the  Anglo-Florentine   Society  and 


of  all  English  visitors,  until  tlie 
late  Lord  Derby  gave  him  a  Vice^ 
Consulship  at  Spezzia,  with  the 
characteristic  words,  '  Here  is  80c?. 
a  year  for  doing  nothing,  and  yon, 
Lever,  are  the  very  man  to  do  it.' 
From  Spezzia  he  was  transferred, 
in  1867,  to  Trieste,  where  his  pen 
sped  unflaggingly,  and  he  himself 
continued  the  life  and  soul  of  many 
a  pleasant  circle.  In  1870  Le 
visited  Ireland,  was  feted  and 
feasted,  and  it  seemed  to  all  Ids 
old  friends  that  he  had  never  flashed 
more  brightly. 

But  soon  after  his  return  to  Italj 
sorrow  laid  a  deadly  grasp  npon 
him.  His  wife  died,  and  left 
him  lonely.  Gloomy  forebodm^ 
shook  him  as  he  penned  the 
last  lines  of  Lord  Ktlgobhin,  and 
few  will  read  without  emotion  his 
allusion  to  the  fact  that  they  were 
'written  in  breaking  health  and 
broken  spirits.  The  task  that  was 
once  my  joy  and  pride,  I  have  lived 
to  find  associated  with  my  sorrows. 
It  is  not,  then,  without  a  cause  I 
say, 'I  hope  this  effort  may  be  my 
last.' 

A  few  weeks  before  his  death  he 
writes  to  a  friend,  *  I  cannot  ye: 
say  that  I  am  round  the  comer, 
and,  to  tell  truth,  T  have  so  little 
desire  of  life,  that  my  own  lassitude 
and  low  spirits  go  a  good  way  in 
bearing  me  down.'  And  to  another 
friend  he  said  despondently,  *  I  am 
weary  and  foot-sore.*  Lever  sanl: 
to  rest  sadly,  but  not  in  bodily  pain. 
He  died  in  his  sleep  at  Trieste,  June 
1872,  and  three  days  after  he  was 
buried  in  the  English  cemetery 
near  the  same  place. 

It  may  be  added  that  LererV' 
property  was  sworn  under  4,000/. 
— a  sum  which  may  surprise  thos? 
who  know  the  high  prices  his  nnin- 
terrupted  series  of  successful  novels 
fetched,  and  the  pleasant  sinecures 
he  held  in  Italy. 

W.  J.  F. 


ISJ-i] 


197 


DAILY  WORK  IN  A  NORTH-WEST  DISTRICT. 


JUDGING  from  the  healthy  signs 
f)  manifested  of  late  years,  it  would 
really  seem  that  we  may  look  for- 
ward to  the  gradual  removal  of 
that  apathetic  ignorance  which, 
until  qnite  recently,  prevailed 
amongst  even  well-educated  Eng- 
lishmen in  regard  to  the  domestic, 
social  and  political  life  of  the  varied 
races  of  Hindustan,  and  to  the  work 
of  administration  which  for  upwards 
of  a  century  we  have  carried  on 
amongst  them.  The  interest  excited 
is  not  entirely  disinterested.  A 
i'aTonrite  theme  of  the  so-called 
Manchester  School,  is  the  identity  of 
the  interests  of  India  with  those  of 
England — the  latter  phrase  mean- 
ing, in  plain  language,  the  promo- 
tion of  England's  material  wealth, 
and  more  especially  the  extension 
of  her  cotton  manufsu^tures — and 
in  whose  views,  apparently,  the 
most  assuring  step  towards  the 
complete  regeneration  of  India 
would  be  a  law  compelling  the 
cultivation  of  cotton  in  every  acre 
of  the  land. 

But  I  am  not  concerned  now  with 
the  theoretical  question  of  Englan d'  s 
niission  to  India;  and  as  to  the 
views  alluded  to,  we  may  rest  as- 
sured that  there  is  sufficient  good 
sense  remaining  in  the  kingdom  at 
large,  and  especially  amongst  those 
who  are  more  immediately  con- 
cerned in  the  Government  of  India, 
to  preserve  that  vast  territory  with 
its  teeming  millions,  from  being 
dealt  with  as  a  mere  appanage  of 
Cottonopolis.  Mj  object  in  this 
paper  is  simply  to  give  a  brief 
sketch  of  a  civilian's  daily  work  in 
tiie  districts  comprised  under  the 
lieutenant-  governorship  of  the 
North- Western  Provinces,  of  which 
Allahabad  is  the  seat  of  Government. 
The  area  of  a  district  averages 
about  2,000  square  miles,  with  a 
population  varying  from  600,000  to 
over  a  million.     The  districts  are 


grouped  together  into  divisions — 
four  or  five    being   generally  the 
number    comprised  in  a  divisipn. 
This  larger  area  is  under  a  com- 
missioner, who  thus  stands  midway 
between  the  Government  and  the 
officer  charged  with  the  administra- 
tion of  the  district,  who  is  termed  a 
'Magistrate  and  Collector.'      The 
duties  of  this  latter  officer — and  it 
is  with  these  only  I  am  concerned 
— are  of  a  most  important  character. 
He  is  to  the  people  of  his  district 
the  direct  representative  of  Govern- 
ment, and  his  influence  among  them 
is   proportionately  great;   and  for 
the   well-being    and  judicious  ad- 
ministration  of  the  district  he  is 
held  responsible.     He  is  collector 
of  the  land  and  all  other  kinds  of 
revenue — the    custodian    and    dis- 
burser  of  the  public  funds  —  head 
excise  officer — controller  of  the  sale 
of   opium    and    stamps,   and    the 
manager    of    sequestrated    estates. 
The  construction  of  all  local  roads  ; 
the    building    of    bridges,    police 
stations,  schoolhouses    and    other 
public   works  ;    the  direction   and 
control   of  municipalities   (an    at- 
tempt to  educate  the  people  in  the 
art  of  self-government,  which  has 
hitherto  met  with  but  ill  success)  ; 
the   management   of  all  charitable 
institutions,    such    as    dispensaries 
and    hospitals  ;    the    fostering     of 
education,  and  the  promotion  of  sani- 
tary works, — all  devolve  upon  him. 
He  constitutes  a  revenue  court  for 
the  trial    of   suits  between   land- 
owners and  their  tenants,  and,  in 
addition  to  his  judicial  duties  in  the 
magisterial  department,  he  is   re- 
sponsible for  the  efficiency  of  the 
police  in  the  detection  and  repres- 
sion of  crime,  and  for  their  success 
or  otherwise  in  bringing  to  justice 
all  oflenders  against  the  laws.     To 
assist  him  in  these  various  branches 
of  administration,  besides  an  un- 
covenanted  staff  of  native  or  Eura- 


198 


Daily  WorJe  in  a  Norih-West  Biatrid, 


[Febmaiy 


sian  sub  -  collectors  and  deputy- 
magifltratea  with  varying  degrees  of 
authority,  he  has  generally  a  *  Joint 
Magistrate  and  Deputy  Collector/ 
and  two  or  three  'Assistants/  be- 
longing to  the  Covenanted  Service. 
Amongst  these  the  work  of  the 
district  is  apportioned,  but  for  its 
due  and  efficient  performance  Go- 
vernment holds  the  *  Magistrate  and 
Collector  *  personally  accountable. 

The  civilian's  work  not  unseldom 
— ^indeed,  I  may  say,  generally — be- 
gins at  day-break.  It  is  not  often 
that  there  is  such  a  dearth  of  out- 
door work  of  one  kind  or  another 
that  he  can  count  the  early  morning 
hours  his  own.  Almost  before  the 
sun  has  peered  through  the  morn- 
ing haze,  and  shot  its  level  rays 
across  the  wide  expanse  of  field  and 
plain,  he  has  mounted  his  horse,  and, 
accompanied  only  by  his  favourite 
dog  it  may  be,  is  away  to  some  dis- 
tant village  where  there  may  be  one 
or  two  hours*  work  cut  out  for  him. 
It  may  be  a  disputed  boundary  that 
requires  his  examination ;  or  a  canal 
may  have  burst  its  bounds,  swamp- 
ing the  crops  on  either  side,  and 
raising  an  outcry  from  their  owners; 
or  a  heavy  storm  of  hail  may  have 
damaged  the  growing  com,  and 
landowners  are  clamorous  for  re- 
mission of  revenue ;  or  local  in- 
vestigation may  be  necessary  in 
order  to  adjust  a  dispute  between  a 
landlord  and  his  tenant  as  to 
whether  certain  lands  are  to  be 
classed  as  irrigable,  and  bear  a 
higher  rent-rate  in  consequence,  or 
not ;  or  rancour  may  have  run  so 
high  between  parties  of  Hindus  and 
Masalmdns  in  a  quarrel  about  some 
burial-ground,  or  plot  of  land  in 
the  vicinity  of  a  temple  or  mosque, 
as  to  threaten  a  riot;  or  some 
locality  or  premises  may  have  to  be 
examined,  with  a  view  of  ascertain- 
ing whether  an  alleged  highway 
robbery  or  burglary  was  an  actual 
occurrence,  or  merely  a  vexatious 
fabrication,  as  the  police  possibly 
surest ;  or  an  aggravated  case  of 


murder  may  have  been  mismanaged 
by  the  police,  and  the  ms^istrate 
may  deem  it  necessary  to  make  an 
investigation  in  person,  and  on  the 
spot ;  or  there  may  be  police  sta- 
tions, schools,  dispensaries  to  be 
inspected ;  or  personal  supervision 
may  be  required  on  some  local 
work — the  construction  of  a  road,  an 
important  bridge,  or  some  Govern- 
ment building.  Or  again,  the  work 
may  be  nearer  home,  and  the  bazars, 
lanes,  and  gullies  of  the  huge  over- 
grown town  at  the  head- quarter 
station,  .with  its  30,000  to  100,000 
inhabitants,  have  to  be  threaded, 
that  the  magistrate  may  satisfy 
himself  that  the  conservancy  of  the 
town,  and  all  the  imposed  sanitaiy 
arrangements,  are  duly  attended  to. 
Such  are  a  few  of  the  occupations 
that  may  fill  up  the  civilian's  early 
morning  hours,  as  a  prelude  to  the 
more  sedentary  work  of  mid-day. 
During  the  cold  weather  this  out- 
door work  is  enjoyable  enough,  and 
many  a  pleasant  memory  is  associ- 
ated with  it.  Camp  life  especially, 
if  only  one  has  a  companion,  is  the 
most  delightful  kind  of  existence 
conceivable,  and  its  charm  is  en- 
hanced by  the  enervating  dulness 
of  station-life  during  the  previous 
hot  weather  months,  from  May  to 
September.  But  even  during  those 
fiery  months  (and  one  must  person- 
ally encounter  hot  weather  in  the 
North- West  to  understand  what  it 
is),  the  civilian  will  often  have  ac- 
complished a  journey  of  15  to  o«> 
miles,  or  even  more,  with  a  good 
spell  of  satisfactory  work  besides, 
by  the  time  that  most  people  in 
England  are  thinking  of  turning  out 
of  bed.  He  will  have  started  from 
home,  after  a  hastily-swallowed  meal 
of  toast  and  tea,  while  it  is  still 
dark — while  Orion's  belt  is  still 
glistening  brightly  in  the  dark  blue 
vault,  or  the  moon  still  shines  witit 
her  golden  light  unpaled.  At  first 
the  change  from  indoors,  where 
the  thermometer  has  ranged  from 
96°  to  100°  Fahrenheit,  is  veiy  re- 


IS73] 


Daily  Work  m  a  NortJi-West  BistncL 


199 


freshmg,  for  the  only  touch  of  cool- 
ness is  to  be  felt  oat-of-doors  during 
the  hour  and  a  half  immediately 
preceding  day-break.  After  the 
jiweltering  heat  of  the  night,  the 
soft  monuDg  air  fans  the  cheek  de- 
iiciously,  as  the  horse  is  urged  on 
^ster  and  faster,  so  as  to  complete 
as  much  of  the  journey  "as  possible 
More  the  first  gleam  of  sunshine 
comes.  But  this  is  soon  over :  as 
the  twilight  grows  less  grey,  and 
the  distance  opens  out  more  clearly, 
the  air  grows  perceptibly  warmer, 
then  sulfery ;  the  sultriness  soon 
becomes  a  sweltering  heat,  and 
even  before  the  snn*s  first  limb 
appears,  the  perspiration  bursts 
from  every  pore,  and  horse  and 
rider  alike  are  heartily  glad  when 
their  task  is  done  and  they  are 
home  again.  A  plunge  in  the 
station  swimming-bath,  however,  or 
if  there  is  not  such  an  institution, 
the  lesser  enjoyment  of  the  solitary 
*  ijih '  speedily  removes  the  bodily 
and  mental  fatigue  that  a  hard 
morning's  ride  beneath  a  broiling 
?an  may  have  induced,  and  gives 
fresh  energy  for  work. 

And  there  is  plenty  of  this  to 
engage  the  attention  during  the 
hour  or  so  still  intervening  before 
the  Courts  open.  Even  the  few 
minutes  of  waiting  whilst  break- 
^t  is  being  served,  are  seldom 
left  unoccupied.  The  saddle-bags 
of  the  mounted  orderly  have  dis- 
gorged a  huge  pile  of  official  letters 
that  the  morning's  post  has  just 
brought  in — letters  calling  for  ex- 
planations, reports,  opinions,  and 
statistics  ad  nauseam  ;  and  there  are 
probably  two  or  throe  natives  seated 
en  the  verandah,  waiting  for  an 
interview — ^wealthy  residents  of  the 
bead-quarters  town,  or  influential 
landowners  from  the  interior  of  the 
iistrict,  municipal  commissioners 
w  honorary  magistrates.  An 
)fficep's  popularity,  and  also  his 
fuccess  in  administration,  de- 
)end  to  a  very  great  extent  on  his 
>eing  easy  of  access,  and  showing 


courtesy  and  affability  in  his  re- 
lations with  the  people  of  his 
District,  and  such  of  his  native 
subordinates  as  occupy  posts  of 
dignity  and  responsibility.  It  is 
his  duty  to  enlist  their  sympathy  in 
the  cause  of  order  and  good  govern- 
ment, and  to  secure  as  far  as  pos- 
sible their  ready  assistance  in  the 
repression  and  detection  of  crime — 
assistance,  the  lending  of  which 
strengthens  the  hands  of  the  magis- 
trate  incalculably,  while  the  with- 
holding of  it  must  inevitably  prove 
most  disastrous.  And  from  them 
also  he  may  gain  such  an  insight 
into  the  popular  feeling,  and  such 
an  acquaintance  with  the  wishes 
and  requirements  of  each  class  of 
native  society,  as  may  be  of  material 
assistance  in  the  work  of  judicious 
and  profitable  legislation.  As  a  rule, 
even  the  wealthier,  well-to-do  land- 
owners and  native  gentlemen,  are 
not  very  well  informed ;  still  many 
of  them  are  fairly  intelligent,  pos- 
sessed of  some  shrewdness,  and  able 
to  discuss  and  argue  upon  —  not 
unprofitably  —  such  questions  of 
general  policy  as  may  bear  upon 
their  interests.  At  the  same  time 
it  rarely  happens  that  their  views 
are  unprejudiced.  Scant  education 
partly  accounts  for  this,  and  want 
of  an  extended  knowledge  of  the 
world  necessitates  almost  a  corres- 
ponding narrowness  of  view.  Still, 
these  interviews,  allowing  as  they 
do  of  the  free  expression  of  the 
opinions  of  the  influential  classes  of 
the  community,  are  of  considerable 
value,  and  the  more  so  as  the  wide 
— I  may  say,  the  impassable — gulf 
that  yawns  between  the  habits,  feel- 
ings, and  religions  of  the  governing 
and  the  subject  races,  renders  a  closer 
intimacy  altogether  impossible. 

It  is  sometimes  said  that  in  former 
days  our  rule  was  more  popular 
than  it  is  now,  because  the  Euro- 
peans in  India  associated  more  freely 
with  their  native  fellow-subjects. 
Admitting  the  fact  of  the  compara- 
tive absence  of  anymutual  sympathy 


200 


Daily  Worlc  in  a  North-West  District. 


[Febraaiy 


now-a-days,  and  admitting  the  wide 
divergence  of  social  habits  and  re- 
ligious feelings  to  be  in  some  mea- 
sure the  cause  of  it,  I  am  not  sure 
that  it  is  desirable  to  wish  the  old 
times  back  again.  Undoubtedly 
in  a  certain  sense  there  was  a 
closer  sympathy  between  the  races. 
But,  for  the  feelings  of  two 
classes  so  widely  estranged  by 
nature  and  education  to  be  brought 
into  accord,  they  must  be  reduced 
to  something  like  a  common  level. 
But,  if  this  end  is  gained  only  by 
the  retrogression  of  the  more  ad- 
vanced class,  it  can  hardly  be 
reckoned  worth  the  cost.  In  former 
days  Europeans  in  India  degenerated 
to  a  great  extent  into  semi- Asiatics ; 
but,  desirable  as  the  promotion  of  a 
closer  sympathy,  and  the  bringing 
about  of  a  greater  unity  of  feeling 
may  be,  we  can  scarcely  wish  it 
purchased  at  the  expense  of  our 
worthiest  characteristics  as  English- 
men and  Christians.  For  my  own 
part,  I  am  not  sanguine  as  to  any 
great  change  taking  place  in  the 
feelings  of  the  natives  towards  us. 
India  became  ours  by  conquest,  and 
as  a  conquered  country  we  shall 
always — so  far  as  it  is  possible  to 
see  at  present  —  hold  it.  Those 
natives  who  are  intelligent  enough 
to  understand  the  circumstances  of 
India  will  cling  to  us  honestly  and 
serve  us  faithfully,  because  they 
feel  that  there  is  far  more  real 
liberty  and  happiness  to  be  en- 
joyed under  our  rule  than  under 
the  best  native  administration,  and 
because  they  have  prescience  enough 
to  know  that,  were  our  rule  with- 
drawn it  would  simply  give  place 
to  anarchy  the  most  disastrous  and 
destructive  that  it  is  possible  to 
conceive.  But  such  men,  even 
while  loyally  serving  us,  it  may  be, 
in  posts  of  dignity  and  trust,  will 
frankly  tell  us  that  in  reality  they 
bear  us  little  love,  and  that  they 
would  rejoice — ^were  there  any  ti 
lerable  alternative — to  see  India 
quit  of  us  for  ever. 


We  will  now  suppose  the  last  in- 
terview at  an  end,  in  all  probabilitj 
cut  short  by  the  announcement  that 
breakfast  is  on  the  table.  This  is 
usually  not  a  very  punctual  meal, 
the  time  for  breakfast  being  depen- 
dent  for  the  most  part  upon  the 
quantity  of  work  that  has  to  be  de- 
spatched beforehand.  About  i  o  a.m. 
is  the  usual  hour,  except  during  the 
hottest  weeks  of  thehot  season,  when 
it  is  customary  in  some  disiaicts  for 
the  courts  to  open  at  6  a.m.,  in  which 
case  the  civilian  probably  does  not 
get  home  till  one  or  two  in  the  after- 
noon. Breakfast  over,  a  few  more 
minutes  will  again  be  devoted  to 
official  correspondence.  At  last  the 
clock  gives  its  warning  note;  the 
despatch-box  and  small  library  of 
law-books  that  the  magistrate  t-akes 
with  him  daily  to  court,  are  shoul- 
dered by  the  attendant  orderheg, 
and  marched  off  to  the  court-house, 
whither  the  magistrate  himself, 
either  on  horseback  or  in  his  buggy, 
soon  follows.  With  more  or  less 
obsequiousness  the  motley  groups 
of  native  officials  and  hangers-on 
of  the  court,  pleaders  and  litigants 
make  their  salams,  and,  amid  the 
general  semi-prostration,  and  a 
rustling  of  purple  q*nd  fine  linen, 
the  Hakim,  as  he  is  called,  takes 
his  seat.  As  a  rule,  the  hearing  cf 
petitions  forms  the  first  business  of 
the  day.  A  jostling  crowd  soon 
fills  the  room,  and,  as  each  one 
presses  forward,  his  petition  is 
taken,  and  according  to  its  purpor: 
is  read  out  by  the  Serishtadars  of 
the  Eevenue,  or  the  magisterial  de- 
partment respectively. 

The  Serishtadar,  or  head  clerk  of 
the  court,  is  a  personage  of  coh' 
siderable  importance  in  the  eyes  of 
the  natives,  and  in  his  own  estima- 
tion also.  He  is  credited  with  the 
poss^ession  of  great  power  for  weal 
or  woe,  and  in  old  times,  it  is  to  be 
feared,  he  did  actually  exercise  a  most 
illegitimate  and  unwholesome  influ- 
ence in  the  settlement  of  cases  be- 
fore the  courts,  and  also  made  not  a 


1373] 


Daily  Work  in  a  Narth^Wesi  Dish-let. 


201 


link  gain  bj  bribes,  or,  to  use  the 
eaphemistio  native  term,  by  'nnz- 
2urs/  that  is,  presents.  Even  now- 
a-dajB  these  men  hold  their  durbars 
or  levees  at  their  homes  in  the  early 
morning,  and  their  favour  and  sup- 
port are  eagerly  sought  for  even  by 
men  of  position  and  respectability. 
Bat  there  is  mnch  more  integrity 
amongst  native  officials  now  than 
there  was  a  dozen  years  ago.  To 
deny  the  existence  of  bribery  would 
certain] J  be  untrue,  but  it  is  not 
ncarJj  so  rife  as  it  was,  and  the 
opportunities  for  the  exercise  of 
(lislionest  influence  are  compara- 
tively restricted.  At  any  rate,  there 
is  no  excuse  for  the  man  who  is 
fooh'sh  enough  to  spend  his  money 
ill  bribing  the  officials,  under  the 
delusion  they  can  secure  for 
him  some  &vonr,  or  gain  for  him 
the  collector's  ear.  There  is  such 
T^y  access  at  all  times,  and  cases 
are  so  thoroughly  gone  into,  that 
any  trickery  can  at  once  be  brought 
to  notice.  And,  in  fact,  the  remedy 
arrainst  corruption  lies  in  the  hands 
of  the  people  themselves. 

The  petitions  are  of  the  most  mis- 
cellaneous description.  First  of  all 
there  are  half-a-dozen  or  more  petty 
charges  of  assault — ^the  *  vilia  cor- 
pora,' on  which  the  young  assistant, 
newly  joined,experimentalises,  with- 
out thechance  of  any  very  greatharm 
resulting  should  want  of  experience 
lead  him  into  error ;  then  there  are 
c'..;;rges  of  criminal  trespass,  mis- 
chief to  property,  criminal  bveach 
of  trust, cheating,  and  other  offences. 
Awifeprefersa  claim  for  maintenance 
against  her  husband,  who  has  desert- 
ed her ;  a  cultivator  complains  that 
his  neighbour  has  encroached  upon 
his  field,  or  ousted  him  from  the  use 
of  some  common  well ;  a  small  trader 
pleads  for  exemption  from  the  local 
rates  for  watch  and  ward,  or  from  the 
income  tax  ;  a  landowner  prays  for 
compensation  for  a  portion  of  his 
Jaad  taken  up  for  the  railway,  or 
extension  of  a  canal ;  the  heirs  of  a 
deceased  landowner  claim  to  have 


their  names  entered  on  the  Revenue 
Roll.  Then  there  are  petitions  for 
Government  loans  for  the  construc- 
tion of  wells  or  tanks,  applications 
for  the  execution  of  decrees,  or  for 
assistance  in  the  ejectment  of  a 
tenant,  or  in  the  distraint  of  a 
defaulter's  crops  ;  and  initiatory 
plaints  in  the  varied  classes  of  suits 
between  landholders  and  their  te- 
nants, in  which  the  Collectorate 
Courts  have  primary  jurisdiction. 

The  extraordinary  partiality  for 
falsehood  that  marks  the  native 
character  being  notorious,  it  need, 
perhaps,  scarcely  be  said  that  in 
many  of  these  petitions,  especially 
those  embodying  criminal  charges, 
when  the  alloy  of  untruth  or  exag- 
geration is  cleared  away,  the  resi- 
duum of  real  fact  is  very  small.  In 
by  far  the  greater  number  of  the 
complaints  to  the  Criminal  Courts 
there  is  at  any  rate  some  surplusage ; 
it  seems  almost  as  if  it  were  a  na- 
tural impossibility  for  a  native  to 
tell  *  nothing  but  the  truth ; '  a 
little  hyperbole  must  be  introduced 
to  aggravate  the  charge,  or  make 
the  case  more  telling,  while  a  few 
additional  features  are  thrown  in  at 
the  suggestion  of  the  hanger-on  of 
the  Court,  who  has,  *for  a  considersi- 
tion,'  drawn  up  the  petition.  In 
some  there  will  be  a  curious  inter- 
weaving of  truth  and  falsehood,  of 
fact  and  fiction,  as  when — to  take  a 
constantly  recurring  instance  —  a 
trifling  assault  is  magnified  into 
robbery  with  violence.  Others, 
again,  are  a  tissue  of  malignant 
lies  from  beginning  to  end.  It  is 
astounding  and  almost  inconceiv- 
able to  what  lengths  of  abominable 
villainy  a  feeling  of  spite,  engendered 
by  some  most  trivial  dispute,  will 
lead  a  man.  He  will,  without  the 
slightest  compunction — I  may  say, 
indeed,  with  the  most  fiendish  de- 
light— move  heaven  and  earth  to 
get  another,  at  whose  hands  he  fan- 
cies he  has  received  some  injury, 
into  gaol  —  ay,  if  he  can,  to  get 
him  hanged. 


202 


DaUy  Worh  in  a  North^West  District, 


[February 


Amongst  the  thronging  crowd  a 
ghastly  apparition,  maybe,  suddenly 
meets  the  eye.  With  frantic  ges- 
ticulations and  loud  cries  for  jus- 
tice, a  well-nigh  naked  figure  presses 
forward,  his  head  uncovered,  his 
hair  dishevelled,  his  face,  body,  and 
clothes  (the  latter  carried  in  the 
hand,  and  spread  out  for  the  edifi- 
cation of  the  Court)  all  well  smeared 
with  blood,  the  greater  part  of  which, 
it  is  to  be  remarked,  never  flowed 
in  the  veins  of  the  biped  animal. 
He  is  requested  to  put  on  a  more 
respectable  guise,  and  when  he  re- 
turns a  few  minutes  later,  washed, 
clothed,  and  in  a  more  sober  frame 
of  mind,  his  complaint  is  heard. 
Probably  there  is  but  the  faintest 
trace  of' a  scratch  to  be  seen,  and 
that  self-inflicted,  or,  at  any  rate, 
he  has  but  received  a  slight  blow  in 
some  quarrel  that  he  himself  pro- 
voked. 

Not  that  these  neighbourly 
qaarrels  are  always  of  a  trifling 
character,  however;  indeed,  their 
results  are  often  serious  enough. 
A  native,  whatever  his  occupation, 
and  whether  at  work  or  at  leisure, 
is  scarcely  ever  without  his  lathi, 
a  staff*  of  bamboo  some  5  or  6  feet 
long,  and  sometimes  encircled  with 
brass  or  iron  bands.  If  not  carried 
in  the  hand,  it  is  sure  to  be  lying 
close  by,  ready  to  be  caught  up  at 
any  moment,  and  it  is  a  weapon 
that,  wielded  with  effect,  will  cause 
instant  death.  The  most  frequent 
cases  of  homicide  before  the  Courts 
are  brought  about  by  its  sudden 
use  in  some  petty  village  squabble, 
beginning  probably  in  mere  bad 
language,  at  which  the  natives  are 
such  great  adepts.  As  soon  as  the 
first  blow  is  struck  the  relatives  on 
either  side  join  in  with  their  quar- 
terstaves,  and  unless  the  police  are 
at  hand  to  stop  it  the  affray  goes  on 
until  perhaps  some  one  of  the  party 
is  killed,  and  several  others  are  se- 
verely injured. 

Amongst  the  charges  there  is 
pretty  sure  to  be  at  least  one  speci- 


men of  a  class  of  cases  peculiar  to 
the  Indian  Courts.  An  outraged 
husband  complains  that  his  wife 
has  been  illicitly  enticed  from  her 
home.  This,  under  the  Indian  Penal 
Code,  is  a  criminal  offence,  and, 
with  the  exception  of  assaults,  there 
is  no  charge  that  appears  so  fre- 
quently in  the  up  country  courts  as 
this.  In  a  country  where  the  chi- 
valrous feelings  towards  women 
that  the  course  of  Western  civilL<?a- 
tion  has  engendered  are  utterly  ud- 
known,  where  the  words  of  Schiller, 

Ehret  die  Frauen  !  sie  flechten  und  weben 
Himmlische  Eosen  ins  irdische  Leben. 

would  find  no  responsive  echo  in 
the  heart;  where  women  are  re- 
garded merely  as  necessary  append- 
ages to  the  household,  of  about  as 
much  value  and  with  much  the  same 
intellectual  capacity  as  the  mill- 
stones at  which  they  are  set  to 
g^ind ;  where  they  are  married  in 
earliest  in&ncy  to  boy-husbands 
of  their  parents*  choosing;  where 
wives  are  bartered  or  sold  for  less 
than  the  cost  of  an  ox  (a  sum  of 
forty  shillings  will,  amongst  some 
of  the  lowest  castes,  buy  a  wife  of 
whom  her  husband  has  grown  tired): 
in  such  a  country  it  is  not  to  be 
wondered  at  that  the  bands  of  con- 
jugal affection  are  tied  but  loosely. 
And  that  there  does  exist  a  great 
laxity  of  morals  cannot  be  denied. 
But  at  the  same  time  it  may  be  ques- 
tioned, whether  even  under  the  de- 
basing conditions  of  married  life  in 
the  East,  and  the  resulting  predis- 
position to  temptation,  the  women 
of  India  are  a  wlnt  worse  than  those 
of  some  European  countries  boast- 
ing of  superior  enlightenment  and 
blessed  with  safeguards  of  more 
restraining  power.  And  in  faii*ness 
it  must  be  allowed,  that  the  propor- 
tion of  bond  fide  cases  of  this  kind 
is  extremely  small — hy  far  the 
greater  number  resting  upon  no  real 
basis  of  &ct. 

The    hearing    of  criminal  cases 
now  claims  attention,  and  this  gene- 


1873] 


Daily  Work  in  a  North-West  District, 


203 


rsUj  occupies  the  greater  part  of 
the  day.    It  is  tmnecessary  to  enu- 
merate the  offences  that  come  before 
the  Court;    they    are    of    every 
descriptioD,   comprising     all    that 
are  familiar   to   ns    in    onr    own 
police  Courts,  together  with  many 
otheis  that  the  Lidian  Penal  Code 
has  first  included  in  the  catalogue 
of  crimes.    The  comprehensiveness 
of  tbiB  code,  notwithstanding  its  ad- 
mirable character    (and  had  Lord 
Macaulaj  left  no   other  memorial 
behind,  this  alone  would  have  borne 
ample  testimony  to  bis  great  genius) 
has  made  it  very  obnoxious  to  the 
people.    The  rights  of  persons  and 
property  are  too  jealously  guarded 
by  the  code  for  it  to  meet  with  un- 
qualified approval  from  the  natives, 
who  are  somewhat  too  prone  to  con- 
stitate  themselves    the  judges    of 
right  and  wrong,  and  are  peculiarly 
apt  to  ignore  their  neighbours'  inte- 
rests in  the  pursuit  of  their  own. 
According  to  their   character  and 
degree,  the  cases  are  either  disposed 
of  by  the  magistrates  themselves 
or  committed  to  the  Sessions ;  the 
lai^r  number  never  go  beyond  the 
lover  Courts,  for  a  magistrate,  with 
vbat  are  called  '  full  powers,'  can 
award  a  sentence  of  as  much  as  two 
years'  imprisonment  with  hard  la- 
bom*  and  a  heavy  fine,  or  in  default  an 
additional  sixmonths'  imprisonment. 
The  hearing  of  cases  is  now-a- 
days  conducted   in  a  much  more 
(satisfactory  manner  than  it  used  to 
be.    Going  into  a  Court  formerly, 
you  would  see  a  number  of  natives 
squatting  about  the  room  in  groups 
of  two,  4e  component  parts  of  each 
apparently  in  amicable  converse,  or 
^ther,  one  of  them  clad  in  white 
8?itb  inkhom  by  bis  side  and  paper 
>n  his  knee,  endeavouring  to  elicit 
Tom  his  companion — evidently  of 
lumbler  position,    and    from    his 
'oarse  clothing  and  nasal  patois,  re- 
'Ognisahle  as  a  village  cultivator — 
»rtain  information,  whidi  the  lat- 
er imparts  more  by  grunts  and 
[estures  than  by  intelligible  articu- 


lation. The  one  is  the  Cutcherry 
clerk,  the  other  a  witness,  and  in 
this  fashion  not  many  years  since, 
it  was  the  custom  to  take  evidence 
that  might  bring  a  man  to  the 
gallows  or  consign  him  to  a  long 
term  of  imprisonment.  There  was 
this  advantage  about  it,  that  it  saved 
time,  for  half-a-dozen  depositions 
could  be  taken  at  once,  and  several 
cases,  in  fact,  be  heard  simulta- 
neously, and  the  magistrate's  work 
was  much  simplified  by  this  ar- 
rangement. While  the  evidence 
was  being  recorded  he  was  able  to 
get  through  a  large  mass  of  other 
work;  then,  when  the  half-dozen 
cases  were  prepared,  the  depositions 
were  hurriedly  read  over  to  him 
and  attested  by  the  several  wit- 
nesses, who  most  probably  did  not 
understand  a  word  of  what  was 
written  down,  for  in  those  days  the 
Court  language  was  an  abominable 
compound  of  Hindustani  and  Per- 
sian intelligible  only  to  the  initiated. 
Certainly  an  experienced  magistrate 
would  elicit  a  good  deal  of  truth  by 
a  few  searching  questions ;  but  the 
incalculable  advantage  of  cross-ex- 
amination at  the  very  time  was  lost, 
and  the  opportunity  of  observing 
the  witness's  demeanour — an  all- 
important  point  in  gaining  a  clue  to 
the  truth  or  falsehood  of  native  evi- 
dence— was  altogether  gone,  while 
further,  there  was  no  guarantee  that 
the  native  clerk  had  not  put  into 
the  witness's  mouth  words  con- 
veying a  very  different  meaning 
from  what  he  had  actually  intended. 
However,  bad  as  the  old  procedure 
was  in  this  respect,  the  Indian 
Courts  would  seem  after  all  not  to 
have  been  so  far  behind  the  age,  if 
we  may  judge  from  recent  revela- 
tions as  to  the  mode  in  which  affi- 
davits are  prepared  for  use  in  the 
Courts  of  Chancery.  I  doubt  whe- 
ther cross-examination  of  the  wit- 
nesses would  ever  have  elicited  such 
wholesale  repudiation  of  their  writ- 
ten statements  as  we  lately  saw  in 
the  Tichbome  case. 


204 


Daily  Work  in  a  North-  West  District, 


[February 


In  the  work  of  judicial  investiga- 
tion  the  Indian  magistrate  labours 
under  yevy  great  disadvantages  as 
compared  with  his  compeer  on  the 
English  bench.  The  most  serious 
of  these  —  the  one  that  makes 
judicial  work  in  India  so  pre-emi- 
nently disheartening,  and  makes 
the  burden  of  responsibility  weigh 
so  heavily — arises  from  the  inherent 
predisposition  to  lying,  which  is  so 
remarkable,  and  apparently  so  in- 
eradicable a  characteristic  of  the 
native  mind.  A  magistrate  in  this 
country  feels  tolerably  safe  in  ac- 
cepting as  substantially  true  the 
evidence  of  the  witness  who  comes 
before  him ;  he  regards  it  as 
prima  facie  trustworthy  and  enti- 
tled to  credit.  But  the  Indian 
magistrate  from  the  outset  is  in- 
clined to  disbelieve  the  statement 
made  to  him,  or  at  least  to  suspect 
it ;  there  is  no  hypothesis  to  start 
with  that  the  man  is  speaking  the 
truth.  In  England  a  man  will  not 
readily  or  gratuitously  perjure  him- 
Belf ;  there  must  be  a  motive  of  some 
considerable  power  to  induce  him  to 
do  so.  But  to  the  naiive  lying  is 
natural ;  it  causes  no  qualms  of  con- 
science, and  for  the  smallest  con- 
sideration he  will  sweax  away  his 
neighbour's  property  or  liberty.  And 
unfortunately,  from  the  difficulty 
of  proving  the  crime  to  the  satisfac- 
tion of  the  higher  Courts,  the  per- 
jurer plies  his  trade  almost  with 
impunity.  The  multitudinous  files 
of  cases  that  lie  packed  on  the 
shelves  are  wellnigh  as  full  of  false 
oaths  as  they  can  hold,  but  convic- 
tions for  perjury  are  very  few  and 
far  between.  Not  once  in  five  hun- 
dred cases  does  retributive  justice 
mark  down  her  prey ;  there  is  here 
no  pretence  of  sureness  even  to 
compensate  for  the  limping  foot. 
Unfortunately  also,  the  prescribed 
form  of  oath,  which  is  merely  an 
affirmation  that  the  truth  shall  be 
spoken  as  in  the  presence  of  God, 
has  not  the  slightest  deterrent  in- 
fluence for  the  native.     It   in   no 


way  appeals  to  his  superstitions,  his 
desires,  or  his  fears,  and  is  alto* 
gether  devoid  of  the  solemn  effect 
that  the  oath  of  our  own  Courts  has 
upon  the  mind  of  an  EnglishmaiL 
Formerly  it  was  the  custom  to  swear 
Hindus  upon  the  Ganges'  water,  and 
Masalmans  upon  the  Kuran.  What- 
ever may  have  been  the  reasons  for 
a  change,  the  influence  of  the  oath 
has,  if  anything,  been  lessened  hy 
it.  The  old  forms  at  any  rate  gave 
a  religious  sanction  to  the  oath, 
but  the  present  affirmation  is  alto- 
gether valueless  as  a  safeguard 
The  fear  of  punishment  is,  in  feet. 
the  sole  influence  that  remains  to 
deter  men  who  have  any  object  to 
gain  by  perjury  from  committing  it, 
and  since  the  force  of  this  one  infls- 
ence  is,  as  I  have  stated,  reduced  to  a 
minimum,  there  is  pi'acticallv  no 
restraint  at  all.  Another  great  dis- 
advantage that  Indian  magistrates 
labour  under  is,  that  fchey  have  nottk 
assistance  afibrded  by  the  pleading? 
and  cross-examinations  of  able  coun- 
sel. Certainly  there  are  native  plead- 
ers attached  to  all  the  Courts,  bat,  as 
a  rule,  they  are  men  of  veiy  shgk 
ability,  and  especially  deficient  is 
the  art  of  effective  cross-examina- 
tion, while  the  men  who  plead  m 
the  inferior  Courts  are  of  the  lowe>: 
pettifogging  class,  who  so  long  as 
they  further  their  client's  interest* 
care  little  how  it  is  done,  men  who, 
acting  up  to  the  motto  *  Si  possi:?, 
recte;  si  non,  quocunque  modo,'  vl 
not  only  connive  at  the  productii-:! 
of  forged  documents,  but  will  even 
suggest  their  forgery.  In  general. 
the  attorneys  who  frequent  the  Ma- 
gisterial and  Revenue  Courts  are 
simply  obstructive  to  work.  The 
magistrate  will  in  vain  look  to  them 
for  assistance;  the  full  respon?i- 
bility  devolves  upon  himself.  H^ 
is  both  judge  and  jury,  and  in  addi- 
tion, he  has  to  act  as  counsel  hotli 
for  the  prosecution  and  for  the  de- 
fence, and  to  see  that  the  interests 
of  neither  side  are  in  any  point 
overlooked.     And  to  a  considerable 


18731 


Daily  Work  in  a  North- West  District, 


205 


extent  also — however  anomalous 
and  ill-accordant  with  English  ideas 
itmajseem — his  fonctions  approach 
very  closely  to  those  of  a  public 
prosecutor,  for  whether  as  a  Revenue 
officer,  or  as  the  Head  of  the  Police, 
it  is  his  datj  to  see  that  the  laws 
are  not  violated  with  impunity,  or 
Government  defirauded  of  its  due, 
and  to  bring  all  offenders  to  punish- 
ment. 

But  the  cinlian's  judicial  duties 
are  not  yet  over  for  the  day.  In 
his  capacity  of  collector  he  is 
civil  jndge,  having  primary  juris- 
diction in  all  agrarian  disputes 
between  the  landed  proprietors  and 
their  tenant  cultivators,  or  between 
the  various  co-sharers  in  the  vil- 
lage estate.  The  Revenue  Courts 
adjudicate  in  such  matters  as  the 
fuUowing, — suits  by  landlords  for 
arrears  of  rent, — for  the  ejectment 
of  tenants  for  default,  or  breach  of 
the  conditions  of  their  leases, — for 
enhancement  of  rent; — ^suits  by  ten- 
ants to  contest  enhancements, — 
ejectment,  or  illegal  distraint  of  pro- 
dace, — and  to  recover  damages  for 
extortion  of  more  rent  than  is  legi- 
timately due ; — suits  by  the  head 
proprietor  in  the  village  to  recover 
from  the  subordinate  owners  any 
sums  he  may  have  advanced  on 
their  behalf  in  payment  of  the 
revenue  demand, — ^and  lastly,  suits 
hythe  subordinate  sharees  against 
the  head  proprietor  for  their  shares 
of  the  profits  of  the  estate.  There 
is,  if  anything,  a  greater  amount  of 
false  swearing  in  these  than  in  cri- 
minal cases.  It  is  a  very  rare 
occnrrence  for  a  claim  to  be  unde- 
fended. Of  course,  in  some  instan- 
ces the  parties  may  be  perfectly 
justified  in  joining  issue,  and  their 
contentions  may  afford  substantial 
gJwmd  for  legal  argument ;  but  in 
the  large  majority  of  cases,  the 
defence  consists  simply  of  a  direct 
traversing  of  the  allegations  con- 
tained in  the  statement  of  claim. 
Half.a-dozen  witnesses  on  the  one 
side  depose   to  certain  facta,  and 


half-a-dozen  witnesses  on  the  other 
unequivocally  contradict  them. 
Forged  documents  are  unblushingly 
produced  in  proof,  evidence  is 
bought  wholesale,  and  all  that 
chicanery  can  do  to  bolster  up  a 
fraudulent  claim,  or  to  rebut  a  true 
one,  is  done.  The  large  mass  of 
litigation  in  the  Revenue  Courts  is 
simply  the  result  of  violent  quar- 
rels between  the  proprietors  and 
their  tenants,  or  between  the  co- 
proprietors  themselves.  So  long 
as  matters  go  on  amicably  in  the 
village,  and  unanimity  prevails^ 
there  is  no  litigation  at  all.  Hun- 
dreds of  villages  from  one  year's  end 
to  another,  furnish  no  suits  at  all. 
But  let  the  subject  of  discord  once 
enter  a  village,  and  litigation  is 
endless.  A  specially  productive 
cause  of  these  embittering  feuds 
is  the  intrusion  of  a  stranger  into 
the  proprietary  body — an  occur- 
rence frequent  enough  now-a-days. 
We  have  of  late  years  heard  a  great 
deal  in  praise  of  peasant-proprietor- 
ship, but  one's  experience  of  it,  as 
it  obtains  in  India,  scarcely  tends 
to  an  unqualified  acceptance  of  the 
idea  that  it  is  such  a  happy,  para- 
disaical system,  as  it  has  been 
represented.  There  can  be  little 
denial  of  this  one  fact  at  any  rate, 
that  where  population  steadily  in- 
creases, and  the  custom  of  equal 
inheritance  prevails,  the  minute 
subdivision  of  land,  which  is  the 
natural  result  of  peasant-pro- 
prietorship, must  tend  to  reduce 
the  landowners  to  one  uniform 
level  of  pauperism,  and  lead  to  the 
gradual  extinction  of  agricultural 
capital.  And  so  it  is  in  the  north 
western  provinces.  The  mass  of 
landowners  cannot  construct  even 
a  small  well,  an  essential  of  cultiva- 
tion, at  a  mere  cost  of  £40  (or  £50 
without  borrowing  the  money  from 
the  state  or  the  money-lender, 
while  a  single  bad  season  will  ren- 
der them  in  all  probability  utter- 
ly unable  to  meet  the  revenue 
demand,   or  settle   their  banker's 


206 


Daily  Work  in  a  North- West  District. 


[February 


account — for  scarcely  a  proprietor 
in  the  whole  North- West  can  boast 
of  that  necessary  ingredient  of  happi- 
ness, the  being  ^solutus  omnifcenore.* 
And  thus  it  is  that  the  old  pro- 
prietors— at  least  in  estates  which 
are  minutely  subdivided — are  gradu- 
ally being  supplanted  by  a  new 
cla^s  of  men,  chiefly  money-lenders 
and  traders  of  the  wealthier  sort. 
A  man  of  this  sort  we  will  sup- 
pose— some 

Foenerator  Alfius 
Jam,  jam  futorua  rusticus — 

has  purchased  a  small  share  that 
default  of  payment  of  the  revenue 
upon  it,  or  decree  of  the  Civil 
Court  has  brought  to  the  hammer, 
and  has  thrust  himself  into  the 
sacred  circle  of  the  brotherhood. 
He  very  soon  finds  out  to  his  cost 
that  he  would  have  acted  far  more 
wisely  had  he  stuck  to  his*money- 
bags  and  ledgers,  and  resisted  the 
false  seductions  of  a  bucolic  life. 
The  old  proprietors — the  brothers, 
uncles,  nephews,  or  cousins  of  the 
bankrupt — are  banded  to  a  man 
against  the  intruder,  and  do  their 
best — and  their  worst — to  thwart 
him  at  every  turn.  The  tenants 
too,  are  employed  as  a  powerful 
engine  of  oppression  and  annoyance, 
and  are  set  to  oppose  and  injure 
him  in  all  the  numerous  ways  that 
their  relations  to  him  suggest,  or 
that  native  ingenuity  can  devise. 
He  is  driven  to  the  Court,  before 
he  can  realise  a  single  farthing  of 
his  dues,  and  there,  unable  to  secure 
a  scrap  of  evidence  on  his  own  side, 
he  has  to  contend  against  such  an 
amount  of  hard  swearing,  forgery, 
and  trickery  of  every  kind  that 
success  is  a  most  uncertain  chance. 
If  by  good  luck  he  gains  a  victory 
in  the  Court  of  First  Instance,  he  is 
virulently  pursued  into  the  Appel- 
late Courts,  probably  as  far  as  the 
Privy  Council  itself,  with  very  little 
hope  of  ever  regaining  his  costs, 
even  if  they  are  awarded  to  him. 
In  such  a  contest  at^  amicable  ad- 


justment is  altogether  hopeless; 
with  each  succeeding  tussle  the 
mutual  hatred  strikes  deeper  root, 
and  reconciliation  becomes  more 
impossible.  In  the  end  the  rash 
infaTider  may  reckon  himself  for- 
tunate, if  he  escapes  still  fouler  ma- 
chinations, for  the  majority  of  the 
cowardly  murders  that  are  so  fre- 
quent in  India  have  their  origin  in 
agrarian  disputes. 

Following  upon  the  revenue  case 
work,  there  will  in  all  probability 
be  several  objections  to  Income  Tax 
assessments  set  down  for  hearing. 
This  tax,  the  dernier  ressort  of  finan- 
ciers at  their  wits'  end  how  to  make 
both  ends  meet,  has  vastly  increased 
the  pressure  upon  the  collector's 
time,  and  perhaps  there  is  no  work 
that  is  so  thoroughly  distasteful  to 
him — ^and  for  this  reason,  that  he 
well  knows  that  not  only  is  the  tax 
hateftil  to  the  whole  mass  of  the 
people,  rich  and  poor  alike,  but 
also  that  under  present  conditions 
it  is  unavoidably  an  oppressive  tax ; 
it  is  to  a  great  extent  evaded  by 
the  wealthier,  while  it  presses  most 
heavily  upon  the  poorer  classes. 
That  it  is  oppressive  is  in  part  due 
to  the  parsimony  of  Government  in 
the  matter  of  the  establishments 
allowed  for  the  work  of  assessment, 
and  in  part  to  the  range  of  the  tax 
being  extended  to  incomes  of  too 
low  a  value,  while  again  to  no  in- 
considerable extent  it  is  the  fiftult 
of  the  people  themselves,  being  the 
natural  result  of  the  difficulty,  I 
may  almost  say  the  impossibility  of 
accurately  gauging  the  incomes  of 
the  middle  classes,  and  the  little 
reliance  that  can  be  placed  upon 
any  statement  of  their  own  regard- 
ing their  profits.  From  this  latter 
cause  it  has  continually  happened 
that  the  wealthier  merchants  and 
bankers  have  escaped  with  a  far 
lighter  assessment  than  they  shonld 
have  borne,  while  many  of  the 
poorer  traders  and  handicraftsmen 
have  been  called  upon  to  pay 
amounts  which  even  the  sale  of  all 


1873] 


Daily  Work  in  a  North-West  District, 


207 


their  household  goods  has  failed  to 
r&ihe.     The   Incame    Taz    is    a 
grievous   thorn  in  the   collector's 
side.    Government  is  a  stern  task- 
master, and  peculiarly  sensitive  on 
the  subject  of  deficiency  of  revenue, 
and  if  the  anticipated  tale  of  rupees 
is  not  forthcoming  to  the  full,  he  is 
called  to  strict  account.     But  I  fear 
the  incubus  of  the  tax  will  not  be 
readily  shaken  off.     At  any  rate  it 
is  likely  to  cling  to  India  as  long  as 
the  taxation  of  the  country  is  regu- 
lated by  amateur  financiers.     AxA 
a   statesmanlike    financier  is    not 
easily  met  with.     Nascitur  nan  fit, 
2\s  the  poet '  lisps  in  numbers,'  so 
the  true  master   of  finance    must 
have  a  special  genius  for  the  work. 
India  certainly  cannot  boast  of  pos- 
sessing one  {kt  present.     The  later 
mails  seem  to  hold  out  to  us  a  hope 
that,  under  the  auspices   of  Lord 
Xorthbrook,    India    may    gain    at 
least  a  temporary  relief  from  the  In- 
come Tax.     Should   this  he  so,  it 
will  indeed  be  a  matter  for  hearty 
congratulation,  and  one  great  source 
of  heartburning  and  discontent  will 
be  removed* 

I  fear  I  have  already  tried  the 
reader's  patience  severely,  and  I 
must  content  myself  with  merely 
a  passing  glance  at  the  remainder 
of  the  day's  -work.  But  there  is 
still  a  good  deal  to  be  done.  The 
Senshtadar  commences  to  read 
aloud  from  a  huge  pile  of  papers 
that  lie  at  his  side,  each  of  them 
representing  some  stage  of  progress 
in  matters  connected  with  the  in- 
ternal economy  of  the  district.  And 
this  Ls  a  portion  of  work  that  does 
not  admit  of  being  hurried  over,  or 
disposed  of  in  a  perfunctory  manner; 
indeed,  upon  the  degree  of  abihty 
and  conscientiousness  shown  in  its 
performance,  far  more  than  upon 
the  passing  of  legal  decisions,  de- 
pends a  collector's  success  in 
securing  what,  as  the  great  test  of 
administrative  capacity,  it  should 
be  his  chief  aim  to  secure — the 
financial  prosperity  of  his  district, 


combined  with  the  happiness,  con- 
tentment, and  loyalty  of  the  people. 
Unfortunately  for  the  interest  which 
might  be  taken  in  most  of  this 
work,  all  the  proceedings  are  pre- 
pared in  Hindustani,  and  apart  from 
the  additional  mental  effort  required 
for  understanding  a  complicated 
case  under  these  conditions,  the 
hstening  to  the  singsong  of  a  native 
reader  is  about  the  dreariest  and 
most  sleep-inducing  occupation  that 
could  well  be  conceived.  This 
dreariness  reaches  its  climax  with 
the  reading  out  of  the  poHce  papers 
— the  daily  reports  of  crimes,  and 
the  records  of  investigations  in  par- 
ticular cases — which,  in  themselves 
are  the  most  unpalatable  stuff"  pos- 
sible, and  for  that  reason  arQ  gener- 
ally left  to  the  last.  While  these 
are  being  gabbled  through  the 
magistrate  is  busily  engaged  in 
signing  the  vast  heap  of  papers  that 
represent  the  results  of  the  day's 
work  throughout  the  office,  and  this 
over,  the  labours  of  cutcherry  are 
ended. — ^And  my  task  is  ended  also. 
This  sketch  has  been  necessarily 
a  veiy  imperfect  one;  but  enough 
has,  I  trust,  been  written  to 
show  that  an  Indian  civilian's  life 
is  very  far  from  being  a  Hfe  of  idle- 
ness. And  his  work  is  rendered 
none  the  lighter  or  pleasanter  by 
the  conditions  under  which  it  has  to 
be  performed  during  the  greaterjpart 
of  the  year — closely  shut  up  perhaps 
in  a  stifling  room,  gloomy  with  the 
accumulated  dust  of  years,  reeking 
with  the  unfragrant  odours  of  a 
crowd  of  natives,  and  oppressive 
with  wellnigh  loo  degrees  of  un- 
mitigated sweltering  heat.  And 
day  after  day  the  same  weary  grind 
goes  on.  True,  there  are  intermit- 
tent times  of  rest,  on  the  occurrence 
of  some  Hindd  or  Masalman  festi- 
val, but  holidays  are  after  all  a  mere 
delusion,  for  the  criminal  classes  are 
if  anything  more  active  on  these 
days,  and  the  only  result  of  a  holi- 
day is  that  arrears  accumulate,  and 
the  next  day's  work  is  doubled. 


208 


Daily  Work  in  a  Noiih-West  District, 


[February 


But  the  rest  that  follows  immedi- 
ately upon  the  close  of  the  harassing 
toil  of  the  day  is  indeed  delicious, 
and  this  is  the  only  time  that  the 
civilian  can  count  upon  for  thorough 
recreation.  The  evening,  perhaps, 
may  find  him  again  hard  at  work, 
engaged  in  important  correspon- 
dence, or  in  preparing  judgments 
which  pressure  of  work  has  hindered 
him  from  writing  in  Court,  but  for 
the  present  he  may  freely  enjoy  his 
brief  and  hard  earned  leisure.     And 


now  having  accompanied  him 
through  the  arduous  duties  of  the 
day,  we  will  take  our  leave  of  him, 
as  he  quits  cutcherry  and  repairs 
in  haste  to  the  racquet  court,  or 
cricket  ground  to  clear  away  with 
a  little  vigorous  exercise  and  pleasant 
society  some  of  the  miasma  that 
have  accumulated  in  his  brain, 
and  to  disencumber  his  mind  for  a 
time  of  the  cares  and  anxieties 
which  are  inevitably  connected  with 
the  responsible  nature  of  his  work. 


1873] 


209 


PLYMOUTH. 
THE  STOBY  OP  A  TOWN. 


THE  prospects  commanded  from 
some  of  the  border  heights  of 
Dartmoor,-— such  for  example  as 
Cawsand  and  Bnckland  beacons,  or 
as  Heytor, — are  exceeded  in  interest 
and  yariety  by  none  in  England. 
The  gteai  Yorkshire  scenes,  those 
over  which  the  eye  ranges  fiom  the 
Hambledon  hills  or  from  the  long 
ridges  that  bound  the  western  side 
of  the  Vale  of  Mowbray,  may  pos- 
sihlj  he  more  extensive;  but  they 
are  without  the  feature  which  gives 
an  especial  character  to  the  Dart- 
moor views— the  wide,  fer-stretch-i 
ing  line  of  sea-board.  From  the 
outer  heights  of  Cleveland  indeed 
yon  may  look  down  on  Whitby  and 
the  rains  of  the 

cloistered  pile 
Where  holy  Hilda  prayed, 

bat  this  is  a  Tery  different  scene. 
From  Heytor,  beyond  a  vast  and 
varied  tract  of  country,  we  com- 
mand nearly  the  whole  of  what  is 
known  as  the  *  Great  Western  bay,' 
extending  from  Portland  on  the 
east  to  Berry  Head  on  the  west. 
Along  the  coast  are  dotted  towns 
and  villages  which  rank  among  the 
most  ancient  settlements  in  Britain, 
and  which  may  well  have  been 
fonnded  by  the  primitiTe  tin-workers 
whose  rude  stone  monuments  still 
lie  among  the  heather  at  our  feet. 
The  long  estuary  of  the  Exe,  stretch- 
ing inhmd  to  Exeter,  the  city  and 
stronghold  of  Britons^  Romans,  and 
English  in  succession ;  and  the  nar- 
rower opening  of  the  Dart,  winding 
between  woods  and  green  hills  to- 
wards Totness,  the  traditional  land- 
ing place  of  the  legendary  Brutus 
of  Troy, — are  easily  distinguished, 
and  CMTy  us  fiurback  into  an  older 
world,  suggesting  a  crowd  of  bis- 
torical  recollections.  Heytor  com- 
VOL.  yn.— Ko.  mvni.  hew  sbbibs. 


mands  the  sea-line  and  the  settle- 
ments connected  with  the  earliest 
history  of  what  is  now  Devonshire. 
The  south-western  heights  of 
Dartmoor  overlook  a  scene  of  which 
the  landscape  displays  similar  fea- 
tures, but  where  the  associations  are 
of  a  somewhat  different  chajracter. 
We  are  still  vnthin  sight  of  harbours 
not  unknown  to  ancient  history  or 
legend ;  but  the  object  which  most 
sirongly  attracts  us  is  the,  town  of 
Plymouth,  fillings  with  its  sisters, 
Devonport  and  Stonehouse,  the 
landward  side  of  the  harbour,  and 
bounded  by  the  estuaries  of  the  Plym 
and  the  Tamar,  with  their  forests  of 
masts.  There  is  something  in  the 
view  of  a  great  tovm,  and  especially 
of  a  great  seaport,  thus  seen  from 
a  moorland  height,  which  in  no  or- 
dinary degree  impresses  the  imagi. 
nation.  The  stiUness  which  sur- 
rounds us,  the  broken  rock  and  the 
stretches  of  fern  and  heather  which 
make  up  the  nearer  scene,  contrast 
finely  with  the  distant  evidences 
of  long-continued  work  and  diuly 
labour,  with  the  noise  and  the  street 
tumult  which  we  know,  but  cannot 
hear,  are  filling  the  air  above  the 
&r-off  haven.  It  is  frt>m  such  a 
point  too,  more  perhaps  than  when 
actually  within  its  waUs,  that  we 
feel  inclined  to  pass  in  review  the 
history  and  the  fortunes  of  the  town 
before  us.  There  it  lies  in  the  dis- 
tance, stretching  itself  over  plain 
and  rising  ground,  its  walls  and 
roofs  glancing  in  the  sunliffht,  vnth 
many  a  tower  and  spire  breaking 
upward  from  the  vast  mass  of  build- 
ings. About  it  are  all  the  evidences 
of  vigorous  life  and  activity.  But 
what  is  the  story  of  its  past  years, 
and  how  is  that  connected  with 
the  wider  story  of  England  ?  The 
most  modem  town  suggests  such 

Q 


210 


Plymouth. 


[February 


qnestions  as  these ;  &r  more  sach  a 
town  as  Pljmoatli,  which  althongh 
it  cannot  claim  an  antiqnitj  equal 
to  that  of  Exeter  or  Totness,  is 
nevertheless  no  new  creation,  and 
is  surrounded  by  such  natural 
scenery  as  would  heighten  an  in- 
terest deriyed  from  historical  asso- 
ciations &r  less  exciting  than  those 
which  in  &ct  belong  to  it.  We 
may  look  seaward  between  the  red- 
stemmed  pines  of  Mount  Edgcumbe 
and  remember  the  Armada ;  or  land- 
ward from  Bovisand,  and  see  in  ima- 
gination the  town  shut  in  by  the 
forces  of  Prince  Maurice,  with  rival 
forts  and  sconces  sending  pufis  of 
white  smoke  (and  something  more) 
at  each  other  from  their  opposite 
hills.  The  Dartmoor  scene  is  grand 
and  suggestive.  That  from  the  har- 
l>our  is  surely  not  less  so.  There  is 
probably  no  English  port  of  which, 
nnder  favourable  circumstances, 
the  appearance  is  more  striking  to 
a  foreigner  on  his  first  arrival  in 
this  country. 

The  main  outlines  can  have 
changed  but  little  since  the  begin- 
ning of  the  historical  lera.  The 
rocks  of  the  old  Devonian  series — 
slates,  limestones,  and  sandstones — 
which  extend  along  tiiis  coast  are 
slowly  worn  by  the  sea ;  and  Greek 
and  Phoenician  traders  (if  they  in- 
deed ventured  into  the  stormy  west- 
em  ocean)  must  have  looked  on  the 
uMune  deep  bay  that  we  see  at  present, 
with  the  same  heights  and  headlands 
guarding  and  backing  it.  But  it 
must  then  have  been  in  truth  a  '  si- 
lent sea ; '  and  the  protecting  hills, 
covered  with  furso  and  brushwood, 
and  intersected  by  deep  marshes, 
the  haunt  of  numberless  wild  fowl, 
can  har6  shown  few  if  any  signs  of 
human  life  or  habitation.  At  a 
much  later  period  there  is  reason  to 
believe  that  one  of  the  emporia  for 
the  tin  of  the  Devonshire  moorlands 
was  established  here.    No  Oreek  or 


Oriental  coins  have  been  found,  such 
as  have  been  discovered  at  Exeter ; 
and  no  ingots  of  tin,  such  ashavebeen 
dredged  from  the  mud  of  Mount's 
Bay.  But  within  the  last  few  years, 
in  digging  foundations  for  the  fort 
of  Mount  Stamford,  above  Oreston, 
on  the  south  side  of  the  inner  har- 
bour, a  cemetery  of  considerable  ex- 
tent  was  discovered,  to  all  appear- 
ance late  Celtic,  and  indicating  a 
settlement  of  some  importance. 
Bronze  mirrors,  bracelets,  cups,  and 
fibuliB,  fragments  of  glass  and  pot- 
tery, and  some  much  decayed  iron 
implements  were  found  in  the 
graves,  which  were  hollowed  in  the 
slaiy  rock,  and  filled  in — ^perhaps 
at  first  lined — ^with  blocks  of  the 
neighbouring  limestone.^  These, 
however,  are  traces  of  a  time  before 
the  first  legionaries  had  appeared 
among  the  western  hills.  There 
was  no  Roman  settlement  where 
Plymouth  now  stands.  A  line  of 
British  road,  which  was  cared  for 
in  Roman  days,  stad  became  a  con- 
tinuation of  the  Ikenild  Way,  ran 
from  Exeter  by  Totness  to  the  Ta- 
mar ;  but  it  passed  far  at  the  back 
of  Plymouth  Sound,  and  the  little 
station  of  Tamara  is  in  all  proba- 
bility to  be  identified  with  Eling's 
Tamerton,  on  a  hill  above  the  river, 
where  there  are  still  traces  of  a 
squared  entrenchment. 

The  older  and  perhaps  mercantile 
settlement  at  Stamford  *  hill  may 
have  been  frequented  by  those  Gallic 
traders  who,  as  we  are  told,  con- 
veyed British  tin  to  the  opposite 
coast ;  and  Tamara  had  the  import- 
ance of  a  Roman  station.  But 
neither  was  destined  to  become  the 
germ  of  Plymouth.  The  'nursing 
mother'  of  the  great  western  sea- 
port was  the  Augustinian  Priory  of 
Plympton,  which,  the  wealthiest  re- 
ligous  house  in  Devonshire,  rose 
in  the  midst  of  its  broad  green 
meadows  at  the  head  of  the  estuary. 


Thif  oemetffiiy  is  described  in  the  Arohmdogia,  voL  d« 


1873] 


PlymotUh. 


211 


jjot  wbere  the  I4ym  ceases  to  be 
Dftvigable.    It  stood  on  the  line  of 
Boman    road — ^the  *  Ridgeway' — 
vhich  haa  already  been  mentioned ; 
and  a  castle  of  the  Dc  Bedvers',  the 
powerfol  Earls  of  Devon,  lifted  and 
sjtOI  lifbiitshigh  walled  mound  (there 
was  no  keep  tower)  close  beside  the 
Prioiy.    To  the  Priory  of  Plympton 
belonged  from  a  very  early  period, 
land  at  the  mouth  of  the  Plym  on 
which  stood  a  fishing  hamlet  known 
as  Sutton  Prior,  or  '  Sutton  (South- 
town)  jnzta  Plym-mouthe.*     There 
were  two  other  Sutton s,   held  by 
the  King  at  the  time  of  the  Dooms- 
day Survey,  and  afterwards  gpranted 
to  the  fiunilies  of  RaJf  and  Yalletort, 
by  whose  names  they  were  distin- 
^aished.     These    Suttons,  forming 
together  a  settlement  of  but  very 
small  extent^  had  arisen  some  time 
before  the  Conquest.     Sutton  Prior 
was  the  most  important ;  and  from 
it,  owing  to  the  care  with  which 
its  fisheries  were  watched  and  en- 
couraged by  the  monks  of  Plymp- 
ton, were  gradually  developed  the 
harbour    advantages    which    have 
created  the  existing  town,  and  have 
changed  Sutton — *  a  mene  thyng,  an 
inhabitation  of  fischars' — into   the 
far-extending    and   far-famed   Ply- 
mouth. 

The  Httle  hamlet  of  Sutton  lay 
crowded  round  the  harbour  of  Sut- 
ton Pool,  an  inlet  at  the  mouth  of 
the  Plym.  The  entrance  of  this 
'f^alph,'  as  Leland  calls  it,  was 
tniarded  by  strong  walls,  and  chains 
could  be  drawn  across  it '  in  tyme 
of  necessite.'  On  high  ground  above 
it  rose  the  Church  of  St.  Andrew, 
belonging,  like  the  greater  part  of 
Sutton  itself,  to  Plympton  Priory. 
West  of  the  harbour,  on  the  long 
hill  called  Wynrigge  (wind ridge?), 
was  the  Chapel  of  St.  Katherine, 
at  which  fishermen  and  sailors  were 
accostomed  to  make  oblations  aflor 
Wife  landing.  Wynrigge  is  the 
bill  now  so  weH  known  as  the  Hoe, 


a  word  found  elsewhere  in  Devon- 
shire, both  alone,  as  at  Dartmouth — 

Blow  the  wind  high  or  blow  it  low, 
It  bloweth  good  to  Hawl6y*s  Hoe— 

and  as  a  termination ;  and  signify- 
ing in  all  oases  an  elevated  ridge  or 
look-out  place.  It  is  probable  that 
the  name  was  always  applied  to 
some  part  of  the  Wynrigge ;  and 
it  is  here  that  we  find  the  only 
traces  which  directly  connect  Ply- 
mouth with  the  legendaiy  story  of 
Western  Britain.  On  the  green 
turf  of  the  Hoe  were  cut  two  enor- 
mous figures  representing  Cori- 
nsBus,  the  companion  of  Brutus  of 
Troy- 
Li  duk  syro  Corynco,  qui  coRfxuist  Come- 
wayle — 

and  the  great  giant  Goema^ot  with 
whom  he  fought,  and  whom  he 
hurled  into  the  sea  over  the  cliffs, 
thenceforth  reddened  with  the 
giant's  bloQd.  The  story  is  told  by  the 
'  veracious '  Geoffry  of  Monmouth. 
At  what  time  it  was  localised  on 
the  Plymouth  Hoc  is  uncertain. 
The  footprints  of  the  combatants, 
on  which  no  grass  would  grow, 
were  long  pointed  out  there;  and 
there  was  an  annual  '  scouring  *  of 
the  figures,  each  of  which  was 
armed  with  an  enormous  club. 
They  were  famous  in  Spenser's 
days,  who  may  himself  have  seen 
them  if  at  any  time  he  started  from 
Plymouth  on  his  way  to  Ireland; 
and  who  has  referred  to  them  in 
that  part  of  the  Faerie  Qveene  where 
he  records  the  early  history  of  Bri- 
tain and  the  arrival  of  Brutus : 

But  ere  he  had  established  his  throne, 
And  spread  his  empire  to  the  utmost 
shore, 
He  fought  great  battles  with  his  salvage 
fone, 
In  which  he  them  defeated  evermore. 
And  many  giants  left  isn  groning  flore ; 
That  well  can  witness  yet  unto  this  day 
The  Western  Hogh,  besprinkled  with 
the  gore 
Of  mighty  Gh>emot,  whome  in  stout  £cay 
Corineus  oonquer&d,  and  cruelly  did  slay.' 


*  Bk.  ii.  c.  10. 


Q  2 


212 


Plynumth. 


[February 


The* Western  Hogb,*  therefore, 
can  have  been  no  unimportant  place 
in  the  earlier  days  of  Sutton ;  and 
the  legend  attached  to  it  may  indi- 
cate a  certain  connection  of  the 
place  with  the  older  haven  of  Dart- 
mouth, with  Totness,  the  landing 
place  of  Brutus,  and  perhaps  with 
the  opposite  shores  of  Brittany,  At 
any  rate  odc  of  the  earliest  notices 
of  Plymouth  as  a  harbour  records 
the  arrival  there,  in  1230,  of  the 
body  of  GKlbert  de  Clare,  the  mighty 
Earl  of  Gloucester  and  of  Hertford, 
who  died  at  Penrhos  in  Brittany. 
He  was  brought  across  the  sea  to 
*  Plummue,'  says  the  annalist  of 
Tewkesbury;  and  was  conveyed  with 
great  honour  and  a  vast  following 
through  Devonshire,  and  at  last  to 
Tewkesbury,  where  he  was  buried.' 
Gifts  were  made  to  the  religious 
houses  at  which  the  body  of  the  Earl 
rested  on  its  way — the  first  of  which 
was,  of  course,  the  Priory  of  Plymp- 
ton. 

Until  the  year  1439,  when  the 
town — then  of  some  size,  and  be- 
coming famous  for  its  harbour — 
was  incorporated  by  Act  of  Parlia- 
ment, the  Prior  was  the  Lord  of  Ply- 
mouth. Great  personages  arriving 
there,  whether  to  sail  from  its  port 
or  having  landed  at  it,  were  lodged 
in  the  stately  Priory.  In  1287  the 
Earl  of  Lancaster,  brother  of  Ed- 
ward I.,  sailed  from  Plymouth  with 
no  fewer  than  325  ships,  for  Guienne, 
and  no  doubt  rested  for  some  time 
in  the  guest  house  of  the  Canons. 
The  port  was  then  becoming  a 
favourite  point  of  departure  for 
Guienne  and  Southern  France ;  and 
in  the  days  of  the  Third  Edward, 
the  Black  Prince  on  several  occa- 
sions landed  at  and  departed  from 
Plymouth.  He  sailed  hence,  ac- 
companied by  the  Earls  of  War- 
wick, Suffolk,  Salisbury,  and  Ox- 
ford, in  1355,  hefore  the  campaign 
which  closed  with  the  battle   of 


Poitiers.     On  this  occasion  he  was 
detained  for  forty  days  (from  the 
end  of  July  to  the  beginning  of 
September)  by  contrary  winds ;  and 
was  nobly  entertained  by  the  Prior 
of  Plympton.     It  was  while  thus 
delayed    at    the    Priory    that,  as 
Duke  of  Cornwall,  he  granted  to 
one  of  his  old  followers  the  reve- 
nues of  the  ferry  at   'Asche,*  or 
'  Saltash,'   as  a  reward  for  many 
services,  and  in  consideration  of  his 
having  lost  an  eye  in  battle.    It  is 
improbable,  although  some  writers 
assert  it,  that  the    Black  Prince 
landed  at  Plymouth  on  his  return 
from  this  campaigD,  bringing  with 
him  the  captive  King  of  France. 
But  Plymouth  was  the  place  of  his 
landiDg  in  1370,  when  shattered  in 
health  and  in  happiness  he  finally 
left  Aquitaine.     There  he  had  just 
lost  his  eldest  son  Edward ;  and  he 
arrived  at  Plymouth  with  his  wife, 
and  his  remaining  child  Richard  of 
Bordeaux,   afterwards  the  ill-fated 
Richard  II.    After  resting  for  Bome 
days  at  the  Priory,  the  Prince  was 
conveyed  to  London  in  a  litter.  He 
lived  until  1376,  but  never  again 
took  part  in  public   affairs.    The 
scene  at  the  Priory  most  have  con- 
trasted strikingly  with  that  in  1355, 
when  the  Black  Prince  had  been 
received  there  in  the  full  vigour  of 
his  youth,  and  amidst  all  the  splen- 
dour and  excitement   of  a   great 
warlike  expedition. 

Meanwhile,  and  throughout  tiie 
fourteenth  century,  the  fortunes  of 
Plymouth  had  been  variable.  It  was 
attacked  by  French  fleets  and  by 
French  adventurers  again  and  again 
— a  proof  of  its  defenceless  con- 
dition, but  also  of  its  rising  im- 
portance. On  one  of  these  occa- 
sions a  large  force  of  Normans  and 
Bretons  burnt  six  hundred  houses 
in  the  lower  part  of  the  town, 
thenceforward  known  as  *  Breton 
side,'     The  memory  of  this  attack 


Annates  de  Theokshuria,  p.  76,  ed.  Luard  (Annales  Monastici). 


1873J 


was  hug  preserred  by  an  annual 
fight  between  the  '  Barton  (Breton) 
boys'  and  the  boys  of  the  Old  Town 
on  the  bill,  the  latter  of  whom  used 
to  taont  their  opponents  with  the 
destrnction  wrought  by  the  French 
in  their  quarter.     But  in  spite  of 
these  attacks,  from  which  Plymouth 
mnst  have  greatly  suffered,  it  wad 
progressing    steadily    and    surely. 
The  Carmelites,  or  White  Friars, 
established  themselves  in  the  town 
in  13 13 ;  and  built  near  the  head  of 
Satton  Pool  a  church  with  a  tower-* 
ing  spire,  in  which  the  Commis- 
sioners for  the  '  Scrope  and  Gros- 
venor'   controversy  —  a    disputed 
question  of  the   right  to  certain 
armorial  hearings — examined  many 
Devonsbiie     witnesses     in     1384, 
whilst  the  Duke  of  Lancaster  and 
his  soldiers  were  detained  at  Ply- 
mouth by  contrary  winds.     Fran- 
ciscans were   not  slow  to  foUow 
the  Carmelites'  example ;  and  the 
'  freres '  became  as  well  known  in 
the  narrow  streets  and  quays  of 
'Sntton  juxta    Plym-mouthe'    as 
they  had  been,  for  some  time  in 
those  of  the  southern  and  eastern 
seaports.     Their    extensive  build- 
ings and  loflby  churches  gave  a  new 
character  to   tbe   town,   the  only 
conspiciLons   object  in  whicb  had 
hitherto  been    the  Church  of  St. 
Andrew,    a     Norman     edifice     of 
perhaps  no  great  size.    Before  1 400, 
too,  a  '  stronge  castle  quadrate,'  as 
Leland  calls  it,    'having  at  echo 
corner  a  greto  round  tower,*  had 
been  built  on    the    west    side  of 
Sutton  Pool.     At  a  somewhat  later 
period  this  *  quadrate '  became  the 
foundation  of  the  shield  of  arms 
assigned  to    the   town — argent,   a 
saltiie    vert  between  four  castles 
sable.    The    motto    runs,  *  Turris 
fortissima  est  nomen  Jehova.' 

It  is  clear  that  the  town  of  Sutton 
was  to  some  extent,  but  with  due 
subordination  to  the  authority  of 
the  Prior,  governed  by  a  mayor  and 
bj  certain  assessors  before  the  year 


213 


1 439,  when  it  was  duly  incorporated: 
Before  that  time,  althongb  the  name. 
Plymouth  was  frequenthr  used,  the 
place  was  quite  as  often  called 
Sutton.  Afterwards  it  is  always 
known  as  Plymouth.  The  town  no 
doubt  had  been  stretching  itself 
upward  over  the  hill,  and  westward 
through  the  valley  that  lies  on  the 
land  side  of  the  Hoe.  Nearly  a 
century  before  this  incorporation 
its  importance  as  a  port  may  partly 
be  measured  by  the  number  of  ships 
sent  in  1346  to  the  siege  of  Calais^ 
Plymouth  contributed  26 ;  a  greater 
number  than  London  or  BristoL 
Yarmouth  and  Dartmouth  sent 
more  than  Plymouth;  and  Fowey 
sent  47,  the  greatest  number  of  all. 
These  were  of  course  small  vessels  \ 
but  the  fisheries  and  trade  of  Ply- 
mouth must  by  this  time  have  be- 
come very  considerable.  The  older 
havens,  however,  as  yet  kept  their 
supremacy ;  and  the  ^  gallants  of 
Fowey '  and  the  men  of  Dartmouth, 
jealous  rivals  as  they  were^  and 
frequently  as  they  fought  and 
skirmished,  seem  to  have  paid  little 
attention  to  the  neighbour  who  was 
so  soon  to  overtop  them.  Plymouth 
had  risen  first  by  the  development 
of  her  fisheries.  Her  harbour  was 
then  found  at  least  as  convenient  as 
that  of  Dartmouth  for  ships  crossing 
from  Brittany.  During  the  English 
holding  of  Guienne  and  Aquitaine, 
and  tkroughout  the  French  wars  of 
the  fourteenth  century,  Plymouth 
was  one  of  the  principal  ports  at 
which  ships  entered  from,  and  left  for^ 
Bordeaux ;  and  it  soon  became  the 
favourite  harbour  for  vessels  arriv* 
ing  from  the  northern  ports  of 
Spain.  The  commerce  of  the  place 
was  of  course  greatly  increased  by 
this  extended  use  of  the  harbour, 
which  had  arisen  naturally  from  the 
position  of  Plymouth,  opposite  the 
western  shores  of  the  Continent. 
With  the  discovery  of  the  New 
World,  however,  began  the  *  golden 
time '  of  the  town,     l^he  wide  and 


214 


PlymofUJi. 


[Febniary 


hitherto  nntracked  Atlantic  lay 
open  from  Plymouth.  Her  seamen 
were  among  the  first  who  yentored 
to  explore  it.  The  stories  bronght 
home  by  them  of  marvelloas  riches 
and  strange  beanly  found  beyond 
the  distant  tropical  seas,  set  on  fire 
the  yonth  of  Devonshire,  sailors 
many  of  them  from  their  boyhood ; 
and  we  may  fancy  many  a  young 
Raleigh  or  Gilbert  gaziug  with 
wonder  on  rare  treasures  of  the 
Indies,  strange  birds,  tropical  fruit, 
or  rich  barbaric  carving,  and  listen- 
ing the  while  to  the  *  yam '  of  some 
weather-beaten  mariner,  as  he 
points  westward  across  the  plain  of 
deep  blue  water. 

But  long  before  the  days  of  Eliza- 
beth, Plymouth  had  witnessed  one 
arrival  which  may  not  be  passed  in 
silence.  On  the  2ndof  October,  1 501, 
the  Princess  Catherine  of  Arragon, 
accompanied  by  grave  prelates,  and 
by  many  of  the  highest  nobles  of 
Spain,  entered  the  harbour,  *  which,' 
writes  the  Licentiate  Alcares  to 
Queen  Isabella,^  'is  the  first  on 
the  coast  of  England.'  *  She  could 
not  have  been  received,'  he  con- 
tinues, 'with  greater  rejoicings  if 
she  had  been  the  Saviour  of  the 
world.  ...  As  soon  as  she  left 
the  boat,  she  went  in  procession  to 
the  church,  where,  it  is  to  be  hoped, 
God  gave  her  the  possession  of  all 
these  realms  for  such  a  period  as 
would  be  long  enough  to  enable  her 
to  enjoy  life,  and  to  leave  heirs  to 
the  throne.'  The  Princess  had 
sailed  from  Laredo  on  the  27  th  of 
September.  Off  Ushant  she  had 
encountered  a  furious  tempest,  with 
*  thunder  and  immense  waves.'  The 
rest  of  the  voyage  had  been  stormy ; 
and,  says  Alcares, '  it  was  impossible 
not  to  be  frightened.'  The  church 
in  which  the  Princess  knelt  for  the 
first  time  on  English  ground  may 
have  been  either  St.  Andrew's,  then 


but  newly  rebuilt,  or  i3be  great 
church  of  the  Carmelites,  which  has 
altogether  disappeared.  She  was 
' lodged '  by  'one  Painter,  that,'  says 
Lel^d,  'of  late  died  a  rich  nuu*- 
chaunt,  and  made  a  goodly  house 
toward  the  haven.'  This  '  Palace ' 
as  it  is  called  is  yet  standing.  It  is 
in  Castle  Street,  '  toward  the  haven ; ' 
and  is  built  of  the  local  limestone 
with  timbers  of  massive  oaJc.  Prom 
Plymouth  the  Princess  journeyed  by 
Tavistock  and  Okehampton  to  Exe- 
ter, where  she  occupied  the  Dean- 
ery, and  was  so  greatly  disturbed 
by  the  noise  of  a  weathercock  on  an 
adjoining  church  steeple  that  it  was 
taken  down  on  the  day  after  Iter 
arrival. 

The  Palace  of  Master  Painter  in- 
dicates  the  increasing  prosperity  of 
Plymouth.  About  the  same  time, 
'  one  Thomas  Yogge,'  a  merchant, 
built  for  himself  'a  fair  house  of 
moor-stone ' — as  the  granite  of  Dart- 
moor  is  still  called — and  *  paid  for 
making  of  the  steeple  of  Plymonth 
church,'  St.  Andrew's,  whose  fine 
Perpendicular  tower  still  bears  wit- 
ness to  the  wealth  and  generosity  of 
Thomas  Yogge.  This  was  Late  in  the 
fifteenth  century.  Before  anotber 
hundred  years  had  passed,  'the 
name  and  reputation  of  Plymontb/ 
in  Camden's  words,  '  was  veiy  great 
among  all  nations,  and  this  not  so 
much  for  the  convenience  of  ^e 
harbour  as  for  the  valour  and  worth 
of'  the  inhabitants.'  This  is  tbe 
Plymouth  of  Drayton — 

Upon  the  British  coast  what  ship  jet  ortf 
camo  I 

That  not  of  Plymonth  hcares?  irbere 
those  brave  navies  lie 

From  cannon's  thundering  thzoate  that  all 
the  world  defje. 

It  is  impossible  to  enumerate  tbe 
expeditions  both  of  adventure  and 
of  war  which  so  frequently  left  the 
harbour  of  Plymonth   throughoni 


*  Bevgenroth,  Calendar  of  Lettert  ^c.  relating  to  NegotlationB 
Spain  preaervtd  at  Simancas,  toL  i.  p.  262  (Rolls  Series). 


between  Bhgland  eai^ 


1873] 


Flymouth. 


215 


the  reign  of  EUzabeth.  There  was, 
gajs  Carew,  'an  infinite  swarm  of 
smgle  ships  dail  j  here  manned  out 
to  the  same  effect.'  Strangers 
crowded  the  streets;  and  many  a 
needj  adyentnrer  fonnd  his  way 
here  in  the  hope  of  getting  a  pas- 
sage to  the  golden  lands  of  Virginia 
or  Florida.  So  at  least  suggests  the 
oldhallad— 

HaTo  orer  the  waters  ta  Florida, 

Faie\rell  good  London  now  ; 
Through  long  delays  on  land  and  seas 

fm  brought,  I  cannot  t-ell  how, 
In  FljmoaSi  town  in  a  threadbare  gown, 

And  money  never  a  deal. 
Hay  trixi  trim  !  go  trixi  trim ! 

And  win  not  a  wallet  do  well  ? 

Such  was  the  condition  of  Ply- 
mouth in  the  days  of  the  Great 
Qaeen.  Bnt  the  spirit  of  adven- 
ture had  been  aronsed  long  before, 
ilartin  Cockeram,  of  Plymonth, 
sailed  with  Sebastian  Cabot,  and 
assisted  him.  in  his  exploration  of 
the  River  Plate.  In  1530  Cockeram 
sailed  again  with  William  Hawkins 
on  the  first  of  his  voyages  to  Brazil, 
and  was  there  left  in  pledge  with 
the  natives  for  the  safety  of  one  of 
the  ^salvage  kings*  whom  Hawkins 
brought  back  to  England.  The 
*  king '  died ;  bnt  the  natives,  be- 
lieving that  Hawkins  had  '  behaved 
wisely 'towards  them,  restored  Cock- 
eram; who  was  thns,  snggests  a 
recent  historian  of  Plymonth,*  'the 
first  Englishman  who  ever  dwelt  in 
South  America, — ^possibly  the  first 
who  ever  set  foot  on  the  Western 
continent.'  Cockeram  lived  to  hoar 
of  the  fiuno  of  his  old  captain's  son 
— ^tliat  Sir  John  Hawkins  who  so 
often  'singed  the  King  of  Spain's 
beard,'  and  who  is  so  constantly 
referred  to  in  Philip's  letters  and 
memorials  as  the  terrible  'Achines,' 
— ^a  form  -which  suggests  that  the 
name  must  have  been  conveyed  to 
the  Spanish.  Court  from  the  lips 
of    DevonBhire  sailors.    Hawkins, 


Drake,  and  Baleigh  are  the  most 
famous  names  connected  with  Eliza- 
bethan Plymouth.  But  from  its 
harbour,  under  the  same  glow  of 
adventure,  sailed  Sir  Humphrey 
Gilbert  to  discover  Newfoundland ; 
Sir  Bichard  Ghrenville  for  Virginia ; 
Frobisher  and  Davies  for  the  North- 
western Seas,  and  Cavendish  on  his 
voyage  round  the  world.  Cattewater 
and  Sutton  Pool  were  thronged  with 
the  small  pinnaces  in  which  these 
daring  seamen  braved  all  the  perils  of 
unknown  seas ;  and  the  whole  town 
was  frequently  thrown  into  a  fever  of 
delight  and  triumph  by  the  return  of 
ships  laden  with  wealth,  as  often  the 
spoil  of  Spanish  galleys  as  of  rich 
islands  of  the  West.  When  Sir 
Francis  Drake  came  back  from  his 
voyage  round  the  world,  the  peoplo 
were  at  prayers  in  St.  Andrew's 
Church.  Thither  the  news  was 
brought.  The  church  was  speedily 
emptied ;  and  whilst  *  the  great  ordi- 
nance  were  let  off'  the  rejoicing' 
townsmen  hurried  to  the  quays, 
ready  to  welcome  the  mariners '  with 
draughtes  of  wine  and  drinkyng  of 
healthes.'  In  the  midst  of  such  re- 
cords the  town  books  show  that  the 
usual  festivities  of  Old — and  merry 
— England  were  not  neglected.  The 
Ma3rpole  was  duly  dressed ;  the  *  Mor- 
ryshe  dancers'  were  treated  with  a 
*  breckfast ;'  *Mr.  Fortescue's  players' 
and  (we  are  a  little  scandalised)  *  my 
Lord  Busshoppe's  players '  (this  was 
in  1561)  each  received  13^.^.  for 
their  performances.  The  *Bus- 
shoppe '  himself  (William  AUey,  a 
man  of  learning  and  a  patron  of 
letters,  who  well  deserved  a  good 
dinner)  cost  the  town  1/.  6s.  8c2., 
paid  to  *  Also  Lyell  for  my  Lorde's 
dinner,'  besides  Ss.  Sd.  'paido  to 
the  cooke  for  the  rostynge  of  the 
meate.' 

A  few  Elizabethan  houses  remain 
in  the  streets  of  Old  Plymouth ;  but 
it  cannot  be  said  that  this  most 


•  iR*<pry  of  Plymouth,  by  B.  N.  Worth.    Plymouth.  1871. 


216 


FlymoviU. 


[Pebmary 


active  and  romantic  period  has  left 
anj  very  striking  memorials  in  the 
town  itself  or  in  the  neighbourhood. 
The  imagination  mnst  see  more  than 
the  eye.  The  land  itself  has  not 
changed,  and  the  harbonrs  have 
been  little  altered.  Cattewater  re* 
mains  much  as  when  Sir  John 
Hawkins  sent  a  cannon  ball  through 
the  side  of  a  Spanish  galleon,  lying 
there  with  prisoners  from  the  Low 
Gonntries  on  board,who,  as '  Achines ' 
intended,  got  free  daring  the  en* 
sning  tumult.  The  '  fidr  green  called 
the  Hoe '  is  still  much  the  same  as 
when 

•    •    about  the  lovely  close  of  a  warm 

STunmer  day 
There  came  a  gallant  merchant  ship  full 

sail  to  Plymouth  bay  ; 
Her  crew  had  seen  Castile's  black  fleet 

beprond  Aurign/s  isle, 
At  earhest  twilight  on  the  waves  lie  heaving 

many  a  mile — 

the  same  as  on  the  afternoon  of 
that  19th  of  July  when,  as  the  tra- 
dition runs,  the  men  of  the  '  gallant 
merchant  ship  '  brought  the  news 
of  the  approach  of  the  Armada  to 
the  captains  of  the  English  fleet  as 
they  were  playing  bowls  on  the 
green  near  the  present  citadel. 
Still,  as  we  look  from  the  same 
point,  we  can  picture  to  ourselves 
the  mighty  crescent  fleet  passing 
slowly  along  the  far  horizon,  and 
hear  the  faint  sound  of  the  ord- 
nance fired  by  the  Spaniards  or 
their  pursuers.  And  the  view  land- 
ward may  recall  other  memories. 
Under  the  Dartmoor  hills  lies  Far- 
del, the  ancestral  home  of  Sir 
Walter  Baleigh,  where  he  is  said 
to  have  buried  much  gold  brought 
at  different  times  from  over  seas. 
An  ancient  inscribed  stone  (now 
removed)  marked  the  place  of  the 
'  hoard ; '  and  the  local  rhyme 
ran — 

Between  this  stone  and  Fardell  hall 

Lies  as  much  money  as  the  devil  can  haul. 

Buckland   Abbey,    the   house    of 


Cistercian  monks  reconstructed  by 
Sir  Francis  Drake  for  his  own 
dwelling-place,  lies  more  out  of 
sight;  but  the  true  memorial  of 
the  great  navigator  is  the  '  leat '  or 
stream  of  water  which,  brought 
under  his  direction  from  the  dis- 
tant Meavy  river,  still  supplies  the 
town  of  Plymouth.  Floating  ro- 
mance and  folk-lore  are  constantly 
gathered  round  the  name  of  a  local 
hero,  and  that  of  Drake  is  no  ex- 
ception. He  is  said  to  have  been 
a  powerful  magician  ;  and  after  he 
had  repeated  certain  spells  near  the 
river,  the  water  followed  of  its  own 
accord  as  he  galloped  over  the 
downs  towards  Plymouth.  He  '  set 
up  a  compass '  on  the  Hoo  during 
the  year  (i 581-2)  in  which  he 
served  as  mayor;  and  the  lines 
under  his  portrait  in  the  Guildhall 
record  his  services — 

Who  with  fresh  streams  refresht  this  towoe 
that  first 

Though  kist  with  waters  yet  did  pine  for 
thirst, 

Who  both  a  pilote  and  a  magistrate 

Steered  in  his  tarne  the  shippe  of  Ply- 
mouth's state. 

The  Mayor  and  Corporation  an- 
nuaUy  inspect  the  leat ;  and  at  the 
weir  head  drink  in  water  '  To  the 
pious  memory  of  Sir  Francis  Drake,* 
and  in  wine  ^  May  the  descendants 
of  him  who  brought  us  water  never 
want  wine.'  Of  the  old  Corpora- 
tion plate  only  one  cup,  known  as 
the  *  Union  Cup,'  can  have  been 
used  by  these  Elizabethan  heroes. 
It  is  of  silver  gilt,  and  was  the 
gift,  in  1585,  of  John  White  of 
London,  haberdasher,  'to  the  Mayor 
of  Plymouth  and  his  brethren  for 
ever,  to  drink  crosse  one  to  the 
other  at  their  feastes  and  meet- 
ynges.' 

The  importance  of  Plymouth  as 
a  seaport  continued  during  the 
reigns  of  James  I.  and  of  Charles  I., 
though  expeditions  against  Spain 
were  then  somewhat  at  a  discount. 
The    ^drinking    of  tobacco'  had 


1873] 


JPlymouth. 


217 


greailj  increased  sixice  Baleigh 
tooklus  first  pipe  in  the  chimney 
comer  at  Greenaway.  In  1663, 
Garrard  writes  to  Ix>rd  Strafford 
that  *  Plymouth  had  yielded  looZ. 
and  as  much  yearly  rent '  to  the 
'licensed  persons'  who  'had  a 
lease  for  life  to  sell  tobacco '  there ; 
a  proof  that  the  crowd  of  sea- 
men had  by  no  means  diminished. 
About  the  same  time  we  get  a 
cnrions  pictore  of  Plymouth,  and  a 
good  example  of  Devonshire  dialect 
— difienng  not  at  all  from  the  tme 
Doric  still  to  be  heard  in  the  neigh- 
boarLood — ^in  some  rhymes  written 
by  William  Strode,  of  Newnham, 
near  Plympton,  who  in  1638  died  a 
Canon  of  Christ  Church,  Oxford. 
They  are  preserved  among  the 
flarieian  MSS. 

Thou  oe*erwoot  riddle,  neighbor  John, 
When  ich  of  late  have  bin-a, 
Whj  ich  ha  bin  to  Plimoth,  man, 
The  like  was  yet  ne'er  zeene-a ; 
Zich  BtieetSf  zich  men,  zich  hugeous  zeas, 
Zieh  tluD^  and  gans  there  rumbling, 
Thyself  bke  me,  wood'st  blesse  to  zee 
Zich  'bomioation  grumbling. 

The  Btneta  bee  pigbt  of  shindle-stone 

Doe  glinen  like  the  sl^-a, 

Tlie  zhops  flton  ope  and  all  the  yeere  long 

Ise  think  how  faire  there  be-a ; 

And  many  a  gallant  here  goeth 

r  goold,  Uiat  zaw  the  kiuge-a. 

The  king  zome  zweare  himself  was  there, 

A  man  or  zome  zich  thing-a. 

Thou  TooIe,  that  never  water  zaw'st 

Bat  thiek-a  in  the  moor-a, 

To  zee  the  zea  wood'st  be  a'gast 

It  doth  BOO  rage  and  roar-a. 

It  tasts  zoo  zalt  thj  tongue  wood  thinke 

The  viie  vere  in  the  water, 

And  'tis  aoo  wide,  noe  land  is  spide, 

Ix)ok  Deer  aoo  long  theie-ater. 

Amidtft  the  water  wooden  birds 

And  flying  houses  zwim-a ; 

AH  full  of  things  as  ich  ha'  heard 

And  goods  np  to  the  brim-a ; 

They  goe  onto  another  world 

Bearing  to  conquier-a 

Vor  which  those  guns,  Toule  deyelish  ones, 

Doe  dunder  and  spett  vire-a. 


Among  the '  flying  houses '  on  the 
water,  neighbour  John  may  have 
looked  on  one  whicli  was  destined 
to  become  more  famous  than  Gil- 
bert's Golden  Hindj  or  Sir  Francis 
Drake's  Felican.  In  September 
1620,  the  Mayflower  sailed  from 
Plymouth,  carrying  across  the  ocean 
those  Pilgrim  Fathers  who  planted 
the  first  settlement  on  the  coast  of 
New  England,  and  gave  to  it  the 
name  of  the  ground  in  tho  mother 
country  which  their  feet  had  last 
trodden.  When,  off  the  coast  of 
Dartmouth,  the  captain  of  the 
Speedwell  with  his  company  re- 
^ed  te  proceed  farther,  tho  May^ 
flower  put  in  at  Plymouth,  and  her 
passengers,  in  all  10 1  souls,  were 
*  kindly  entertained  and  courteously 
used  by  divers  friends  there  dwell- 
ing.' It  does  not  appear  that  ^y 
Devonshire  men  were  among  the 
'  Pilgrims ; '  but  their  reception 
certainly  indicates  the  existence  of 
a  strong  Puritanical  feeling  in  the 
town — ^a  feeling  which  had  strength- 
ened into  decided  opposition  to  the 
King  when  the  civil  war  broke  out 
in  1642. 

The  struggle  with  a  people  so 
trained  in  adventure  and  to  the 
endurance  of  danger,  was  likely  to 
be  fierce  and  proti-acted.  Accord- 
ingly, in  spite  of  two  continuous 
sieges,  and  of  many  lesser  dangers, 
and  notwithstanding  the  appearance 
of  Charles  himself  before  i^  walls, 
the  town  held  out  until  the  march 
of  Fairfax  and  Cromwell  into  the 
west  in  the  spring  of  1646  put  an 
end  to  the  lingering  hopes  of  Devon- 
shire Royalists.  The  King  lay  for 
some  time  at  the  house  of  Widey ; 
and  during  his  stay  he  showed 
himself  daily,  attended  by  Prince 
Maurice  (who  was  then  directing 
the  siege),  and  a  goodly  cavalier 
company,  on  the  top  of  Townsend 
hill,  opposite  one  of  the  principal 
redoubte  of  the  town.  The  towns- 
men gave  the  name  of  '  Yapouring 
Hill'  to  the  spot  which  was  thus 


218 


Tifnufuth, 


[February 


diebingoishod.  Plymouth  was  proud 
of  its  saccessftil  resistance.  The 
Pnritan  feeling  was  long  contintied; 
and  it  was,  perhaps,  owing  to  this 
that  after  the  Bestoration  oertain 
&milies  looked  on  with  an  evil  eye 
by  the  Government  took  refage 
here.  Among  them  were  some 
descendants  of  Bradshaw,  the  regi- 
cide ;  and  Northcote,  the  painter, 
told  Hazlitt  how,  in  his  early  days, 
one  of  the  family,  *  an  old  lady  of 
the  name  of  WUcox,  nsed  tp  walk 
about  in  Gibbon's  fields,  so  prim  and 
starched,  holding  up  her  fan  spread 
out  like  a  peacock's  tail,  with  such 
an  air  on  account  of  her  supposed 
relationship.'  The  CavaUers  re- 
garded Plymouth  somewhat  differ- 
ently. It  was  thought  fit,  indeed, 
that  the  town  should  bo  taught  the 
consequences  of  rebellion ;  and  in 
1660,  when  the  regicides  were  exe- 
cuted at  Charing  Cross,  John  Al- 
lured, of  Plymouth,  was  hanged 
*"  for  speaking  treason,'  and  his  head 
was  set  up  on  the  old  Guildhall. 
But  whatever  were  tho  feelings  of 
the  townsmen,  the  authorities  made 
due  submission.  They  presented 
two  pieces  of  plate  to  the  King ; 
and  after  a  severe  scolding  they 
were  fully  admitted  to  the  royal 
favour  on  the  visit  of  Charles  II. 
in  1670 ;  when  he  *  touched  for  the 
eviU  in  the  great  church  ' — that  of 
St.  Andrew,  and  visited  the  new 
church,  which  Seth  Ward,  Bishop 
of  Exeter,  had  consecrated  in  1664 
*  by  the  name  of  the  royal  martyr.' 
This  church  had  been  begun  before 
the  civil  war;  and  although  its 
spire  is  slightly  awry,  owing,  it  is 
said,  to  the  broomsticks  of  a  fiight 
of  witches  who  struck  it  as  they 
passed,  it  is  an  excellent  example 
of  very  late  Gothic  architecture, 
which  in  some  parts  of  the  building 
is  hardly  to  be  called  '  debased.' 

Meanwhile     the     harbour    was 
crowded,  many  events  of  import- 


ance were  occurring  off  the  coasts 
and  fleets  were  coming  and  going. 
Blake,  returning  in  1656  from  the 
Canaries,  died  at  the  entrance  of 
the   Sound.     His  body  was   em- 
balmed    at     Plymouth,    and    his 
bowels  *  buried  by  the  mayor's  seat 
doore.'   De  Ruyter,  after  the  Dutch 
had  burnt  the  fleet  at  Chatham, 
'divers    times     anchored     in    the 
Sound,  but  did  noe  harm.'     The 
Grand   Duke    Cosmo    dei    Medici 
landed  at  Plymouth  in   1669,  and 
admired  the  town  with  its  antique 
buildings,  *  almost  shut  up  by   a 
gorge  of  the  mountains,  and  not  to 
be  seen  from  the  sea,'  a  description 
which  shows  us  that  as  yet  it  had 
not  spread  very  far  inland.     The 
Duke    of    Albemarle,    Monk   the 
king-maker,  whose  education,  says 
Clarendon,  had  been  but  rough — 
only  Dutch  and  Devonshire — came 
here   *with    near  forty  gentlemen 
attending  him,'  and  was  made  free 
of  the    corporation.      Lord    Dart- 
mouth  sailed   from  Plymouth   on 
the  expedition  to  Tangiers,  having 
on  board   the  fleet  the  ingenious 
Mr.  Pepys,  who  has  duly  recorded 
how,  being  *on  board  my  lord's 
ship  in  the  Sound,'  he  '  stayed  for 
his   doublet, — the    sleeves    altered 
according  to  sea  fashion.'     Roger 
North  accompanied  his  relation,  the 
Lord  Keeper  Guilford,  on  his  west- 
ern circuit,  saw  with  him  all  the 
sights  of  Plymouth,  and  wondered 
at  the  strange  west  country  dialect^, 

*  more  barbarous,'  he  thought,  *  than 
that  in  any  other  part  of  England, 
the  north  not  excepted.'*  The 
most  '  worthy  spectacle  '  at  Ply- 
mouth was  the  new  fort  or  citadel, 

*  built  of  the  marble  of  the  place,' 
and  commanding  a  *  glorious  pro- 
spect. '  This  citadel,  begun  in  1 670, 
was  designed  by  Bernard  de  Gk)ime, 
and  was  intended  not  only  for  t^e 
security  of  the  place,  but  *  as  a  check 
to   the   rebellious   spirits    of    tlie 


•  Soger  North's  Life  0/  the  Lord  Keeper,  p.  120. 


m] 


Pli/mouth. 


219 


nefgliboiirhood.'  In  diggisg  the 
fonBdatioiis  some  enormous  bones 
were  fonnd,  which  were  held  to 
hxe  been  iiiose  of  the  giant  Cori* 
jam.  At  this  time  the  Island  of 
St.  Nicholas  in  the  Sound,  which 
bad  been  fortified  dnring  the  civil 
war^was  used  as  a  State  prison ;  and 
dnnng  the  visits  of  Charles  II., 
within  sight  and  hearing  of  the 
festivities  with  which  thej  were  ac- 
compuiied,  a  prisoner  was  detained 
there  to  whom  such  sights  and 
fioonds  most  have  bronght  strange 
emotions.  This  was  JoLji  Lambert, 
the  famous  Major-General  of  Crom- 
well's army,  who  was  tried,  together 
with  Vane,  in  1661,  but  who,  owing 
to  his  *"  submissive  behaviour,'  es- 
caped capital  punishment.  He  was 
first  sent  to  Guernsey,  and  removed 
thence  in  1667  to  St.  Nicholas' 
Ifihad,  where  he  remained  until 
1683,  in  the  very  cold  winter  of 
which  year  he  died.  '  Ships,'  writes 
James  Yonge,  the  chronicler  of  the 
town,^  *  were  starved  in  the  mouth 
of  the  Channel,  and  almost  all  the 
cattd  famisht.  The  fish  left  the 
coast  almost  five  moneths.'  In  his 
long  imprisonment  Lambert  amused 
himself  by  painting  flowers ;  for  he 
had  been  a  great  gardener,  and  had 
cultivated  at  Wimbledon  '  the  finest 
tulips  and  giUiflowers  that  could  be 
got  for  love  or  money.'  Myles  Hal- 
head,  a  member  of  the  Society  of 
Friends,  has  given  in  his  Suffenngs 
and  Passages,  a  curious  account  of 
an  interview  with  Lambert  at  Ply- 
month.  He  found  the  soldiers '  very 
qniet  and  moderate ; '  and  Lambert 
himself  bore  with  patience  a  very 
severe  reprimand  '  for  having  made 
laws,  and  consented  to  the  making 
of  laws,  against  the  Lord's  people.' 
The  place  of  Lambert's  inteiment  is 
not  known.  A  fellow-prisoner  with 
him  for  some  time  was  James 
fisrington,    author    of     the    once 


famous  Oceana.  He  suffered  great- 
ly on  the  island  from  bad  water 
and  want  of  exercise;  and  at  last 
was  allowed  to  remove  into  the 
town  of  Plymouth,  certain  of  his 
relations  giving  a  bond  for  5,oooZ. 
that  he  would  not  escape. 

We  are  advancing  towards  com- 
paratively modem  times.  The  fleet 
of  400  ships  which  brought  the 
Prince  of  Orange  to  Torbay,  after 
he  had  landed  at  Brixham,  passed 
round  the  Start,  and  wintered  at 
Plymouth.  In  tie  spring' of  1689 
two  regiments  were  sent  here  to 
embark  for  Ireland  ;  so  that  the 
town  was  crowded  with  soldiers 
and  sailors,  'greatc  iDfectiou  hap- 
pened ;  and  above  1,000  people  were 
buried  in  three  months.'  The  gar- 
rison was  in  no  good  humour.  Its 
governor  was  Lord  Lansdowne, 
son  of  the  Earl  of  Bath,  one  of  the 
Grenvilles  who  had  given  their  lives 
for  King  Charles ;  and  although  ho 
did  not  oppose  the  now  order  of 
things,  he  did  not  greatly  care  to 
restrain  the  excesses  of  his  men. 
Accordingly,  they  disturbed  the 
rejoicings  at  the  coronation  of  Wil- 
liam and  Mary.  There  was  a  fight, 
and  one  of  the  townsmen  was  killed 
in  the  fray.  From  such  bickerings, 
however,  they  were  speedily  re- 
called by  an  appearance  of  danger 
from  without.  The  great  French 
fleet  under  Tourville  was  seen  to 
pass  before  the  harbour,  sailing 
eastward.  The  beacons  were  fired, 
and  all  Devonshire  was  roused. 
Tourville  burned  Teignmoutli ;  but 
did  little  more  harm,  although  there 
was  considerable  fear  lest  he  should 
attack  Plymouth,  and  the  'town 
was  kept  in  arms  with  good  watch- 
ing.' But  the  French  were  too 
busy  elsewhere. 

Before  the  seventeenth  century 
had  closed,  Winstanley  had  erected 
the  first  lighthouse  on  the  Eddy- 


'  YoDge  was  an  ancestor  of  the  Yonges  of  Poslineli.    His  I'Ummauth  MeTtunrs,  a  very 
brief  dironiele  of  events,  zemainB  in  MS.  in  the  libraiy  of  the  Athensun  at  Plymouth. 


220 


PlymmUL 


[February 


stone,  that  most  dangerous  rock  off 
the  entrance  to  the  Sound,  *  where 
the  carcasses  of  manj  a  tall  ship 
lie  buried/  This  was  swept  away 
in  1703,  and  very  soon  afterwards 
the  terrible  disaster  at  the  Scilly 
Islands  (October  1707),  in  which 
three  line-of-battle  ships  perished 
with  all  on  board,  indu^g  the 
Admiral,  Sir  Cloudesley  Shovel, 
drew  fresh  attention  to  the  neces^ 
sity  of  affording  to  these  stormy 
coasts  such  protection  as  might  be 
practicable.  The  body  of  Sir 
Cloudesley  Shovel  was  brought  to 
Plymouth  in  the  Salisbury,  and  was 
lodged  in  the  citadel.  It  was  em- 
balmed, and  was  then  conveyed  to 
Westminster,  where  the  monument 
raised  above  it  is  conspicuous  for 
the  '  eternal  buckle '  of  the  rough 
sailor's  periwig.  Budyard  was  at 
the  same  time  bu^  with  the  second 
lighthouse  on  the  Eddystone,  which 
was  burnt.  The  present  structure, 
seen  from  the  Hoe  as  a  faint  line 
against  the  horizon,  was  not  begun 
until  1757.  It  was  completed  in  two 
years,  during  which  Smeaton  anxi- 
ously watched  its  progress,  often 
climbing  to  the  Hoein  the  dim  grey  of 
the  morning,  and  peering  through  his 
telescope  *  till  he  could  see  a  white 
pillai*  of  spray  shot  up  into  the  air.' 
Then  he  knew  that  the  building,  so 
£Eur  as  it  had  advanced,  was  safe ; 
•and  could  proceed  to  his  work- 
shops, his  mind  relieved  for  the 
day.' 

The  lighthouse  was  still  a  novel 
wonder  when  it  was  ^  watched  from 
the  Hoe '  and  was  examined  more 
closely  by  a  visitor  of  whom  Ply- 
mouth might  well  be  proud.  In 
1762  Dr.  Johnson  arrived  at  the 
town  in  company  with  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds,  and  was  received  with 
much  distinction  by  all  (they  were 
perhaps  not  many)  who  could  ap- 
preciate his  learning  and  his  conver- 
sation. 'The  magnificence  of  the 
navy,'  says  Boswell,  *the  ship- 
building and  all  its  circumstances. 


afforded  him  a  grand  subject  of 
contemplation.'  The  Commissioner 
of  the  Dockyard  (which  h^ 
been  established  in  the  reign  of 
William  HE.)  conveyed  Johnson 
and  Sir  Joshua  to  the  Eddystone 
in  his  yacht;  but  the  sea  was  so 
rough  that  they  could  not  land. 
It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that 
more  anecdotes  of  this  visit,  from 
which  Johnson  declared  that  he 
had  derived  a  great  '  accession  of 
new  ideas,'  have  not  been  preserved. 
A  great  struggle  was  at  the  time 
in  progress  between  Plymouth  and 
Dock  (Devonport)  regarding  the 
right  claimed  by  the  latter  to  be 
supplied  from  Sir  Francis  Drake's 
water  leat.  '  I  hate  a  Docker,'  said 
Johnson,  setting  himself  vehemently 
on  the  side  of  the  older  town.  '  No, 
no,  I  am  against  the  Dockers.  I  am 
a  Plymouth  man.  Rogues,  let  them 
die  of  thirst ;  they  shall  not  have  a 
drop.'  We  must  suppose  that 
party  spirit  in  Plymouth  ran  high ; 
but  we  are  not  told  whether  the 
duty  of  neighbourly  charity  was 
the  subject  of  a  discourse  to  which 
the  great  Doctor  listened  in  St. 
Andrew's  Church,  and  which  was 
composed  for  his  special  edification 
by  the  Vicar,  Doctor  Zachary 
Mudge,  a  man,  says  Johnson  (who 
wrote  his  epitaph  in  return  for 
his  sermon),  'equally  eminent  for 
his  virtues  and  abilities;  at  once 
beloved  as  a  companion  and  reve- 
renced as  a  pastor.'  This  Doctor 
Mudge  is  the  subject  of  a  ghost 
story  told  in  Sir  Walter  Scott's 
Demonology,  He  was  known  to  he 
actually  dying  when  he  made  his 
appearance  at  a  club  in  Plymouth 
of  which  he  had  long  been  a  mem- 
ber. He  did  not  speak  ;  but  saluting 
the  assembled  company,  drank  to 
them,  and  retired.  They  sent  at 
once  to  his  house,  and  found  that 
he  had  just  expired.  Many  years 
afterwards  his  nurse  confessed  that 
she  had  left  the  room  for  a  short 
time,  and,  to  her  horror,  found  the 


m] 


Plymouth. 


221 


bed  empty  on  her  retnm.  Doctor 
Madge  had  remembered  that  it  was 
the  erening  for  the  assembling  of 
the  club,  and  had  visited  it  accord* 
inglj.    He  came  back  and  died. 

In  these  days  of  Qteorge  the 
Third,  the  Hfe  of  Old  Plymouth 
may  be  said  to  end.  The  great 
changes  which  have  so  rapidly  built 
up  tibe  new  town  did  not  indeed 
begin  until  the  opening  of  the  pre- 
sent century.  The  Breakwater, 
began  in  1812,  but  not  finished 
nndl  1840,  had  made,  long  before 
its  completion,  the  great  basin  of 
the  Sound  a  comparatively  safe 
harbour.  This  was,  of  course, 
greatly  to  the  advantage  of  the 
town.  But  we  are  desJing  with 
'  Old '  Plymouth,  and  cannot  here 
attempt  to  follow  the  development 
which,  since  the  early  part  of  the 
century,  and  most  conspicuously 
dunng  the  last  thirty  years,  has 
gradually  extended  the  town  over 


the  surrounding  heights  and  valleys, 
until  *  Vapourmg  Hill  *  itself  has 
become  covered  with  buildings,  and 
the  outposts  of  Stonehouse  and 
Devonport,  extending  their  arms  in 
like  manner,  have  united  themselves 
closely  with  Plymouth.  Such  have 
been  the  growth  and  the  changes 
since  the  days  when  '  Sutton  juxta 
Plym-mouthe'  lay,  a  little  fishing 
hamlet,  under  the  rale  of  the 
Augustinian  Prior.  If  *  it  could  not 
be  seen  from  the  sea '  when  the 
Grand  Duke  Cosmo  landed  at  the 
Barbican,  it  now,  from  the  Sound 
or  from  the  Breakwater,  makes  a 
grand  foreground  to  the  distant 
landscape,  watched  over  and 
guarded  by  the  purple  Dartmoor 
hills,  and  dignified  by  its  protecting 
fortifications,  which  afford — recent- 
ly constructed  as  many  of  them 
are — the  latest  testimony  to  the 
wealth  and  national  importance  of 
modem  Plymouth. 

BiCHARD  John  Kino. 


222  [February 


BBAMBLEBEBBIES.  ] 


14.  I  am  not  shocked  by  failings  in  my  friend, 

For  human  life's  a  zigzag  to  the  end. 
Bat  if  he  to  a  lower  plane  descend, 
Contented  there, — alas,  my  former  friend! 


15.  From  the  little  that's  shown 

To  complete  the  unknown, 

Is  a  folly  we  hourly  repeat; 

And  for  once,  I  would  say. 
That  men  lead  us  astray. 

Ourselves  we  a  thousand  times  cheat. 


16.  Where  is  the  wise  and  just  man?    where 

That  earthly  maiden,  heavenly  fair  ? 
Life  slips  and  passes :  where  are  these  P 
Friend? — Loved  One? — I  am  ill  at  ease. 
Shall  I  give  up  my  hope  ?  declare 
Unmeaning  promises  they  were 
That  fed  my  youth,  pure  dreams  of  night. 
And  lofty  thoughts  of  clear  daylight  ? 
I  saw.     I  search  and  cannot  find. 
*  Come,  ere  too  late ! '  'tis  like  a  wind 
Across  a  heath.     Befool'd  we  live. 
— Nay,  Lord,  forsake  me  not ! — ^forgive  ! 


17.  Unless  you  are  growing  wise  and  good, 

I  can't  respect  you  for  growing  old; 
'Tis  a  path  yon  would  fain  avoid  if  you  could. 
And  it  means  growing  ugly,  suspicious,  and  cold. 


'/9j  BrcarMeberries,  223 

Mj  not  Lore  and  FriendBhip,  tho'  long  and  vainly  sought ; 
Tiiy  sad  x)6rpetnal  craving  with  deepest  proof  is  fraught. 
Thm  canst  be  friend  and  lover ;  else  why  thy  longing  now  ? 
Canst  th^ni  be  true  and  tender  P— of  mortals,  only  thou  ? 


They  are  my  friends 

Who  are  most  mine. 

And  I  most  theirs, 

When  common  cares 
Give  room  to  thoughts  poetic  and  divine. 
And  in  a  psalm  of  love  all  nature  blends. 


20.  Like  children  in  the  masking  game 

Men  strive  to  hide  their  natures ; 
Each  in  his  turn  says,  *  Guess  my  name,* 
Disguising  voice  and  features. 


If  he  draw  you  aside  from  your  proper  end, 
No  enemy  like  a  bosom  friend. 


For  thinking,  one ;  for  converse,  two,  no  more ; 
Three  for  an  argument;  for  walking,  four; 
For  social  pleasure,  five ;  for  fun,  a  score. 


FiDEUTT, 

^3-  Can  I  be  friends  with  that  so  alter'd  youy 

And  to  your  former  friendly  self  keep  true  ? 


*4.        Well  fop  the  man  whom  sickness  makes  more  tender, 
^^0  doth  his  prideftil  cravings  then  surrender, 
Owning  the  boon  of  every  little  pleasure, 
And  love  (too  oft  misprized)  a  heavenly  treasure, 
^^g  at  last  a  truer  strength  in  weakness, 
^  ^©dicine  for  the  soul  in  body-sickness. 


224  Brambleberries^  [Febiuary 

25.  While  friends  we  were,  the  hot  debates 

That  rose  'twixt  you  and  me ! — 
Now  we  are  mere  associates, 
And  never  disagree. 


26.  We  only  touch  by  surfaces; 

Bat  Spirit  is  the  core  of  these. 


To  A  Friend. 

27.  Dear  friend,  so  much  admired,  so  oft  desired, 

'Tis  true  that  now  I  wish  to  be  away. 
You  are  not  tiresome,  no  !  but  I  am  tired. 
Allow  to  servant  brain  and  nerves  full  play 
In  their  electric  function,  yea  and  nay. 
Faith  and  affection  do  not  shift  their  ground, 
Howe'er  the  vital  currents  ebb  and  flow. 
To  feel  most  free  because  most  firmly  bound 
Is  friendship's  privilege:  so  now  I  go, 
To  rest  awhile  the  mystic  nerves  and  brain, 
To  walk  apart, — and  long  for  you  again. 


1873] 


225 


THE  ORIGINAL  PROPHET; 
By  a  Visitor  to  Salt  Lake  City. 


AMONG  Uie  Mormons  commonly, 
three  things  only  are  stated  of 
the  founder  of  their  faith — that  an 
angel  appeared  to  him,  that  he 
trsmslated  the  Booh  of  Monnon  by 
Divine  inspiration,  and  that  he 
sealed  his  testimony  by  a  martyr's 
death.  And  tbe  better  informed 
among  them,  and  even  their  teach- 
ers and  apostles,  the  personal 
friends  of  Joseph  Smith  in  old  days, 
have  little  more  to  say.  I  was  sur- 
prised  at  the  scantiness  of  the  in- 
formation to  be  obtained.  Mor- 
mons of  standing  like  Orson  Pratt, 
John  Taylor,  Sqnire  Wells,  and 
Miss  Snow  seemed  perfectly  will- 
ing to  tell  me  all  they  conld  recol- 
lect abont  the  prophet,  but  almost 
all  particnlars  of  his  method  of  life, 
his  ways  of  speaking  and  acting, 
had  apparently  faded  firom  memory, 
too  indistinctive  to  have  left  a 
deep  trace.  No  one  could  recollect 
of  him  those  small  personal  inci- 
dents, or  characteristic  habits,  or 
striking  pieces  of  expression,  which 
are  nsaally  treasured  so  carefully 
of  noted  personages.  Nor  have  I 
BQcceeded  in  finding  many  such 
particulars  in  print.  It  is  pos- 
sible that  the  Mormons  dimly  sus- 
pect that  the  less  precise  their 
knowledge  of  the  prophet,  the  more 
profound  their  veneration  is  likely 
to  be. 

The  accounts  of  Joseph  Smith 
given  by  anti-Mormons  are  simi- 
larly barren  of  such  pieoea  of  per- 
sonal information  as  might  serve  to 
reveal  his  inner  character,  and  are 
besides  written  commonly  with  a 
rancour  so  intense  as  to  impair 
their  authority  aa  statements  of 
fact 

The  prophet  has  left  behind  a 
voluninouB  autobiography ;  but,  to 
one*s  disappointment,  it  is  found  to 
consist  almost  exclusively  of  a  mass 

TOt.  YIL — HO.  XXXVin.  NEW  SERIES. 


of  verbose  revelations  republished 
in  the  authoritative  Booh  of  Doc- 
trine and  Covenants^  and  forming, 
with  the  exception  of  the  Booh  of 
Mormon^  the  most  puerile  and 
tedious  reading  in  tho  world. 

I  suggested  to  a  number  of  tho 
leading  saints  that  anecdotes  and 
matters  of  interest  connected  with 
the  prophet  should  be  searched  for 
and  placed  on  record  before  tho 
generation  that  knew  him  has  passed 
away.  On  one  of  these  occasions 
the  Church  librarian  at  Salt  Lake 
City  seconded  my  proposal  earnestly. 

'  But  what  is  the  use  of  it,  bro- 
ther Campbell,'  Apostle  Orson 
Pratt  replied  solemnly,  'since  we 
shall  have  brother  Joseph  among 
us  again  soon  ?  ' 

The  example  of  the  Evangelists 
was  urged  by  some  one  present. 
They  had  been  told  that  some 
among  them  *  should  not  see  death ' 
before  the  Saviour  reappeared,  yet 
thia  did  not  deter  them  &om  writ- 
ing the  Gospels. 

'  It  does  not  follow  that  because 
they  were  mistaken  we  shall  be 
also,'  was  the  answer,  *No:  bro- 
ther Joseph  will  be  amongst  us 
again,  at  least  in  our  children's 
tune.' 

There  was  a  general  agreement 
in  the  descriptions  given  me  of 
Joseph  Smithes  personal  appear- 
ance. He  seems  to  have  been  a 
large  man,  well  made,  of  an  un- 
usually muscular  development.  As 
a  young  man  he  was  the  great 
wrestler  of  the  district ;  and  he  was 
fond  of  showing  his  strength  after 
he  rose  to  his  sacred  dignity.  His 
complexion  was  singularly  transpa- 
rent, his  eyes  large  and  full,  and 
very  penetrating.  When  excited 
in  conversation  or  in  preaching 
his  £ftce  became  ^illuminated/  as 
Apostle  Q.  Cannon  expressed   it, 


226 


The  Original  Prophet 


[Febraaiy 


and  lie  would  say  things  'of  as- 
tonishing depth/  Ordinarily  his 
talk  was  qaiet  and  commonplace. 
His  manner  was  generally  sedate, 
bat  at  times  he  would  grow  *  buoy- 
ant and  playful  as  a  child.'  It  is 
.  said  that  ne  used  sometimes  to  get 
excited  with  drink.  It  is  not 
denied  that  he  had  a  strongly  sen- 
sual temperament.  No  one  who 
had  personally  known  him  would 
allow  to  me  that  he  had  a  specially 
religioua  or  nervous  organisation. 
His  was  no  brain  *  turned  by  rapt 
and  melancholy  musings.'  He  was 
no  religious  fanatic,  '^ey  insisted. 
'  All  was  calm  conTiction  and  assu- 
rance.' 

In  Mr.  J.  H.  Beadle's  Life  in 
Utah,  published  in  Philadelphia, 
1870,  one  of  the  most  moderate 
anti-Mormon  publications,  I  find  the 
following  characteristic  description 
of  the  prophet:  *He  was  full  of 
levity,  even  to  boyish  romping, 
dressed  like  a  dandy,  and  at  times 
drank  like  a  sailor,  and  swore  like 
a  pirate.  He  could,  as  occasion  re- 
quired, be  exceedingly  meek  in  his 
deportment,  and  then  again  rough 
and  boisterous  as  a  highway  robber ; 
being  always  able  to  satisfy  his 
followers  of  the  propriety  of  his 
conduct.  He  always  quailed  before 
power,  and  was  arrogant  to  weak- 
ness. At  times  he  could  put  on  the 
air  of  a  penitent,  as  if  feeling  the 
deepest  humiliation  for  his  sins,  and 
suffering  unutterable  anguish,  and 
indulging  in  the  most  gloomy  fore- 
bodinni  of  eternal  woe.  At  such 
times  ne  would  call  for  the  prayers 
of  his  brethren  in  his  behalr  with  a 
wild  and  fearful  energy  and  earnest- 
ness. He  was  full  six  feet  high, 
strongly  built,  and  uncommonly 
well  muscled.  No  doubt  he  was  as 
much  indebted  for  his  influence 
over  an  ignorant  people  to  the 
superiority  of  his  physical  vigour  as 
to  his  greater  cunning  and  intel- 
lect.' 

A  large  oil-painting  of  the  pro- 
phet is  carefulfy  preserved  in  Brig- 


ham  Young's  reception-room  at 
Salt  Lake.  No  malicious  report  of 
his  enemies  is  so  damning  to  Joseph 
Smith's  character  as  that  por- 
trait. The  face  is  large;  the  eyes 
big,  watery,  and  prominent;  the 
cheeks  puffy ;  the  upper  lip  long, 
the  lips  thick  and  sensoal.  The 
chin  is  small ;  the  cheek-bones  are 
unpleasantly  prominent;  the  fore- 
head recedes  in  a  fashion  scarcely 
human.  The  prophet  has  long 
brown  hair,  straight,  and  lumped  at 
the  ears.  He  wears  a  high  collar 
with  a  redundant  white  neck-cloth. 
The  whole  appearance  of  the  head, 
bulky,  awkward,  ill-set,  with  bulb- 
ous eyes,  and  the  horridly  veeeding 
forehead,  is  abnormal,  and  impul- 
sive in  the  extreme.  A  conviction 
seizes  irresistibly  on  the  spectator 
that  it  must  be  the  head  of  a 
criminal  or  of  an  idiot.  No  believer 
in  the  prophet  should  be  suffered  to 
see  that  painting. 

To  avoid  a  conflict  of  claims 
among  the  cities  of  America  to  the 
honour  of  having  produced  the 
modem  prophet,  he  is  carafal  to 
give  us  in  his  autobiography  fbll  in- 
formation. *  I  was  bom,'  he  writee, 
'  in  the  year  of  Our  Lord  one  thou- 
sand eight  hundred  and  five^  on  the 
twenty-third  of  December,  in  the 
town  of  Sharon,  Windsor  County, 
State  of  Vermont.'  Like  many 
another  man  who  has  risen  to 
greatness  by  unaided  genius,  Joseph 
Smith  came  of  mean  parentage. 
•As  my  father's  worldly  oircum- 
stances  were  very  limited,'  he  talk 
us,  •we  were  under  the  neoessity 
of  labouring  with  our  hands,  hiring 
by  day's  work  and  otherwise,  as  wo 
could  get  opportunity.'  The  lowly 
origin  of  the  regenerator  of  modeiri 
society  naturally  excites  the  fervour 
of  the  Mormon  mnse.  In  faer 
FragmenU  of  an  Epic,  Misa  Snow 
rapturously  exclaims : 

Was  he  an  earthly  prince— of  roTsl  blood  ? 
Had  he  been  bred  in  courts,  or  dandlad  on 
The  lap  of  luxury  ?    Or  wa« 
His  name  emblazoned  on  the  spire  aiVaane  ? 


1878] 


The  Origmal  Prophet, 


227 


ffo^flo!   He  vas  not  of  a  kiogl J  nee, 

Xar  coakl  he  be  denominated  great 

If  btluoed  in  the  scale  of  worldly  zank. 

Scareelj  peziiap8--eBpeciall7  if  the 
commonly  repeated  accoants  of  the 
fanulj  are  to  be  credited.  An 
affidavit  of  eleven  of  ilieir  neigh- 
bours, taken  in  November  1833, 
stigmatises  the  Smith  family  as  *  a 
la^,  indoloit  set  of  men, '  *  intem- 
penie,'  their  word  not  to  be  de- 
pended on.  •  They  avoided  honest 
labour/  the  New'  American  Cych- 
pasdkt  sajs,  'asid  occnpied  them- 
selves diiefly  in  digging  for  hidden 
treasares  and  in  similar  visionary 
pnrsaits.  They  were  intemperate 
and  nntrnthfol,  and  were  com- 
monty  suspected  of  sheep-stesding 
and  other  offences.  Upwards  of 
siziyof  the  most  respectable  citi- 
zens of  Wayne  Counly  testified  in 
1833,  i°^^6r  oath,  that  the  Smith 
family  were  of  immoral,  false,  and 
frandnlent  character,  and  that 
Joseph  was  the  worst  of  them.' 

The  history  of  the  migrations  of 
the  fiumly  has  been  preserved  both 
in  prose  an4  in  stately  verse : 

Yermont,  a  land  much  fam*d  for  hills  and 

■sows, 
Aod  bloomuig  ekoel»,  may  boost  the  honour 

of 
The  pnphst's  birth-place. 

£re  ten  sammen'  suns 
Had  bomd  thdr  wreath  upon  his  youthful 

brow, 
His  fiither  vhh  his  family  removed ; 
And  in  N«v  York,  Ontario  County,  since 
UUed  Wayne,  aeleeted  them  a  lesidenee ; 
fust  in  Pdbiyn,  then  in  Manchester. 

It  waa  in  tiie  last-named  spot 
that  the  yonth  received  his  call  to 
become  a  'revelator  *  of  sacred  mys- 
tenes.  llormonism  springs  &om  a 
Methodist  revival. 

'Some  time  in  ilie  second  year 
after  our  removal  to  Manchester,' 
Joseph  Smith  writes,  *  there  was  in 
the  place  where  we  lived  an  nnnsnal 
ezcftement  on  the  sabjeot  of  retifficnx- 
It  ooimnenced  with  &e  Methodists, 
hat  aoon  becaane  general  among  all 
^sectsinihatregioaofeofaBtry 

'  I  was  at  this  timte  in  my  fifteenth 


year.  My  father's  family  were  pro- 
selyted to  iitxe  Presbyterian  faith.' 

*  During  this  time  of  great  excite- 
ment my  mind  was  called  np  to 
serious  reflection  and  great  un- 
easiness. ...  In  process  of  time 
my  mind  became  somewhat  partial 
to  the  Methodist  sect ;  but  so  great 
was  the  confusion  and  strife  among 
the  different  denominations,'  that  it 
was  not  possible  to  'come  to  any 
certain  conclusion  who  were  right, 
and  who  were  wrong.' 

He  narrates  that  in  his  perplexity 
a  great  effect  was  produced  on  his 
mind  by  the  passage  in  the  Epistle 
of  James,  *  If  any  man  lack  wisdom, 
let  him  ask  of  God.'  'I  reflected 
on  it  again  and  again,'  he  says, 

*  knowing  that  if  any  person  needed 
wisdom  from  God,  I  cfed.' 

He  retired  to  the  woods ;  *  it  was 
on  the  morning  of  a  beautiful  clear 
day,  earty  iu  the  spring  of  1820.' 
A  vision  appeared  to  him :  '  I  saw 
a  pillar  of  light  exactly  over  my 
head,  above  Sie  brightness  of  the 
sun,  which  descended  gradually  till 
it  fell  upon  me.'  Then  straight- 
way he  'saw  two  personages,  whose 
brightness  and  glory  defy  fJl  descrip- 
tion, standing  above '  him  in  the  air. 
One  of  these  told  him  plumply  that 
he  was  to  join  none  of  the  churches, 

*  for  they  were  all  wrong ;  that  all 
their  creeds  were  an  abomination  in 
his  sight,  and  that  those  professora 
were  sJl  corrupt.' 

The  boy  communicated  his  vision 
to  some  Methodist  preachers  and 

*  professors.'  They  took  the  matter 
seriously,  and  argued  against  his 
assertions.  From  that  moment  his 
destiny  in  life  as  a  '  revelator '  was 
fixed.  He  expresses  very  naively 
the  effect  produced  on  his  boyish 
vanity :  '  It  caused  me  serious  re- 
flection then,  and  often  has  since, 
how  very  strange  it  was  that  an 
obscure  boy,  of  a  little  over  fourteen 
yeazB  of  age,  and  one,  too,  who  was 
doomed  to  the  necessity  of  obtaining 
a  scanty  maintenance  by  his  daily 
labour,  shouldbethoughtacharacter 

B  2 


^28 


The  Original  Prophet 


[February 


of  sufficient  importance  to  attract 
the  attention  of  the  great  ones  of  tlie 
most  populous  sects  of  the  day,  so  as 
to  create  in  them  a  spirit  of  the 
hottest  persecution  and  reviling.' 

The  spectacle  of  the  boy,  exposed 
to  the  long  arguments  of  the  Metho- 
dist local  preachers  and  the  un- 
believing ridicule  of  his  companions, 
moves  deeply  the  compassion  of 
Miss  SnoTv's  great-souled  muse ; 

An  awful  avalancho 
Of  persecution  fell  upon  him,  hurl'd 
By  the  rude  blast  of  cleric  influence  I 
Contempt,  reproach,  and  ridicule  were 

poured 
Like  thunderbolts,  in  black  profusion,  o*er 
His  youthful  head. 

More  than  three  years,  however, 
passed  before  the  proved  possibility 
of  his  becoming  a  religious  seer 
issued  in  any  definite  plan.  During 
this  interval  he- appears  from  his 
own  confession  to  have  abandoned 
himself  freely  to  a  variety  of  youth- 
ful vices.  '  I  was  left  to  all  Icinds 
0/ temptation, 'he  writes;  *  and  ming- 
ling with  all  kinds  of  society,  I 
frequently  fell  into  many  foolish 
errors,  and  displayed  the  weakness 
of  youth,  and  the  corruption  of  human 
nature ;  which,  I  am  sorry  to  say, 
led  me  into  divers  temptations,  to 
the  gratification  of  many  appetites 
offensive  in  the  sight  of  God.' 

I  have  italicised  some  of  the  ex- 
pressions in  this  confession  for  a 
special  reason.  In  the  copy  of  the 
Autobiography  in  the  Historian's 
Office,  Salt  Lake,  from  which  I 
made  these  extracts,  the  words  I  have 
thus  marked  are  crossed  through 
with  ink.  It  will  be  perceived  that 
if  the  passage  be  reprinted  as  thus 
trimimed,  the  sense  will  be  much 
modified.  This  is  but  a  trivial 
example  of  the  way  in  which  piety 
will  lend  itself  to  fraud  for  the 
honour  of  religion,  and  is  scarcely 
perhaps  worth  mentioning.  If  Mor- 
monism  lives,  as  it  promises  to  do, 
the  process  of  purifying  and  exalting 
the  prophet's  character  will  no 
doubt  be  carried  to  great  lengths* 


Joseph  Smith  states  that  through- 
out these  three  years  of  gaiety  and 
self-indulgence  he  was  *all  the 
time  suffering  severe  persecution  at 
the  hands  of  all  classes  of  men,' 
because,  he  writes,  '  I  continued  to 
affirm  that  I  had  seen  a  vision,' 
If  neither  the  prophet's  memory  nor 
imagination  makes  a  slip  here,  he 
must  at  this  time  already  have 
learnt  the  lesson  that  immorality  of 
life  could  subsist  with  exceptional 
religious  pretensions. 

In  September,  1823,  Joseph  had 
his  second  vision.  '  A  personage 
appeared  at  my  bed- side,'  he  says, 
*  standing  in  the  air.  ...  His 
whole  person  was  glorious  beyond 
description,  and  his  countenance 
truly  like  lightning.'  This  was  none 
other  but  Nephi,  the  inspired  writer 
of  the  early  part  of  the  Book  of 
Mormon,  who  had  descended  to 
earth  to  bring  the  young  man  the 
flattering  intelligence  that  his  name 
'should  be  had  for  good  and  evil 
among  all  nations,'  and  that  there 
existed  a  book  *  written  upon  gold 
plates,'  containing  '  the  fulness  of  the 
everlasting  gospel,'  which  Joseph 
would  be  permitted  to  translate  by 
means  of  Urim  and  Thummim,  two 
stones  set  in  silver  like  vast  spec- 
tacles, when  the  fulness  of  the 
appointed  time  was  come. 

The  vision  was  repeated  three 
times,  and  he  was  told  to  visit 
yearly  a  certain  hill, '  convenient  to 
the  village  of  Manchester,'  until 
the  plates  should  be  given  him. 
On  September  22,  1827,  *the 
same  heavenly  messenger  delivered 
them  up '  to  him.  During  these 
three  years  young  Smith  docs 
not  appear  to  have  risen  in  tk- 
public  estimation.  He  is  repre- 
sented as  being  an  idler  and 
vagabond,  with  a  sincere  dislike  oi 
honest  work,  and  a  considerable 
talent  for  imposition,  cultivated  by 
pretences  of  the  discovery  of  gold, 
hidden  treasure,  and  springs  of  ^t 
and  of  oil.  These  charges  app^ 
to. have  beemnade  out  condusiveiy 


1873] 


The  Original  Prophet, 


229 


against  the  jonng  man  before 
rarioQS  jnstices,  according  to  a 
number  of  *  proceedings  *  which 
have  since  been  collected  and 
published. 

During  inj  stay  in  Salt  Lake 
pcrnusaion  was  courteonsly  ac- 
corded me  to  copy  ont  a  set  of  snch 
jndicial  proceedings  not  hitherto 
published.  I  cannot  doubt  their 
genuineness.  The  original  papers 
were  lent  me  by  a  lady  of  well- 
known  position,  in  whose  family 
they  had  been  preserved  since  the 
date  of  the  transactions.  I  re- 
produce them  here,  partly  to  fulfil 
a  duty  of  assisting  to  preserve  a 
piece  of  information  about  the 
prophet,  and  partly  because,  while 
the  chaises  are  less  vehement  than 
j^me  I  might  have  chosen,  the  pro- 
ceedings are  happily  lightened  by  a 
touch  of  the  ludicrous. 

State  of  New  York  v,  Joseph  SMrrn. 

Warrant  issued  upon  written  complaint 
upon  oath  of  Peter  G.  Bridgeman,  who  in- 
fonncd  that  one  Joseph  Smith  of  Bain- 
i'ridge  waa  a  disorderly  person  and  an  im- 
postor. 

Prisoner  brought  before  Court  March  20, 
iSz6.  Prisoner  examined :  says  that  ho 
•-ume  from  the  town  of  Palmyra,  and  had 
Utn  at  the  houso  of  Josiah  Stowel  in 
Bainbridgemodt  of  time  since;  had  small 
pmt  of  time  been  employed  in  looking  for 
Diincs,  but  the  major  part  had  been  em- 
\A(tyed  by  said  Stowel  on  his  farm,  and 
g<iiDg  to  school.  That  he  had  a  certain 
^tone  which  he  had  occasionally  looked  at 
to  determine  where  hidden  treasures  in  the 
brjWi'lsof  the  earth  were ;  that  he  professed 
to  t4-U  inthis  manner  where  gold  mines  were 
a  di stance  unler  ground,  and  had  looked  for 
Mr.  Stowel  MTeial  times,  and  had  informed 
him  where  he  could  find  these  treasures, 
and  Mr.  Stowel  had  been  engaged  in  dig- 
iriii%  for  them.  Tliat  at  Palmyra  he  pre- 
tended to  tell  by  looking  at  this  stone 
when  etmied  money  was  buried  in  Penn- 
sylvania, and  while  at  Palmyra  hod  fre- 
qveDiLj  ascertained  in  that  way  where  lost 
property  wu  of  various  kinds ;  that  he  had 
occasiooally  been  in  the  habit  of  looking 
rhrongh  this  stone  to  find  lost  property  for 
three  years,  but  of  late  had  pretty  much 
given  it  up  on  account  of  its  injuring  his 
health,  esperially  his  eyes,  making  them 
nre ;  that  he  did  not  solicit  business  of  this 


kind,  and  had  always  rather  declined  hav- 
ing anything  to  do  with  this  business. 

Josiah  Stowel  sworn :  says  that  prisoner 
had  been  at  his  house  something  like  five 
months ;  had  been  employed  by  him  to 
work  on  farm  part  of  time ;  that  he  pre- 
tended to  have  skill  of  telling  where  hidden 
treasures  in  the  earth  were  by  means  of  look- 
ing through  a  certain  stone ;  that  prisoner  had 
looked  for  him  sometimes ;  once  to  tell  him 
about  money  buried  in  Bend  Mountain  in 
Pennsylvania,  once  for  gold  on  Monument 
Hill,  and  once  for  a  salt  spring;  and  that  he 
positively  knew  that  the  prisoner  could 
tell,  and  did  possess  the  art  of  seeinff  those 
valuable  treasures  through  the  medium  of 
said  stone ;  that  he  found  the  [word  illegi- 
ble] at  Bend  and  Monument  Hill  as  pri- 
soner represented  it;  'that  prisoner  nad 
looked  through  said  stone  for  Deacon  Attle- 
ton  for  a  mine,  did  not  exactly  find  it,  but 
got  a  p — [word  unfinished]  of  ore  which 
resembled  gold,  ho  thinks ;  that  prisoner 
had  told  by  means  of  this  stone  where  a 
Mr.  Bacon  had  buried  money ;  that  he  and 
prisoner  had  been  in  search  of  it;  that 
prisoner  had  said  it  was  in  a  certain  root 
of  a  stump  five  feet  from  surface  of  the 
earth,  ana  with  it  would  be  found  a  tail 
feather;  that  said  Stowel  and  prisoner 
thereupon  commenced  digging,  found  a  tail 
feather,  but  money  was  gone ;  that  he  sup- 
posed the  money  moved  down.  That 
prisoner  did  offer  his  services;  that  he 
never  deceived  him ;  that  prisoner  looked 
through  stone  and  described  Josiah  Stowel's 
house  and  outhouses,  while  at  Palmyra  at 
Simpson  Stowel's,  correctly;  that  he  had 
told  about  a  painted  tree,  with  a  man's  head 
painted  upon  it,  by  means  of  said  stone. 
That  he  had  been  in  company  with  prisoner 
digging  for  gold,  and  had  the  most  implicit 
faith  in  prisoner's  skill. 

Arad  Stowel  sworn :  says  that  he  went  to 
see  whether  prisoner  could  convince  him 
that  he  possessed  the  skill  he  professed  to 
have,  -upon  which  prisoner  laid  a  book  upon 
a  white  clcth,  and  proposed  looking  through 
another  stone  which  was  white  and  trans- 
parent, hold  the  stone  to  the  candle,  turn 
his  head  to  book,  and  read.  The  decep- 
tion appeared  so  palpable  that  witness 
went  off  disgusted. 

McMaster  sworn:  says  he  went  with 
Arad  Stowel,  and  likewise  came  away  dis- 
gusted. Prisoner  pretended  to  him  that 
he  could  discover  objects  at  a  distance  by 
holding  this  white  stone  to  the  sun  or. 
candle ;  that  prisoner  rather  declined  look- 
ing into  a  hat  at  his  dark  coloured  stone, 
as  he  said  that  it  hurt  his  eyes. 

Jonathan  Thompson  says  that  prisoner 
was  requested  to  look  for  chest  of  money  ; 
did  look,  and  pretended  to  know  where  it 
was;  and  that  prisoner,  Thompson,  and 


280 


The  Original  Fropket, 


[February 


Yeomant  went  in  search  of  it;  that  Smith 
arrived  at  spot  first;  ivas  at  night;  that 
Smith  looked  in  hat  while  there,  and  when 
very  dark,  and  told  how  the  chest  was 
Kituated.  Afterdigging  several  feet,  strock 
upon  something  sonnding  like  a  board  or 
pumk.  Prisoner  would  not  look  again, 
pretending  that  he  was  alarm^  on  account 
of  the  circumstances  relating  to  the  trunk 
being  buried,  [which]  came  all  fresh  to  his 
mind.  That  the  last  time  he  looked  he 
discovered  distinctly  the  two  .Indians  who 
buried  the  trunk,  that  a  quarrel  ensued 
between  them,  and  that  one  of  said  Indians 
was  killed  by  the  other,  and  thrown  into 
the  hole  beside  the  trunk,  to  guard  it,  as  he 
supposed.  Thompson  says  that  he  believes 
in  the  prisoner's  profess^  skill ;  that  the 
board  which  he  struck  his  spade  upon  was 
probably  the  chest,  but  on  account  of  an 
enchantment  the  trunk  kept  settling  away 
from  under  them  when  digging ;  that  not- 
withstanding they  continued  constantly 
removing  the  dirt,  yet  the  trunk  kept 
about  the  same  distance  from  them.  Says 
prisoner  said  that  it  apx>eared  to  him  that 
salt  might  be  found  at  Bainbridge,  and 
that  he  is  certain  that  prisoner  can  divine 
t  hi  ngs  by  means  of  said  stone.  That  as  evi- 
dence of  the  fact  prisoner  looked  into  his  hat 
to  tell  him  about  some  money  witness  lost 
sixteen  years  ago,  and  that  he  described  the 
man  that  witness  supposed  had  taken  it,  and 
the  disposition  of  tho  money : 

And  therefore  the  Court  find  the  < 
Defendant  guilty.  Costs :  Warrant, 
19c.  Complaint  upon  oath,  2 5 Ac. 
Seven  witnesses,  Syic  Eecognis- 
auces,  250.  Mittimus,  19c.  Recog- 
nisances of  witnesses,  750.  Sub- 
poena, 1 8c. — $z.S%, 

It  was  among  an  ignorant  and 
crednlons  people  of  this  kind,  capa- 
ble of  believing  in  the  necromantic 
virtues  of  a  big  stone  held  in  a  bat, 
and  of  treasore  descending  per- 
petually under  the  spades  of  the 
searchers  by  enchantment,  a  people 
already  prepared  for  any  bold  super- 
stition by  previous  indulgence  in  a 
variety  of  religious  extravagances, 
that  Joseph  Smith  found  his  early 
coadjutors  and  his  first  converts. 

The  work  of  translating  the  mys- 
teriously-given golden  pktes  lasted 
two  full  years.  The  firat  edition  of 
the  Booh  of  Mormon  was  published 
in  1 830.  During  this  period  a  num- 
ber of  contemptible  quarrels  oc- 
curred between  the  prophet  and  his 


helpers,  which  were  all*  decided  in 
the  prophet's  favour  by  verbose 
tautological  revelations  of  unendur- 
able weorisomeness.  The  picture 
given  us  of  the  prophet  at  work  is 
characteristic  of  the  whole  business. 
He  would  sit  behind  a  blanket  himg 
across  thq  room  to  screen  the  sacred 
plates  from  mortal  eyes,  and  read 
aloud  slowly  his  translation,  made 
by  the  aid  of  the  big  spectacles,  to 
a  friend  who  wrote  it  down.  Mr. 
Orson  Pratt  told  me  that  *  brother 
Joseph '  ceased  to  use  the  Urim  and 
Thummim,  however,  *  when  he  be- 
came thoroughly  embued  with  the 
spirit  of  revelation.' 

Martin  Harris,  afterwards  an 
apostate,  was  the  first  transcriber; 
through  his  treachery,  or  that  of 
his  wife,  or  possibly  from  a  desire 
on  tbeir  part  to  put  the  prophet's 
pretensions  to  a  test,  the  new  reli- 
gion came  near  to  perishing  in  the 
birth.  The  earlier  portion  of  the 
manuscript  work  was  secreted  by 
one  or  other  of  the  couple.  The 
*  Bevelations '  to  Joseph  Smith  on 
,  this  matter  are  extremely  trying  to 
the  patience  of  a  reader.  A  frag- 
ment from  the  mass  will  serve  as  a 
sample  of  the  character  and  stjie 
of  these  compositions,  and  will  show 
how  the  prophet  escaped  from  his 
perplexity. 

From  the  *  Revdation,*  May  1829. 

Behold,  I  say  unto  you,  that  yon  shall 
not  translate  again  those  words  which  hav^ 
p;one  forth  out  of  your  hands ;  for  behold 
they  shall  not  accomplish  their  evil  designs 
in  lying  against  those  words.  For  behold, 
if  you  sliall  bring  forth  the  same  words 
they  will  say  that  you  have  lied ;  that  you 
have  pretended  to  translate,  but  that  yoa 
have  contradicted  yourself;  and  behoH 
they  will  publish  this,  and  Satan  will 
harden  the  hearts  of  the  people,  to  sdr  them 
up  to  anger  against  you,  that  they  will  sot 
believe  my  words.  Thus  Satan  thinketJi 
to  overpower  your  testimony  in  this  genen* 
tion ;  but  behold,  here  is  wisdom ;  and 
because  I  show  unto  you  wisdom,  asd 
give  yoa  commandments  coneeming  thes* 
things  what  you  shall  do,  show  it  not  uattf- 
the  world  until  you  have  accomplished  th^ 
work  of  translation.    ...  1 

And  now  verily  I  say  unto  you,  that  si 


1873] 


The  Origmal  Prophet. 


231 


aMooit  of  tftoM  thing!  ihbt  joa  h&TO 
vBttn,  viucli  JiavBgone  out  of  youz  hands, 
an  fl^gnfsn  upon  the  plates  of  Nephi; 
yn^  tad  jon  ramember  it  was  said  in  those 
wiitisgs  that  a  more  panictdar  account 
VIS  given  of  these  things  upon  the  plates 
ofNeohL 

And  now,  because  the  account  which  is 
eBgraren  npcD  the  plates  of  Kephi  is  more 
putkular  concerning  the  things  which  in 
mj  wisdom  I  would  bring  to  the  know- 
ledgs  of  the  people  in  this  account,  there- 
fore you  shall  translate  the  engrayings 
vhich  are  on  the  plates  of  Nephi  down  even 
till  yoa  ooiqeto  the  reign  of  ^ng  Benjamin, 
or  imtil  JOS  come  to  that  which  you  have 
translated,  which  jou  hare  retained ;  and 
behold,  joo  shall  publish  it  as  the  record 
oflfeplii,  and  thus  will  I  confound  those 
who  have  altered  my  w^ords.  I  will  not 
saSet  that  they  shall  destroy  my  work ; 
jpa,  I  will  show  unto  them  that  my  wisdom 
is  greater  than  the  cunning  of  the  deril. 

The  result  of  tbo  nnbelief  of  Martin 
Harris  has  been  to  inflict  on  the 
&ithfiil  Mormon  a  still  more  nn- 
oonadonable  quantity  of  matter  in 
his  sacred  book  than  was  originallj 
intended. 

With  bis  second  amanuensis, 
Oliver  CowdoTy,  wbo  ateo  finallj 
apostatised,  Josepb  Smith  bad  like- 
wise mnchdifficidty.  Ontbewbole, 
Iraweyer,  this  man  proved  for  a  long 
time  sofficiently  snbmissiye,  and  was 
rewarded  by  receiving,  throngh  the 
prophet^  a  noznber  of ,  verbose  reve- 
bitions  of  tbe  nsoal  tedions  cha- 
racter. 

It  was  this  man  wbo  enjoyed  tbe 
remarkable  bononr  of  being  asso- 
ciated witb  Josepb  Smitb  in  receiv- 
ing back  to  eartb  tbe  long-lost 
powere  of  tbe  apostolic  priesthood. 
On  May  1 5,  1 829,  in  a  certain  spot 
in  the  woods,  no  less  a  personage 
than  Jdbn  tbe  Baptist  appeared  to 
these  two  favoured  mortals,  placing 
his  hands  on  tbem,  and  ordaining 
them  witb  tbese  words :  '  Unto  you, 
my  ibUow-servants,  in  tbe  name  of 
the  Messiaby  I  confer  the  Priest- 
hood of  Aaron,  wbiob  bolds  tbe 
keys  of  the  ministering  of  angels, 
and  of  tbe  gospel  of  repenttuftce, 
toad  of  baptism  by  inoonersion  for 
ilie  raauiBioa  of  sina.' 


Wbezenponihe  two  went  stredgbt- 
way  to  water  and  baptised  each 
otber,  and  immediately  *  experienced 
great  and  glorious  blessings,'  and 
'  standing  up,  propbesied  concern- 
ing tbe  rise  of  the  church,  and  many 
other  things.' 

A  number  of  Smiths  and  others 
were  shortly  afterwards  baptised, 
and  a  small  church  was  already  in 
existence  when  the  new  sacred  book 
appeared  in  print. 

The  Golden  BxbUj  as  this  book 
was  called  at  first,  contains  an  ac- 
count of  the  early  peopling  of  the 
American  continent  by  a  colony  of 
Jews;  tbe  bistoiy  of  the  faithful 
Nepbites;  their  wars  with  tbe 
Lamanites,  a  people  condemned  for 
their  sins  to  wear  red  skins,  and 
*  become  an  idle  people,  fall  of  mis- 
chief and  subtlety,'  the  American 
Indians  of  our  day;  the  visit  of 
Christ  to  the  Nepbites  after  the 
resiirrection,  and  tbo  establishment 
among  tbem  of  Christianity ;  the 
destruction  of  tbe  Nephites  by  the 
heathen  Lamanites ;  the  hiding  away 
of  the  historical  plates  on  the  hiU 
Cumorab,  where  the  final  stand  of 
the  Christian  forces  was  made,  and 
where  they  were  found  fourteen 
centuries  after  by  Josepb  Smith.  No 
fuller  account  of  tbe  book  is  neces- 
sary :  it  can  be  obtained  at  a  small 
cost  through  any  bookseller. 

This  poor  performance,  a  duU 
and  verbose  imitation  of  the  English 
version  of  the  Old  Testament,  can 
scarcely  be  considered  in  its  con- 
ception and  execution  beyond  the 
capacity  of  the  money-digger  and 
his  little  clique  of  helpers.  Yet  it 
seems  that  so  much  honour  is  not 
rightly  their  due.  The  real  origin 
of  tbe  book  appears  to  be  one  of 
the  most  sinmlar  incidents  ever 
connected  with  tbe  rise  of  a  new 
faith.  The  Mormon  Bible  turns 
out,  apparently,  to  be  a  modified 
and  diluted  version  of  a  poor  his* 
torical  romance,  that  could  never 
find  a  publisher. 

It  seems  that  one  Solomon  Spald* 


232 


The  Original  Prophet 


[Februar 


ing,  a  graduate  of  Dartford,  an  nn- 
saccessful  preacher,  and  then  a 
failing  tradesman,  a  writer  of  un- 
read novels,  conceived  the  idea  of 
writing  a  romance  based  on  a  no- 
tion, then  somewhat  popular  in  the 
States,  that  the  red  men  were  the 
descendants  of  the  much-abused 
lost  tribes  of  Israel.  The  work  was 
completed,  and,  under  the  title  of 
TJve  Manuscript  Founds  vainly 
offered  for  publication.  The  widow 
of  Solomon  Spalding  declares  that 
the  MSS.  were  placed  in  a  printing 
office  with  which  Sidney  Bigdon 
was  connected.  Mr.  Patterson,  the 
printer,  died  in  1826;  the  MSS. 
were  never  recovered,  *  Mr.  Spald- 
ing had  another  copy,'  Mr.  Beadle 
says  in  his  book  already  quoted; 
'  but  in  the  year  1825,  while  residing 
in  Ontario  County,  N.Y.,  next  door 
to  a  man  named  Stroude,  for  whom 
Joe  Smith  was  then  digging  a  well, 
that  copy  also  was  lost.  She  thinks 
it  was  stolen  from  her  trunk. 
Depositions  are  given  in  the  New 
Aniericaai  Gychpcedia,  and  in  various 
other  works,  of  a  number  of  per- 
sons to  whom  Spalding  had  read 
parts  of  his  romance,  who  testify  to 
a  general  resemblance  in  the  plot 
and  style  of  the  history,  and  in  the 
names  employed^  with  those  of  the 
Book  of  Mormon, 

In  their  turn  the  Spalding  party 
are  accused  by  the  Mormons  of 
having  invented  this  story  to  cast 
reproach  on  a  holy  work.  It  is  a 
singular  quarrel.  I  am  not  aware 
that  any  impartial  and  adequate 
examination  of  the  alleged  facts 
has  yet  been  made,  but  this  should 
be  done.  Failing  this,  the  Mormons 
or  their  enemies  must  bear  the 
stigma  of  perpetrating  a  gross  im- 
position, according  to  our  estimate 
of  the  moral  worth  of  each  party, 
and  of  the  probabilities  of  the  case. 

It  has  been  suggested  that  the 
original  intention  of  Joseph  Smith 
and  his  assistants  in  the  enterprise 
was  simply  to  publish  the  altered 
romance  as  a  commercial  specula- 


tion, and  that  they  were  unfeignedly 
astonished  themselves  to  find  that 
people  were  ready  to  believe  in  their 
talked  of  Golden  Bible.  Even  if 
this  were  the  fact,  it  would  scarcely 
add  to  the  strangeness  of  the  origin 
of  this  new  religion.  It  is  scarcely 
to  be  doubted,  however,  that  Josepli 
Smith's  earlier  experiences  had 
prepared  him  to  play  the  bolder  part 
of  an  inspired  prophet. 

The  new  church,  established  in 
1830,  increased  rapidly  in  numbers. 
Tedious  revelations,  to  the  Whit- 
mers,  Pratts,  Sidney  Bigdon,  and 
others,  thicken.  The  first  Latter- 
day  miracle  was  performed  by 
Joseph  Smith  on  a  man  possessed 
by  an  unclean  spirit.  *  I  rebuked 
the  devil,*  the  prophet  writes,  *  and 
commanded  hi-m  in  the  name  of 
Jesus  Christ  to  depart  from  him; 
when,  immediately.  Newel  spoke  out 
and  said  that  he  saw  the  devil  leave 
him,  and  vanish  from  his  sight.' 

In  1 83 1,  by  a  revelation  through 
Joseph  SmiUi  in  Kirtland,  Ohio, 
where  there  existed  a  flourishing 
Mormon  Church,  the  mass  of  the 
converts  were  required  to  go  forth 
through  the  land  by  twos,  lifting 
up  their  voice  as  the  voice  of 
a  trump,  declaring  the  word  like 
unto  angels  of  God,  preaching  the 
Gospel  of  immersion  in  water  for 
the  remission  of  sins.  In  this  par- 
ticularly long  and  tedious  commis- 
sion, the  following  injunction oocnis: 
*  Thou  shalt  love  thy  wife  with  all 
thy  heart,  and  shalt  cleave  unto 
her  and  none  else.*  The  idea  of 
plural  marriage  had  not  yet  dawned 
on  the  minds  of  the  leaders. 

In  June  this  year  a  conference 
of  priests  and  eiders  was  held  in 
Kirtland,  when '  the  Lord  displayed 
his  power  in  anmnner  that  could 
not  be  mistaken.  The  Man  of  Sin 
was  revealed,  and  the  authority  of 
the  Melchisedec  Priesthood  was 
manifested,  and  conferred  for  the 
first  time  upon  several  of  the  elders.' 

The  preachers  were  started  again 
on  their  mission  by  a  revelation^ 


1873J 


The  Original  PropJiei, 


233 


while  Joseph  Smith,  with. a  small 
paHj,  set  ont  in  search  of  a  suitable 
spot  for  founding  a  Mormon  city. 
The  place  was  found  beyond  St. 
Louis,  on  the  limits  of  the  prairie. 
'  This  is  the  land  of  promise,'  said 
a  revelation,  'and  tho  place  for 
the  city  of  Zion.  And  thus  saith 
the  Lord  your  God:  if  you  will 
receive  wisdom,  here  is  wisdom. 
Behold  the  place  which  is  now  called 
Independence  is  the  centre  place, 
and  tiie  spot  for  the  temple  is  lying 
westward ;  wherefore  it  is  wisdom 
that  the  land  should  be  purchased 
by  the  Saints.' 

A  prosperous  settlement  was 
made  here  by  the  Mormons  in  the 
foUowing  year,  1832.  The  prophet 
abont  this  time  met  with  a  gross 
kdigniiy :  he  was  tarred  and 
feathered  by  a  mob,  on  some 
charges  of  fraudulent  dealing,  but 
really  through  excited  religious 
feeling.  At  a  conference  held  in 
the  beginning  of  1833  the  pro- 
phet began  to  speak  in  an  un- 
known tongae,  and  was  quickly 
followed  in  this  miraculous  mani- 
festation by  many  other  saints.  He 
then  proceeded  to  wash  the  feet  of 
some  of  his  followers,  *  wiping 
them,'  he  writes,  'with  the  towel 
^ith  which  I  was  girded.*  In 
Februan'  he  *  received '  the  cele- 
brated Word  of  Wisdom,  advising, 
but  not  enjoining,  an  abstinence 
from  wine,  strong  drinks,  and  to- 


fhe  first  expulsion  of  Mormons 
took  place  at  the  close  of  1833. 
The  ordinary  settlers  in  Missouri 
appear  to  have  disliked  extremely 
their  new  neighbours,  who  came  in 
eyer-increasing  numbers  to  estab- 
lish *  Zion.'  In  a  published  address 
they  made  the  formal  statement 
that  most  of  the  saints  were  *■  cha- 
racterised by  the  profoundest  ig- 
norance, the  grossest  superstition, 
and  the  most  abject  poverty.'  They 
expressed  their  fear  of  being  '  cut 
off '  by  this  people,  and  having  their 
^lands  appropriated.'  They  said  that 


with  the  increasing  immigration 
the  civil  power  would  soon  be  in 
the  hands  of  the  Mormons,  and 
that  then  existence  in  the  place 
would  be  intolerable.  In  the 
strongest  language  they  begged  the 
Mormon  leaders  to  stop  the  coming 
of  their  people,  and  to  remove  the 
settlement.  It  is  further  commonly 
reported  that  the  people  of  Jackson 
County  offered  to  buy  the  lands  and 
improvements  of  the  Mormons  at 
valuation,  *  with  an  hundred  per 
cent,  added  thereon.' 

The  Mormons,  not  yet  aware  of 
the  strength  of  tho  enmity  felt 
against  them,  refused  to  leave  ;  upon 
which  mobs  assembled  and  cla- 
moured, destroyed  the  Star  print- 
ing office,  and  afterwards  a  number 
of  dwellings,  and  in  November 
effected  the  expulsion  of  the  ob- 
durate saints. 

Duringseveral years  the  Mormons 
made  settlements  in  various  parts 
of  Ohio  and  Missouri,  but  none  of 
these  were  permanent.  Everywhere 
they  managed  to  excite  the  strongest 
religious  or  political  ill-will.  Out- 
rages were  committed  on  both  sides. 
Joseph  Smith  and  other  of  the 
leaders  were  charged  with  treason, 
felony,  and  other  offences.  Smith 
broke  from  gaol.  The  Mormons 
armed  against  the  State  militia^ 
but  were  overwhelmed.  Ex- 
pelled finally  from  Missouri,  they 
found  refuge  in  Illinois,  then  a 
scarcely-broken  prairie  wilderness. 
Here  they  received  a  friendly  wel- 
come as  an  unjustly  persecuted 
people. 

In  the  summer  of  1839  Nauvoo 
rose  *  as  if  by  magic '  in  the  new 
State.  The  name  signifies  *in  the 
Beformed  Egyptian  *  The  Beautiful. 
The  scattered  Mormons  rapidly 
assembled  here.  The  site  of  the 
city  was  determined  by  revelation, 
and  happened  to  fall  within  the 
limits  of  a  large  tract  of  land  of 
which  Joseph  Smith  had  become 
possessed.  The  city  obtained  a 
charter*      Joseph  Smith  controlled 


234 


Ths  Original  Prophet, 


[February 


all  votes,  and  was  elected  mayor, 
a  chief  justice  of  the  municipal 
conrt,  and  lieutenant-general  of  the 
Mormon  militia,  termed  the  Nauvoo 
Legion.  When  the  yonng  boy 
began  looking  into  the  'dark- 
coloured  stone '  in  his  hat,  it  is 
probable  that  he  saw  in  the  future 
no  vision  of  dignities  awaiting  Imn 
like  these. 

Prom  the  founding  of  Nauvoo,  or 
perhaps  earlier.  Smith  had  entered 
into  equivocal  relations  with  various 
female  saints.  His  wife  became 
violently  jealous.  Upon  which,  in 
July  1843,  the  celebrated  Bevela- 
tion  on  Celestial  Marriage  was 
communicated  in  confidence  by  the 
prophet  to  a  number  of  the  leaders 
m  the  church.  In  this  composition 
the  examples  of  Abraham  and  the 
patriarchs,  of  David  and  Solomon, 
are  cited  in  favour  of  the  practice 
of  polygamy;  Joseph  Smith  is 
justified  in  his  past  course,  and  his 
wife  is  commanded  to  yield  acqui- 
escence. '  Let  mine  handmaid,  Emma 
Smith,*  says  the  revelation,  'receive 
all  those  that  have  been  given 
unto  my  servant  Joseph,  and  who 
are  virtuous  and  pure  before  me, 
.  .  .  .  And  I  command  mine 
handmaid,  Emma  Smith,  to  abide 
and  cleave  unto  my  servant  Joseph, 
and  no  one  else.  But  if  she  will 
not  abide  this  commandment,  she 
shall  be  destroyed,  saith  the  Lord. 
....  And  again.  Verily,  I  say, 
let  mine  handmaid  forgive  my 
servant  Joseph  his  trespasses  .  .  . 
and  I,  the  Lord  thy  God,  will  bless 
her,  and  multiply  her,  and  make 
her  heart  to  rejoice.* 

It  would  be  interesting  to  discover, 
were  it  possible,  to  what  extent 
Mormonism  owed  its  early  success 
to  its  professions  of  exceptional 
purity,  and  its  promise  of  a  moral 
as  well  as  a  religious  reformation. 
It  seems  certain  that  it  was  esteemed 
too  dangerous  a  course  to  let  the 
saints  generally  know  that  plural 
marriage  was  to  be  allowed  in  the 
church.     The  new  revelation,  how- 


ever, soon  began  to  be  talked  of, 
and  caused  great  scandal  and 
disturbance  both  within  and  with- 
out the  Mormon  body. 

It  appears  that  anumber  of  women 
solicited  by  Joseph  Smith,  Sidney 
Itigdon,and  others,  toenter 'Celestial 
[Marriage,'  complained  to  their  hus- 
bands, many  of  whom  were  Mormons. 
A  Dr.  Poster,  with  one  William  Law 
and  others,  who  held  themselves  in- 
jured, hereupon  began  to  publish  in 
Nauvoo  itself,  in  It/bkj  1 844,  a  news- 
paper, Ths  Expositor,  to  expose  the 
Mormon  leaders.  In  tjie  first  niuiber 
the  affidavits  of  sixteen  women  were 
given,  testifying  to  the  dishonour- 
able proposals  made  to  them.    A 
tumult  arose.     A  body  of  Mormons 
sacked  the  Expositor  office.    Foster 
and  Law  got  away  to  Carthage,  a 
town  eighteen  miles   distant,  and 
obtained  warrants  against  their  in- 
jurers.     Joseph   Smith  refused  to 
obey  the  summons,  and  the  con- 
stable who  served  it  was  driTen 
from  Nauvoo.     The  State  Militia 
was  called  out   on   one   side,  the 
Nauvoo  Legion  on  the  other.    Go- 
vernor Ford  hastened  to  the  scene. 
Seeing  the  excitement  of  the  Car- 
thage people,  he  addressed  l^em  on 
the    necessity  of   employing  onlr 
legal  measures.     '  The  officers  and 
men,'  he  says,  '  unanimously  voted, 
with  acclamation,  to  sustain  me  ifi 
a  strictly  legal  course.  *  He  thereto 
held  himself  justified  in  promisbg 
the  Mormons  protection  from  vio- 
lence. He  proceeded  to  Nanvooand 
found  it  *  one  great  military  camp' 
The  Mormons,  trusting  to  the  Go- 
vernor's promises  of  security,  sor- 
rendered  to  him  three  cannon  and 
two  hundred  and  fifty  stand  of  small 
arms.      A  number  of  tJbe  leaders 
entered  into  recognisances  to  appear 
for  trial,  but  Joseph  Smith  and  Ins 
brother  Hyimm  were   detained  in 
Carthage  Oaol  on  a  second  charge 
of  treason.     Their  end  bad  come. 

The  bitter  quarrel  between  the 
Mormons  and  their  enemies  ivtf 
intensified  by  poHtioal   jealonnei. 


1872] 


The  Original  Prophet. 


235 


The^Momions,  always  voting  solidly 
at  the  dictatloji  of  their   leaders, 
exercised  an   inflnence  dispropor- 
tioned  to  their  nnmbers.    Joseph 
Smith,   intoxicated    by  a   success 
beyond    his    wildest    imaginatioii, 
conceited  the  ambition  of  becoming 
the  mler  of  the  United  States,  if 
indeed  his  yaoity  did  not  aspire  still 
farther.    In  the  spring  of  1844  ^ 
seriously  proposed  himself  as  a  can* 
didate  for  the  Presidency  at  the 
s^proaehing   election.      The  MJor- 
inons  commenced  a  moat  vigoroaB 
canyass.    Their  opponents  became 
more  incensed  against  them  than 
efer.    The  celestial  marriage  scan- 
dals oceurred   at  the  moment  to 
inSsaae  the  passions  of  the  Gentile 
mob  to  madness.      The  Mormons 
deny  that  the  specific  charges  of 
Dr.  Foster  were  sustainable.     But 
the  reyelation   itself  affords  proof 
that  irr^olarities    had    occtured, 
and  were  to  be  justified  in  the  new 
faith. 

On  the  two  Smiths  being  com« 
mitted  to  Carthage  Qaol  a  gnard 
was  stationed  oyer  them  for  pro- 
tection. The  precaution  was  neces- 
saiy,  hat  the  guard  was  insufficient. 
A  mob  of  one  or  two  hundred  men 
well  armed  assembled  in  the  eyening 
of  Jmie  27,  1 844,  broke  open  the 
gaol,  and  shot  down  the  two  prison- 
ers. John  Taylor  and  Willard 
Richards,  who  were  in  the  room  at 
the  time,  managed  to  escape.  The 
strange  farce  haid  ended  in  tragedy. 
Ajnstandadequate  criticism  of  the 
chaneier  of  this  extraordinary  ad- 
ventnrer  remains  to  be  written.  He  j 
appears  to  have  had  one  of  those 
enei^getie  natores  by  which  ordinary 
people  are  irresistibly  attracted  and 
held  in  willing  bondage.  Men  and 
women  eyery where  became  his  &st 
fiiends  and  his  obedient  disciples. 
He  must  have  had,  too,  an  immense 
poww  of  will,  and  a  wondei^rM  oa-  ' 
padtf  of  self-assertion,  to  haye  ad<i> 


yanced  andmaintained  unflinchingly 
his  preposterous  pretensions. 

As  yet  the  Mormons  are  not  all 
convinced  that  the  founder  of  their 
religion  was  a  man  of  blameless 
chapter  and  unsullied  life.  Brig- 
ham  Young  is  reported  to  haye 
made  an  adLmission  to  the  contrary 
in  the  followingBignificant  language : 

^  That  the  prophet  was  of  mean 
birth,  that  he  was  wild,  intemperate, 
even  dishonest  and  tricky  in  liis 
youth,  is  nothing  against  his  mis- 
sion. Grod  can  and  does  make  use 
of  the  yilest  instruments.  Joseph 
has  brought  fourth  a  religion  which 
will  save  us  if  we  abide  by  it. 
Bring  anything  against  that  if 
you  can.  I  care  not  if  he  gamble,- 
lie,  swear — get  drunk  eyery  day  of 
his  life,  sleep  with  his  neighbour's 
wife  eyery  night — ^for  I  embrace  no 
man  in  my  faith.  The  religion  is 
aU  in  all.' 

But  the  ecclesiastical  or  mythical 
judgment  of  the  prophet's  charac- 
ter pronounces  it  great  and  pure. 
To  the  Mormon  church  of  the  future 
he  will  be  the  inspired  teacher,  the 
exalted  martyr,  the  pure  and  holy 
founder  of  a  new  Diyine  revelation. 
The  last  section  of  the  authoritatiye 
Book  of  Doctrine  amd  Covenants 
speaks  of  him  in  the  following 
terms: 

Joseph  Smith,  the  prophet  and  aeer  of 
the  Loid,  has  done  more,  save  Jesos  only, 
for  the  salvation  of  men  in  this  world  thaA 
any  other  man  that  ever  lived  in  it.  .  .  . 
He  lived  great,  and  he  died  great  in  the 
eyes  of  Qod  and  his  people,  and  like  most 
of  the  Lord's  anointed  in  aneient  times,  haa 
sealed  his  mission  and  his  work  with  his 
own  blood,  and  so  has  his  brother  Hymm. 
.  .  •  They  lived  for  glory;  they  died 
for  glory ;  and  glory  is  their  eternal  reward. 
Frpm  age  to  age  shall  their  names  go  down 
to  posterity  as  gems  for  the  sanctified. 

On  this,  one  would  think,  some- 
what shaky  basis,  a  human  com- 
mnnity,&mous  out  of  all  proportion 
to  its  numerical  force,  has  managed 
and  does  manage  to  exist. 

CM. 


236 


[Febrnary 


SUGGESTIONS  TOWARDS   MAKING  BETTER  OP  IT. 


THIS  is  the  last  forenoon  of  1872. 
The  morning  was  rainy,  but 
now  the  day  has  brightened.  The 
soaked  College  which  is  before  me 
whenever  I  look  up  from  the  page  I 
am  wri  ting,  is  gettingdry  in  patches : 
tho  somewhat  starved  Jacobean 
Gothic  is  spotty  black  and  gray. 
Two  large  crosses,  surmounting 
gables,  look  very  black  against  an 
opal  sky.  The  weathercock  of  the 
severely-simple  spire  across  the 
quadrangle  which  has  stood  there 
for  four  hundred  years  points  to 
the  South-East.  For  many  days 
and  weeks  there  has  been  all  but 
ceaseless  rain.  We  have  not  here 
the  wide  plains  of  central  England, 
traversed  by  great  rivers :  we  are 
entirely  safe  from  the  floods  which 
have  there  convei*ted  vast  tracts  into 
a  turbid  inland  sea.  But  here  too  it 
has  been  dreary  enough  when  the 
light  was  failing  on  these  gloomy 
afternoons,  and  all  the  world  seemed 
soaked  with  wet,  cheerless,  and 
miserable.  One  was  glad  to  get 
into  shelter,  and  shut  out  the  dis- 
mal day. 

Yet  there  were  advantages  about 
that  disheartening  weather.  Eveiy 
hard-working  student  knows  the 
peculiar  feeling  with  which  one 
looks  out  upon  driving  rain  and  a 
lowering  sl^,  and  thinks  that  one 
is  losing  nothing  by  being  indoors. 
Sunshine  and  green  trees  invite  one 
forth :  and  the  task,  generally  up- 
hill at  first  starting,  has  not  fair 
play.  Doubtless  a  vast  deal  of 
head-work  has  been  got  through  in 
this  square  mile  during  November 
and  JDecember.  For  one-third  of 
the  population  of  this  little  city  is 
enduring^,  the  process  of  education. 
And  those  who  are  not  learning  are 
teaching  :  teaching  moderate  num- 
bers here,  and  (some  of  them)  much 
greater  numbers  elsewhere.  The 
awful  Alphabet  has  been  assailed 
and  subdued  in  this  place,  as  these 


wintry  days  shortened.  Many  Latin 
verses,  many  Greek  Iambics  have 
been  put  together.     The  mazes  of 
Philosophy  and  Theology  have  been 
entered  if   not   unravelled:    they 
have  come  as  near  to  being  un- 
ravelled here    as    anywhere    eke. 
Various    elaborate     tiiongh    brief 
sermons  have  been  written :    the 
people  here  have  no  liking  for  long 
ones.       The  writer  approves    the 
taste,   and  indeed  conforms  to  'it. 
Old-fashioned  preachers  still  strive 
against  the   tide.     One  such,  the 
greatest  orator  of  Scotland  in  his 
day,  lately  asserted  at  the  close  of  a 
lengthy  (usoourse,  that  an  unfailing 
test  of  a  good  man  is  an  insatiable 
appetite  for  preaching:   and  that, 
however  abundant  the  instruction 
received  at  church,  the  good  man 
ever  quits  the  sacred  building  say- 
ing (it  is  to  be  presumed  only  in  a 
whisper)  More,  More  !    Not  such 
is  the  writer's  experience.     He  has 
known  very  many  good  folk  who  de- 
part with  the  unspoken  wish,  Less, 
Less  !  And  he  has  known  admirable 
though  exceptional  men  whose  true 
feeling  would  find  expression  in  the 
formula,  None  at  all,  None  at  all  ! 

As  these  words  are  written,  the 
sun  suddenly  shines  in  through  the 
window  (it  looks  due  South) :  and 
the  page  of  blue  paper  gleams  in  a 
golden  splendour.  Let  it  be  ac- 
cepted as  approval  of  what  was 
designed  to  be  forthwith  written. 
You  may  read  it  here. 

There  are  few  things  of  which  I 
am  more  convinced,  than  that  we 
ought  all  to  be  making  a  great 
deal  more  of  life  than  we  do.  I  do 
not  mean  in  the  sense  of  taming 
life  to  better  account — though  that 
in  most  cases  is  true : — ^but  in  the 
sense  of  feeling  happier  while  it  is 
passing  over,  and  of  getting  more 
enjoyment  out  of  it  than  we  do. 
Now  and  then,  as  things  are,  we 
have  glimpses  of  ways  of  looking  at 


1S73] 


Suggestions  Towards  Making  Better  of  It. 


237 


ihingA  and  feeling  towards  tliem 
which  for  the  moment  make  life  far 
more  bright.  And  when  we  are  going 
awBjirom  some  pleasant  place,  or 
bidding  farewell  to  some  pleasant  pe- 
riod of  time,  we  have  a  certain  vague 
yetremorseful  sense  that  we  have  not 
enjoyed  either  as  much  as  we  ought 
and  might.  This  latter  feeling  is  a 
specially  jarring  one.  To  find  out 
bow  much  more  happiness  was 
within  onr  reach  than  we  had 
thougbti  is  very  vexing. 

'Now,  might  we  not,  beginning  a 
New  Year,  look  about  us  and  see 
whether  wo  cannot  manage  to  be 
happier  ?   Try,  that  is,  in  a  humble 
way,  to  get  more  cheerfulness  and 
content  out  of  our  belongings  and 
surroundings  ?     I  write  for  readers 
of  simple  minds,  and  modest  estate. 
There  are  human  beings  who  have 
great  possessions :  who  have  in  pro- 
fiision  all  the  outward  appliances 
which  mankind  is  agreed  (with  feVsr 
exceptions)     in   regarding    as   the 
means  of  inward  content :  and  such 
wonld  no  doubt  regard  with  un- 
difignised     contempt     my     simple 
suggestions,  and  my  lowly  causes 
and  effects.     And  there  are  human 
beings  who  have  great  minds,  not 
to  be  interested  by  httle  things ;: 
likewise  deep   insight,   not  to  be 
hoodwinked  by  natural  and  kindly 
iWusions.     I  do  not  vainly  pretend 
to  do  good,  even  the  smallest,  to 
any  such.     These  are  beyond  my 
mark.    But  might  not  simple  folk, 
devoid  of  cynicism,  try  to  do,  as  to 
all  our  life,  what  each  of  us  has  per- 
haps done  with    regard   to  some 
special   worldly    position    or    ad- 
vantage possessed  for  a  Httle — seek 
(that  is)  to  find  out  and  make  use 
of  its  capacities  before  it  is  taken 
from  us  p     A  duke,  with  a  hundred 
thoosaQd  a  year,  would  not  think  of 
such  a  thing  :  but  a  poor  country 
paiBon  with  three  hundred  a  year 
may  not  unfitly  walk  about    his 
little  shrubbery,  and  make  gn  efibrt 
to  clearly  realise  the  advantages  of 
his  position,  and  (so  to  speak)  to 


squeeze  out  of  it  whatever  dropis  of 
comfort  it  may  yield :  looking  isack 
on  days  when  his  lot  was  jnuch 
worse :  desiring  to  feel  grateful  and 
even  surprised  to  find  himself  so 
respectable  as  he  is :  comparing  his 
little  successes  with  the  far  lesser 
successes  of  far  better  men:  not 
trying  (as  Mr.  Dickens  expressed 
it)  to  make  believe  very  much,  but 
only  to  bring  out  into  distinctness 
the  latent  truth,  to  the  end  that 
should  dark  days  come  he  may  not 
have  to  look  back  remorsefully, 
feeling  that  he  ought  to  have  made 
far  more  of  things,  and  that  he  had 
been  far  happier  than  at  the  time 
he  knew.  We  have  many  worries, 
anxieties,  and  mortifications:  we 
have  gone  through  much  hard  work, 
little  remarked  and  poorly  reward- 
ed: we  cannot  delude  ourselves 
with  the  behef  that  any  special 
kindly  appreciation  awaits  us  in 
the  future,  or  that  we  shall  ever  be 
materially  better  in  circumstances 
or  in  estimation  than  we  are  now  : 
we  started  with  the  intention  of 
mending  the  world,  but  we  have 
come  down  to  being  thankful  if 
we  can  pay  our  way.  Still  there 
are  those  who  are  decidedly  worse 
off,  yet  who  are  wonderfully 
cheerfol,  and  do  not  seem  to  regard 
life  as  a  load.  Let  us  do  our  best 
to  place  ourselves  where  we  shall 
catch  some  blinks  of  sunshine. 

It  is  to  be  confessed  at  once  that 
cheerfulness  of  view  and  of  heart 
comes  mainly  of  physical  condi- 
tions. Gt>od  digestion  and  unshaken 
nerVes  are  the  great  cause  of 
cheerful  views  of  life,  and  of  all  the 
round  of  very  little  things  and  the 
entanglement  of  small  interests 
that  make  life.  If  the  mucous  mem- 
brane be  wrong,  it  eclipses  the  sun 
as  no  cause  does  that  is  recorded  in 
the  almanac.  Dyspepsia,  or  that 
vague  all-reaching  malaise  which 
doctors  describe  by  saying  that  the 
nervous  system  has  been  severely 
shaken,  makes  existence  heavy. 
Worries   seem  insufierable:    diffi- 


238 


Suggestions  Towards  Making  Better  of  It  [Febniary 


oolties  insnperable :  perplexities 
quite  killing:  there  is  no  zest  in 
dntj,  which  is  a  thing  to  shrink 
from:  and  every  day  seems  more 
than  can  be  faiced.  The  whole 
>  thing  seems  poor  and  wretched; 
and  yon  wish  yon  were  away  from 
it.  A  thousand  possibilities  of 
misfortone,  which  the  healthy  mind 
puts  aside;  a  thousand  miserable 
recollections  of  irremediable  evil : 
crowd  in.  I  am  speaking  <^  physi- 
cal causes  as  producing  misery  to 
the  sufferer  himself,  not  to  others  : 
or  mention  might  be  made  of  fret- 
ihlness,  snappishness,  destruction 
of  the  power  of  sympathy,  and  a 
general  cursedness  which  radiates 
all  evil  and  miserable  moods  and 
humours  on  all  around:  making 
him  in  the  domestic  circle  a  sort  of 
negative  or  diabolical  sun,  dissemi- 
nating darkness  instead  of  light. 

It  is  therefore  expedient,  or  ra- 
ther it  is  essential,  to  the  man  who 
would  pass  through  life  with  tolera- 
ble cheerfulness,  that  he  give  due 
diligence  to  the  preservation  of 
bodily  health.  Above  all,  he  must 
beware  of  every  influence  which 
would  bear  unkindly  on  that  mys- 
terious portion  of  our  being,  so 
closely  allied  with  that  in  us  which 
feels  and  thinks,  which  is  commonly 
called  the  nervous  system.  Awful 
is  the  dislocation  of  the  entire  out- 
ward universe:  strange  and  wild 
the  inexpressible  depths  of  morbid 
faaxcy  and  emotion:  infinite  the 
variety  of  miserable  experience ;  that 
comes  of  a  fact  so  simply  expressed 
as  in  the  phrase  shaJcen  nerves.  And 
so  nearly  do  kindliness  of  heart  and 
the  intuition  of  truth  and  feet  fol- 
lowthe  repaired  soundness  and  good 
estate  of  that  special  part  of  us  (if 
indeed  it  be  physicallv  a  part  only), 
that  I  have  serious  moughts  of  de- 
veloping a  new  Physical  Theory  of 
Virtue  and  Happiness  for  the  advan- 
tage of  the  overdriven  and  worried ; 
and  indeed  for  ihe  guidaneeof  all  in 
whom  the  mind  is  of  more  conse- 
quence ilian  the  body.    Hogs,  and 


tiie  like,  need  not  study  that  Theory 
when  it  is  published :  but  all  men 
in  whom  there  is  any  measure  of 
head  and  heart  ought.  I  do  not 
mind  saying,  in  advance,  that  my 
design  is  to  stimulate  happiness  and 
virtue  by  the  skilful  administration 
of  food  and  medicine.  There  aro 
certain  Christian  •  graces  which  are 
impossiUe  of  attainment  to  the 
nervous  dyspeptic :  but  all  that  U 
clear  in  faith  and  amiable  in  affec- 
tion is  easy  to  the  human  beings 
whose  system  is  eupeptic  and  whose 
nerves  sound.  Even  Scepticism, 
saddest  of  all  maladies,  I  would 
treat  by  the  due  exhibition  of  phy- 
sical remedies :  by  flesh-brushing, 
bathing,  long  walks  in  pure  air.  As 
for  ordinary  evil  tempers,  and  &• 
miliar  low  spirits  and  gloomy  mor- 
bid notions,  I  would  make  havock  of 
them  in  two  months*  time.  First,  I 
would  absolutely  cut  off  all  alcohol : 
alcohol  in  wine  as  well  as  in  spirits. 
Let  the  daily  pint  of  claaret  be  im- 
bibed, and  no  more.  No  man's 
mind  is  healthy  who  ever  tastes  un- 
diluted brandy :  his  state  is  perilous 
who  drinks  it  even  diluted  vitli 
potash  water.  I  am  not  a  tee- 
totaller; and  have  not  been  &vonr- 
ably  impressed  by  any  such  I  h^ve 
met:  yet  let  me  declare  with  an- 
thorify,  that  wherever  it  is  not 
medicine,  alcohol  is  poison.  0: 
course,  it  is  sometimes  invalaal^le 
medicine:  butwhenneedful,  let  it  be 
used  as  such.  If  one  have  no  mind 
to  sp^ak  of,  and  if  one  goes  thron<^K 
extreme  bodily  exercise,  even  abun- 
dant alcohol  may  not  do  perceptibfe 
harm :  but  to  the  man  subject  to 
unequal  spirits,  to  the  man  of  finely- 
strung  nature,  it  is  absolute  mis. 
For  dirink,  good  for  body  and  6on\ 
there  is  nothing  like  sulk.  Take 
abundance  of  that:  and  you  vHl 
increase  in  cheerfolness  and  good- 
ness daSlj.  For  det^h  of  certain 
simple  iJteratives  and  tonics,  tiie 
reader  must  await  the  fnil  develop- 
,ment  of  my  theory  at  a  fature  day. 
I  shall  not  intrude  into  the  office  of 


1873] 


Suggestions  Towards  Making  Better  of  It, 


239 


alfoml  Phjsidiaa  without  doe  qna- 
IzficadaxL  And  in  any  case  I  shall 
Dot  be  as  the  conntiy  doctor,  in  mde 
healikf  ever  in  the  saddle,  with  aw- 
fiil  appetite  and  nerves  of  whipcord, 
who^  when  hronght  in  contact  with 
the  sort  of  patient  I  seek,  has  to 
makeittiie  main  problem,  To  con^ 
ceal  from  his  patient  how  little  the 
dodor  vndersiands   what    is  wrong 

It  is  understood  then,  for  one 
thing,  ihat  henceforward  all  readers 
Tnll  gzre  much  diligence  to  the 
nuunteoanee  of  that  good  bodily 
healtii  winch  will  give  no  quarter  to 
8  morhid  mind;  but  which  will 
2nake  a  man  more  cheerfol,  sensible, 
liopefid,  good-texnpcnred :  free  from 
crotcheis  and  suspicions  and  envy- 
ings.  Bat  beyond  the  cultivation 
of  health,  which  is  the  chief  talent 
manyfolk  possess,  let  certain  moral 
cooiuels  be  leoeived  with  docility  by 
thejndioious. 

We  must  diligently  train   our- 
selves not  to  get  so  angry  as  we 
We  been  accustomed  to  do.    It  is 
▼eiy  wearing-out.     Those  who  have 
seen  a  good  deal  of  dishonesty,  both 
aoung  the  educated  and  the  un- 
edacaled :  fencing,  dodging,  shifting 
groimd,  playing  tricks  with  words, 
andafaH^te  lying:  know  how  the< 
keen  indignation  these  things  ex* 
cite  fa  the  downright  and  magnani* 
BOOS  sonl  tears  and   hurts  it.     I 
Konetunes  wonder  how  that  prophet- 
like man  who   remains  among  us 
BtiU,  and  who  has  lifted  up  so  brave 
and  fierce  and  eloquent  a  voice 
again^  tU  ha  thought  wrong  for 
two-6oon  yeaxB,  has  not  been  killed 
hj  thewzath  he  has  felt  and  uttered 
towards  all  iiieaaness,  dishonesty, 
and  inocnapetency,  in  a  world  where 
^^^>fite  ao  afaffl^ind:   but  I  suppose 
Carijle  inhadted  a  strong  body  as 
well  as  a  mi^hfy  sonl.     One  thmks 
of  the  toachipg  yet  awful  inscription 
^^e  Swift's  grave:  Uln  saeva  in^ 
dignaiio  vUerius  ear  lacerare  neguU. 
Yes,  goqe  where  fierce  wrath  against 
wnMig.doing  can  no  longer  tear  the 


heart !  And  it  is  not  less  irritating, 
but  more,  that  dishonest,  mean,  and 
wicked  things  are  in  no  degree  con- 
fined to  what  are  called  the  criminal 
classes:  but  are  many  times  done 
by  smug,  fat,  self-satisfied  persons, 
who  are  able  to  conceal  from  them- 
selves what  degraded  animals  they 
are:  who  can  talk  unctuously  on 
religious  subjects,  and  make  long  if 
somewhat  floT|ndering  prayers.  It 
was  after  being  found  out  in  some 
specially  dirty  trick,  that  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff was  most  devout  and  pious  in 
his  deportment.  My  friend  Smith 
tells  me  that  he  knew  in  his  youth, 
half  a  century  since,  a  preacher 
who  never  reached  such  heights  of 
spirituaUty  in  his  sermons,  as  im- 
mediately after  an  attack  of  deUrium 
tremens.  Yes,  and  the  spirituality 
imposed  upon  really  good  people,  for 
a  while.  Ultimately,  I  rejoice  to 
say,  he  was  kicked  out,  and  died  at 
a  locality  then  known  as  Botany 
Bay.  But  without  supposing  cases 
so  extreme,  each  of  us,  in  his  own 
little  sphere,  has  possibly  a  good 
many  times  seen  conduct  which  ex- 
cited a  vehemence  of  moral  repro- 
bation that  made  one  understand  the 
inscription  in  St.  Patrick's  at  Dub- 
lin. I  lament  to  say  it,  but  it  is 
true,  that  of  all  theological  dogmas 
the  one  which  gains  most  confirms^ 
tion  from  the  growing  experience  of 
life,  is  that  of  the  Perversion  of  Hu- 
man Nature. 

This  having  been  said,  let  it  be 
added  that  it  is  wise  to  use,  in  practi- 
cal judgments  of  men  and  women,  a 
somewhat  low  standard.  You  will 
keep  yourself  unhappy  unless  you 
do  this.  Make  lip  your  mind  that 
you  are  dealing  with  imperfect 
means  and  with  warped  material: 
and  do  not  expect  too  much.  Train 
yourself  to  think  that  mortals  are 
(after  all)  only  working  out  their 
nature.  There  are  folk  who  could 
no  more  be  magnanimous,  truthful, 
frank,  downright^  than  they  could 
be  twelve  feet  high.  And  if  people 
are  bad,  they  deserve  great  pity 


240 


Suggestions  Towards  Making  Better  of  It.  [February 


The  worst  punisbment  of  the  shuf- 
fling, malicious  h'ar,  is  in  the  fact 
that  he  is  such.      I  wish,  indeed, 
that  he  could  be  made  to  feel  this, 
and  take  it  in.     Even  in  the  case 
of  devils,  who  are  not  merely  very- 
bad   men,   but    persons   in  whom 
there  is  no  good  at  all:  probably 
their  chief  punishment  is  just  that 
they  are  what  they  are.  Let  us  train 
ourselves  to  seek  for%xcuses  for  the 
small  sinners  of  petty  actual  life. 
Let  us   seek  to  acquire  the  great 
faculty  (capable  of  cultivation)  of 
looking  the  other  way.      I  do  not 
mean  turning  the  other  page,  and 
finding  what  is  to  be  set  against 
the  offence  or    offences :    I    mean, 
when  there  is  a  disagreeable  object 
before  us,  which  ruffles  us  to  look 
at  and  think  of,  looking  away  from 
it :  looking  at  something  else,  or  at 
anything  else.     I  fear  that  charity 
and     cynicism     sometimes     reveal 
themselves  in  identical  manifesta- 
tion.     The  man  who  regards  hu- 
man   nature  with    an    easy-going 
contempt,  and  he  who  bears  with 
human  nature  with  a  divine  piiy, 
may  act  very  much  alike.   Perhaps, 
selfishly,  it  is  better  with  the  cynic. 
He  has  the  easier  mind,     I  feel  the 
difficulty  of  the  point  to  which  my 
argument  has  led  me.     It  may  con- 
duce to  peace  of  heart,  and  to  good 
digestion,  to  cast  an  amused  smile 
at  the  sneak,  with  the  reflection, 
Just  what  I  expected:   to  listen  to 
the  manifest  lie,  to  submit  to  be 
cheated,  to  look  upon  the  degraded 
drunkard,    and    merely  think,    Of 
course^  of  course.     But  I  fear  Mi*. 
Carlyle    (who  has  been  my  chief 
study  for  a  year  past)  would  shake 
the  head  of  severity  over  all  this  ; 
and  judge  that  the  ground  I  take  is 
low.    All  I  say  is  that  we  must  try 
to  take  it,  unless  we  are  content  to 
be  as  the  broken-hearted  Jewish 
prophet,  crying   aloud  out  of  his 
misery    against    evils    he    cannot 
mend. 

I  will  not  palter,  here,  with  God*a 
truth.    Though  the  keen  indigna- 


tion may  tear  the  heart,  there  are 
cases  in  which  we  do  well  to  be 
angry :  in  which  we  should  be  con- 
temptible creatures  if  we  failed  tobo 
*^gry,  and  bitterly  so.  We  dare 
not  shade  off  the  eternal  difference 
between  Right  and  Wrong.  We 
shall  not  sit  down  contentedly  in 
the  presence  of  any  evil,  injustice, 
or  dishonesty,  that  we  can  expose 
or  redress.  There  are  those  who 
will  call  us  Quixotic :  let  them.  We 
must  take  our  place  on  Grod's  side 
against  all  the  works  of  the  Desvil, 
and  fight  with  them.  And  every- 
thing wrong,  everything  unjust  and 
untrue,  is  what  I  mean  by  the  work 
of  the  Devil.  If  we  are  worth 
counting  at  all,  we  must  fly  at  \t. 
As  Luther  said,  I  cannot  do  other- 
tvise :  God  help  me.     Amen. 

I    did    not  intend    to   write  so 
gravely :  but  what  is   given  mnst 
be  said.      This    gentle   charitable- 
ness in  little  things  with  our  fellow- 
creatures'    failings  which    I   have 
been  advocating  on  selfish  grounds, 
must  not  degenerate  into  an  ignoble 
Epicureanism,   a  moral     Carina  h 
fashed:  the  same  despicable  spirit 
which  tolerates  dirt  and  untidiness 
and  foul   drains  and   close   rooms 
about  a  dwelling.     There  is  a  theo- 
logical distinction,  familiar  in  ser- 
mons but  rare  in  actaal  life,  which 
is  taken  between  the   oflTence  and 
the  offender :  If  it  could  be  managed, 
it  would  be  very  well  to  hate  the 
moral  evil,  but  be  merciful  to  the 
poor  wretch  that  does  the  sin.    And 
wo  may  fitly  enough  be  thankful  if 
we  are  placed  in  life  wbore  we  do 
not  see  too  much  of  that  evil,  so 
wretched  to  behold,  and  -which  the 
individual  man  can  do   so  little  to 
do  away.     For  it  is  through  con- 
currence of  many  great  causes  that 
great  effects  come.     And,  just  as  it 
is  appointed  to  some   to   bear  the 
brunt  of  some  awful  accident  that 
kills  or  maims,  so  it  is  appointed  to 
others  to  be  set  face  to  fsLce  with 
facts  which  make  life  along  and  fierce 
fight ;  though  the  strife  be  miserable 


1873] 


Suggestions  Towards  Making  Better  of  It. 


241 


while  it  lasts,  and  the  resalt  almost 
notlimg.  All  honour  to  the  moral 
forlorn-hope  of  the  human  race  ! 

And  then,  while  we  are  thus  keen 
against  all  evil  and    wrong-doing, 
let  ns  see  that  we  be  keen  against 
it  in  ourselves  as  well  as  in  others. 
This  reflection    may  help  ns  the 
better  to  understand  the  theological 
distinction  lately    named.      If  we 
can  manage  to  like  ourselves  very 
well,  though  there  is  a  good  deal 
Throng  about  us,    why  not   others 
ioo*^   Pmrther,  let  us  bear  no  re- 
membrance of  personal  offences  :  let 
them  go !    We  disapprove  a  man, 
not  because  he  knocks  up  against 
ns,   but   because     he    knocks    up 
^tgainst  the  universe  and  its  laws. 
And  for  our  own  comfort's  sake,  for 
our  nervous  system's  sake,  as  well 
as  for  a  score  of  higher  reasons,  we 
shall  go  with  a  great  but  erring 
genius  concerning  whom  the  writer 
may  very  nearly  boast  that  he  was 
*  nursed  upon  the  self-same  hill.' 

Then  gently  scan  your  fellow-man, 

Still  gentlier  sister-woman : 
Thongh  they  may  gang  a  kennin'  wrang, 

To  step  aside  is  human. 

Then  at  the  balance  let's  be  mute ; 

We  never  can  adjust  it : 
Wliat's  done  we  partly  may  compute, 

Bat  know  not  what's  resisted. 

It  was  said,  early  in  this  disser- 
tation, that  the  counsels  of  content- 
ment contained    in    it    were    not 
addressed  to   rich   and  great  folk. 
But  an   exception  is  to  be   made 
here.      I   believe    that    the    most 
serious  subtractions  from  the  en- 
joyment of  those  who  have  wealth 
and  position  secured  to  them,  come 
through  the  offences  of  their  fellow- 
creatures.    I  have  known  all   the 
pleasure  of  an  evening  in  a  mag- 
nificent dwelling  spoiled  and  made 
worthless,  because  the  noble  lord  at 
the  head  of  the  establishment  would, 
with  ever  growing  wrath,  re-iterate 
to  his  wife  and  children  the  details 
of  a  small  piece  of  impertinence  he 
had  received  that  afternoon  from  a 
small  farmer.      That  petty  offence, 

VOL.  VII. — no.  XXXVIII.  NEW  SERIES. 


not  worth  thinking  of,  ruined  the 
enjoyment  of  a  healthy  and  united 
family,  gathered  in  most  pleasant 
outward  circumstances  at  the  kindly 
Christmas- time  in  a  lovely  scene. 
And  not  the  dukedom  nor  the  gar- 
ter, not  the  historic  line  nor  the 
profuse  revenue,  not  even  the  use- 
ful and  honoured  hfe  given  to  all 
good  works,  has  been  able  to  cheer 
the    prince  whose    tenantry  have 
presumed  at  election-time  to  vote 
not  according  to  his  views  but  ac- 
cording to  their  own.      Happy  it 
would  be  for  that  magnate  of  the 
earth  if  he  could  persuade  himself 
that  no  offence  has  been  done  him: 
that  he  unreasonably  expected  what 
he  had  no  right  to :  and  that  only 
his  own  unreasonable  expectations 
have  brought  this  disappointment 
under  which  he  chafes   so  sorely. 
No  man,  so  much  as  he  who  has  all 
the   material  good  this  world   can 
give  him,   needs   to  gain  the  gift 
of  bearing  patiently  with  the  wrong- 
doings,  or    what  he    esteems   the 
wrong- doings,  of  mortal  men.     It 
was    terrible    when   Mordecai,  by 
refusing  to  touch  his  hat,  nullified' 
all  the  innumerable  worldly  advan- 
tages of  a  Prime  Minister  in  de- 
parted days.     It  is   nearly  as  bad 
when  a  pack  of  unmannerly  block- 
heads, by  hooting  a  princely  carriage 
as  it  drives  through  an  ill-conducted 
little  town,  can  irritate  the  prince 
to   an  unthankful  ferocity.       The 
prince  should  have  interpreted  the 
act  rightly.     He  should  have  re- 
membered that  this  is  merely  the 
peculiar  fashion  in  which  certain 
folk  desire  to  express  that  on  cer- 
tain intricate  questions  of  domestic 
politics   they  hold  a  view    which 
they    desire     should    be    strongly 
distinguished  from  the  view  held  by 
the  prince.     To  a  cultivated  mind, 
the  peculiar  mode  of  expression  is 
repulsive :    but  then  it    ought  in 
fairness  to  be  remembered  that  the 
unmannerly  blockheads  of  the  little 
town  did    not    possess    cultivated 
minds  and  never  had  the  chance  of 


240 


Suggestions  Towards  Making  Better  of  It  [F 


The  worst  punishment  of  the  shuf- 
fling, malicious  h*ar,  is  in  the  fact 
that  he  is  such.      I  wish,  indeed, 
that  he  could  be  made  to  feel  this, 
and  take  it  in.     Even  in  the  case 
of  devils,  who  are  not  merely  very 
bad   men,   but    persons   in   whom 
there  is  no  good  at  all:  probably 
their  chief  punishment  is  just  that 
they  are  what  they  are.  Let  us  train 
ourselves  to  seek  for%xcuses  for  the 
small  sinners  of  petty  actual  life. 
Let  us   seek  to  acquire  the  great 
faculty  (capable  of  cultivation)  of 
looking  the  other  way.      I  do  n' 
mean  turning  the  other  page,  ' 
finding  what  is  to  be  set  ap 
the  offence  or    offences :    I 
when  there  is  a  disapp'eeaV" 
before  us,  which  ruffles  ' 
at  and  think  of,  lookin*^  ^^\  \^q 

it :  looking  at  someth'         .^|g  ^qj^. 
anything  else.     I  f^  '  ^tisfactions. 
and     cynicism     P       ^oar  interest 
themselves  in  i'  ^  ^^^^^^  make  up 
tion.      The  ro    ,^^  j^ily  Hfe.     Al- 
man    nature    ,  •^'//^tle  concern  on 
contempt,  '    -         the    mind    that 
human  Vj.  '^*   :;j.  to  gently  cheer. 
may  act  t ,.  >^^  f  ijing  to  have  some 
SpHish''  -\.-"^,j^^vr*ys  going  forward, 
^e  ^    /''^^nii  iice  will  you  really 
^^^    ^r*[^/ liovv  a  very  little  thing 
^S    j^^^fd^'y  ^^very  day   will   in 
^     ^  ^vs  i*r  ^1  tys  mount  up  to  a 
#^tini-     1'   yon  are  a  human 
/jj  ,vlni  L'iin    write  (to  write  is 
jE*  -    ..  ,. ..,  .,r .  i;ion  of  some),  then 
^<S  even  one  page  a  day.     The 
f^s  pass :  the  pages  accumulate  : 
AfiJ  grow  ii^to  something  very  con- 
5,derable.     And  what  is  written,  is 
ifiitten.  It  abides  :  you  have  some- 
thing to  show  for  your  work.     It  is 
ft  vexing  thing  in  the  work  of  many 
men,  that  a  great  deal  of  it  just 
does  the  thing  needful  for  the  day, 
and    leaves    no    permanent   trace. 
Even  to   get  a  matter  into  your 
memory,  is  an  intangible  possession : 
still  more  is  it  an  immaterial  and 
imponderable   acquisition   to   have 
trained  yourself  to  a  moral  habit. 


f 


are 


eenly  see 

true  and 

that     last 


tion  may  tear  the  hfC    ^ 

•  "^  1  •  i_  o  •  •►  you. 
cases  m  which  we.  ^  ;  ^  the 
angry :  in  which ;  f  ^^    •  Tiongh 

temptiblecreatr;;.    ;  ^^^^^ 

angry,  and  r   .  ,  • 
not  shade  o^  V    . 
between  T.    \ 

shall  no'  '    ,  •  .i.- 

°,  .,  ling  on  this 

®  jP^  y  J  smile  upon 

^^^;  Something 

.    ,  jmehow  inex- 

^ .  ^.        And     then, 

.iiind  off  itself.    The 
:  give  it  grist  to  grind, 
.  grind  itself.     One  good 
jout  a  task  of  writing  is, 
when  lying  awake  at   night, 
.dtead  of  thinking  over  a  hundred 
worrying    and    anxious    thoughts, 
you   will   involuntarily   be    rumin- 
ating your  subject,  and  trying  to 
see  your   way  farther  through  it. 
When  Chalmers  rose  in  the  morn- 
ing, he  had  often  done  all  his  task 
of  writing  for  that  day :    and  noted 
it    in    a    few    shorthand    lines  in 
pencil. 

Blessed  be  Reading  !  It  is  the 
next  consolation  to  writing.  Some- 
times one  is  better :  sometimes  the 
other.  Here  too  let  us  avail  our- 
selves of  the  fact  that  the  accom- 
plished task  is  so  pleasant.  We 
must  not  read  all  for  pleasure ;  any 
more  than  do  anything  else  only  for 
pleasure,  if  we  desire  to  get  pleasure 
out  of  it.  Let  there  be  some  soHd, 
grave,  weighty  work  of  which  we 
make  out  the  fixed  number  of  pages 
each  day :  thus  improving  what  we 
call  our  mind,  and  earning  the  satis- 
faction of  real  work  done  as  we 
close  the  volume  with  a  thankful 
sigh.  Let  it  be  recorded,  that  he 
does  not  know  what  enjoyment  can 
be  got  out  of  books  who  reads  them 
fix)m  the  book-club.  Doubtless  there 
are  many  books  which  ought  to 
be  read,  which  it  suffices  to  read 
thence.  But  that  you  may  gloat 
over  a  book,  feel  that  you  must 
read  it  thoroughly  and  diligently, 
and  come  to  regard  it  as  a  friend 


Suggestions  Towards  Making  Better  of  It. 


243 


"*  and  never  weari- 
vour  own.     Nor 
«^rited  it :   you 


i^  *^        '^"^  and  bought 

'%y  '.  *y  means. 


^o  have 

first 


K 


I  it 
o*  right 

'      '*  cheering 

V,  i  the  parcel, 

^jings    of  brown 
ora  the  distant  city, 
t^i  deHghtful  store.     A 
unnot    carry  his   parcel  of 
^  into  his  library,  and  open  it 
lor  himself:     his   dignity   forbids, 
and  he  is  too  great  a  man  to  care 
for  these  little  things :  he  has  not 
one  tenth  of  the  enjoyment  in  his 
books  that  the  poor  country  parson 
shares.     Pleasant  to  bear  in  the 
heavy  square  burden :    to  set  it  on 
a  strong  table  (slight  ones  will  not 
avail) :  to  cut  the  thick  strings  that 
tie  it  up:  \jo  open  up  the  envelop- 
ing sheets,  brown,  thick,  specially- 
flavoured:      to     reach    the     fresh 
volumes,  with  the  grateful  aroma  of 
new  paper  and  binding :  to  examine 
each  with  careful  interest :  then,  on 
flQccessive    evenings,    to    cut    the 
leaves   with    a    very   large    ivory 
paper-knife.     While  more  exciting 
joys  pall  on   the   maturing   mind, 
this  will  ever  grow  in  its  power. 
I«t  ikQ  event  described  occur  fre- 
quently, but  not  too  frequently.  To 
be  precise,    about    once    in   three 
weeks.     What    part  of  the   ftimi- 
ture  of  a  house,  in  proportion  to  its 
cost,  afiFords   the   real   satisfaction 
that  books  impart  ?     For  a  hand- 
some easy  chair  covered  with  mo- 
rocco you   pay   ten   guineas:    will 
that  chair  cheer  you  in  depression 
and  sorrow  as  would  ten  guineas' 
worth  of  books  ?   I  trow  not.     It  is 


no  doubt  a  grand  end,  much  de- 
sirable by  the  wise  man,  that  his 
dwelling  be  so  sumptuously  decorated 
and  his  entertainments  so  handsome 
that  his  friends  shall  go  home  and 
abuse  him.  But  excellent  as  these 
things  are  to  the  well-regulated 
mind,  it  is  better  still  to  cast  the 
eye  on  the  kindly  rows,  and  lov- 
^*ngly  to  pull  out  a  volume  here  and 

ore,  and  let  it  carry .  you  to  a 
|jurer  air  than  that  of  your  hum- 
drum life,  and  to  a  range  of  thought 
that  your  moderate  brain  can  ap- 
preciate but  could  never  create.  If 
you  would  have  more  enjoyment  in 
life  this  year  than  last,  buy  more 
books,  and  read  them.  And  if  you 
do  not  understand  about  books 
yourself,  consult  some  friend  who 
does  know  before  making  your 
purchases.  Ah,  the  frightful  edi- 
tions the  writer  has  seen,  in  grand 
bindings,  upon  the  tables  of  the 
ignorant  rich ! 

The  writer  has,  in  this  magazine, 
years  ago,  expatiated  at  great  length 
upon  a  thing  which  is  a  precious  se- 
cret of  modest  content,  and  which 
need  be  no  more  than  named  here : 
It  is  a  rigid,  all-reaching,  habitual 
tidiness.  Keep  your  books,  spe- 
cially, in  perfect  order  and  thorough 
repair.  You  cannot  afford  leather 
bindings :  and  cloth  binding  in 
these  days  is  generally  suflScient  and 
handsome.  But  it  has  a  weak 
point:  the  comers  of  the  boards, un- 
tended,  will  grow  ragged.  Tend  them 
diligently.  Have  in  a  drawer  a  small 
cup  of  tenacious  gum :  and  never  see 
a  corner  beginning  to  get  frayed  with- 
out instantly  putting  it  right.  There 
is  a  real  and  innocent  pleasure  in 
putting  a  thing  right  which  was 
wrong.  A  tinge  of  the  moral  element 
is  here  :  in  correcting  the  smallest 
error  you  are  ranging  yourself  on 
the  right  side  in  the  great  fight  of 
the  great  universe.  And  you  will 
have  your  reward.  What  you  do  as 
to  the  corners  of  your  books,  do  to 
everything  else  to  which  your  power 
reaches :  lesser  and  greater.   It  will 

s  2 


244. 


Suggestions  Towards  Making  Better  of  It.  [Febmary 


clieer  you  wonderfully,  when  few 
other  things  will. 

Post-time,  rightly  regarded  and 
managed,  is  to  the  wise  and  modest 
an  unfailing  interest.  Sometimes, 
indeed,  it  brings  the  painful  shock 
to  whose  recurrence  we  must  try  to 
be  resigned.  But  if  you  maintain 
a  considerable  intercourse  with 
friends  you  seldom  see,  by  the  fre- 
quent letter,  many  days  will  bring 
pleasant  communications  which  will 
greatly  cheer.  The  anonymous  let- 
ter will  amuse  :  do  not  read  such  if 
you  know  they  will  do  other  than 
amuse.  Sometimes  such  are  very 
malignant:  sometimes  well-meant, 
though  of  doubtful  wisdom;  like 
one  the  writer  lately  received,  cau- 
tioning him  that  the  author  of  such 
essays  as  one  he  contributed  to  the 
December  Fraser  was  *  in  danger  of 
hell-fire.'  Thanks  to  the  friendly 
sender :  though  he  (or  she)  must 
have  sadly  misread  that  little  paper 
before  coming  to  a  conclusion  so 
startling.  The  volume  by  post,  a 
good  deal  knocked  about:  the  news- 
papers, many  in  number,  for  people 
of  modest  m  cans  can  afford  these  now : 
the  trenchant  weekly,  preserved 
and  bound,  which  has  mounted  up 
into  that  long  shelf  of  dark-calf 
folios  with  red  edges,  which  nobody 
would  buy :  the  other  day  twenty- 
two  volumes  of  it  (only  in  cloth 
indeed)  sold  by  auction  for  seven- 
teen shillings:  all  these  enter 
into  the  life  of  the  household 
through  that  bronze- covered  slit  in 
the  outer-door,  large  enough  to  re- 
ceive a  magazine.  And  sometimes 
letters  bearing  unfamiliar  postage- 
stamps  from  foreign  lands  :  almost 
all  very  cheering.  Make  much  of 
post-time:  more  than  heretofore. 
Encourage  all  correspondence :  un- 
less indeed  the  two  or  three  daily 


invitations  to  take  shares  iu  some 
new  company  (limited),  whose  pro- 
jectors are  plainly  quite  unKnuted, 
in  various  undesirable  ways.  If  you 
have  not  spoiled  your  nerves  by 
stimulants  which  coarsen  and  de- 
grade, here  will  be  a  daily  series 
of  sensations. 

Have  these  counsels  seemed  self- 
ish?    Is   all  this  a  cheap  Epicu- 
reanism, within  the  reach  of  poor 
folk  ?     The  range  I  have  allowed 
myself  in  these  pages  may  indeed 
be  in  some  measure  obnoxious  to 
such  condemnation.     But  if  life  be 
the  grave  and  awful  thing  we  have 
found  it  to  be,  in  its  surroundings, 
tendencies,  and  issue,  may  we  not 
be    permitted,    in    little    harmless 
ways,  to  cheer  ourselves  in  quiet 
times:  knowing  that  often  the  ut- 
most effort  will  be  needed,  and  the 
heavy  pang  be  felt  ?     No  one  wiH 
dream  that  these  things  here  said 
are  all.    But  they  are  real  (to  some 
people)  so  far  as  they  go.     'Beyond 
these,  let  us  try  ever  to  get  out  of 
ourselves:    let  us  keep  a  kind  in- 
terest in  others.      Though  we  are 
growing  older,  and  getting  travel- 
stained,  it  is  pleasant  to  think  that 
all  the  world  is  yet  fr^sh  with  the 
glory  of  its  youth  to  the  little  chil- 
dren.     Fussy  philanthropy  is   (to 
some)  most  irritative:  in  some  cases 
even    disgusting,    when    it   loudly 
proclaims  all  it  does  and  a  good 
deal  it  never  did.     But   stay:  we 
are  not  to  be  angry:    though  the 
sham  doer  of  good,  sounding  his 
cracked     trumpet    in    the     street, 
is   a   sight  to   stir    the    wrath  of 
angels.     But  to  quietly  by  word  or 
deed  help  or  cheer  another,  is  sin- 
gularly  cheering    and    helpful   to 
one's  self:     Not,  indeed,  if  it  he 
done  with  an  eye  to  that  reward. 
A.  K.  H.  B. 


1873] 


245 


THE  PEKING  GAZETTE. 
By  Sir  Rutherford  Alcock,  K.C.B. 


rIS  official  organ  of  the  Qovem- 
ment  of  China,  like  its  con- 
temporaiy  the  London  Gazette^  is 
not  a  paper  usaally  taken  up  for 
light  reading  and  amusement.  Both 
are  regarded  as  mere  vehicles  for 
the  announcement  of  appointments, 
promotions,  and  translation  to  dififer- 
ent  posts  of  those  who  are  em- 
plojai  in  the  public  service  ;  foots 
and  events  possessing  little  interest 
io  any  hut  the  persons  immediately 
concerned.     Yet,    as    regards    our 
own  Gazette,  it  would  be  easy  to 
show  that,  apart  from  what  is  more 
strictly  departmental  and   official, 
connected  with  the  services  and  the 
administration  of  justice,  there  is 
a  great  deal  of  matter  calculated  to 
convey  information  of  the  highest 
value  to  any  student   of  national 
progress  and  development.     There 
can  be  no  doubt  that  to  some  future 
Ifacaolay  or   Grote  a  file  of  the 
London  Gazette    for  the  year  1872 
would  be  a  mine  of  precious  mate- 
rials  as   to   the   contemporaneous 
events  of  the  period.     Long  before 
the    time     arrives    for    the    New 
Zealander  to  take  his  seat  on  the 
ruined  arches  of  London  Bridge,  a 
series  of  Gazettes  for  a   decade  of 
this  nineteenth  century,   if  disin- 
terred and  calendared  by  the  energy 
of  some  future  Master  of  the  Rolls, 
might  prove  as  valuable  as  any  of 
the  calendars  proceeding  from  the 
same  source,  which  all  students  of 
our  national  history  read  now  with 
so  much  avidity  and  interest.     The 
Gazettes    supply  a    great    deal  of 
authentic   information   not  always 
to  be   obtained  elsewhere,   or  in- 
vested  with,    the  .same  authority. 
Manj  fisusts  which  seem  to  us  now, 
too   insignificant  to  claim  a  mo- 
ment's attention,  may  serve  here- 
after to  givB  point  and  brilliancy  to 
a  general  retrospect  of  the  habits, 


character,  and  institutions  of  a  by- 
gone age.  In  this  point  of  view 
the  Fehiiig  Gazette  presents  some- 
thing of  analogy.  Inasmuch  as  the 
distance  which  separates  the  eastern 
half  of  Asia  from  Europe,  the 
isolation  in  which  the  Chinese  have 
dwelt  from  the  most  remote  ages, 
and  the  difficulties  interposed  by 
their  hieroglyphic  and  imperfectly 
known  language — prevent  the  best 
informed  Europeans  obtaining  any 
familiar  acquaintance  with  the  coun- 
try or  the  people.  Their  institu- 
tions and  habits  of  thought  or  ac- 
tion, together  with  the  social  and 
political  condition  of  the  present 
day,  come  to  us  only  as  through 
a  mist  of  ages.  Or  something  so 
similar  in  effect,  that  in  reading  the 
announcements  of  the  Peking  paper, 
and  endeavouring  to  gain  from  them 
some  accurate  conception  of  the 
actual  state  of  the  nation,  and  the 
administrative  machinery  of  the 
Government,  we  have  to  fill  up  the 
gaps  in  the  information  afforded,  by 
reference  to  independent  sources. 
We  must  follow  up  the  clues  given 
in  its  columns  to  other  fields,  ofben 
widely  apart,  in  order  to  make  out 
the  true  meaning  of  the  disjointed 
facts  as  they  are  scattered  over  the 
columns  without  connection  or  ex- 
planation. Just  as  our  imaginary 
student  of  the  disinterred  [Lotidon 
Gazettes  will  have  to  work  in  the 
next  century,  if  he  would  turn 
them  to  good  account,  and  make 
them  yield  the  ore  from  which  cur- 
rent coin  may  be  minted.  How 
much  future  historians  may  find 
in  the  pages  of  the  London  Gazette, 
turned  over  by  so  few  of  the  pre- 
sent generation, — to  enlighten  and 
instruct  our  descendants,  is,  perhaps, 
never  realised.  Yet  the  political 
and  social  changes  so  unceasingly 
going  on  in  this  and  nearly  evevf 


246 


The  *  Peking  Oaxette,' 


[February 


other  country — both  east  and  west 
— together  with  the  shifting  canons 
of  international  law  and  Sie  rela- 
tions of  Civilised  States  with  each 
other  and  the  Eastern  races  alike, 
have  all  some  signal  indications 
in  our  own  Gazette,  International 
arbitration,  as  a  substitute  for  war, 
has  a  large  plade  in  the  papers  of 
the  Geneva  arbitrators,  to  which 
whole  supplements  have  been  given 
up.  A  new  commercial  treaty  with 
iVance,  and  cancelled  stipulations  of 
a  treaty  with  Bussia,  as  outcomings 
of  the  great  wars  of  the  last  ten 
years,  find  their  place,  and  afford 
clues  to  the  great  shiftings  of  old 
landmarks,  and  ofcher  fundamental 
changes  of  international  relations 
and  polity.  Wars  and  Arbitration 
courts, — the  two  great  instruments 
for  the  arbitrement  of  national 
quarrels  and  differences — which  have 
played  so  prominent  a  part  in  the 
history  of  Europe  during  the  last 
twenly  years,  will  have  to  be 
studied  in  all  their  bearings  in 
other  records  than  the  Gazette  sup- 
plies. But  not  the  less  is  it  true 
that  its  columns,  falling  under  the 
notice  of  any  competent  explorer, 
would  afford  all  the  indications 
necessary  to  direct  attention  to  the 
events  and  their  consequences,  and 
show  the  necessity  of  further  inves- 
tigation. Thus  in  regard  to  our  own 
insular  institutions  and  progress, 
the  London  Gazette  will  not  tell 
future  historians  how  we  regulate 
our  parks,  and  govern  in  police  and 
other  municipal  matters.  But  it  will 
furnish  some  facts  about  Hyde  Park 
meetings,  Mr.  Ayrton's  Regulations, 
aad  pohce  strikes,  which  cannot  fail 
to  suggest  thoughts  about  the  effi- 
ciency of  our  governing  system,  and 
point  to  the  necessity  for  more  satis- 
factory information.  The  often  re- 
curring strikes,  and  the  contest  be- 
tween labour  and  capital  in  every 
business  and  industry — from  mines 
to  gas  works,  for  relative  shares  of 
profit  and  pleasure,  may  find  but 
very  imperfect  record  in  the  Gazette ; 


yet  enough  is  there  to  awaken  inter- 
est and  to  send  him  in  quest  of  more 
knowledge.  Thus  we  see  clearly 
that  the  value  of  our  own  Gazette 
to  future  enquirers  will  not  He  in 
any  detailed  account  of  events  and 
their  causes.  Nor  indeed  in  any 
actual  revelations  but  in  indica- 
tions suggesting  conclusions,  and 
the  direction  in  which  fuller  infor- 
mation, confirmatory  or  otherwise, 
may  be  looked  for,  to  account  for 
incidents  and  actions  only  glanced  at 
indirectly,  or  very  partially  recorded. 
So  it  is  with  the  Peking  Gazette. 

Whoever  looks  therefore  to  this 
collection  of  State  Papers,  between 
seven  and  eight  hundred  in  the  year, 
for  materials  wherewith  to  compile 
a  satisfactory  record  of  the  passing 
history  of  the  nation,  such  as  our 
Annual  Register  was  intended  to 
supply,  will  be  woefiilly  disappointed. 
p?he  perusal  of  the  Gazette  to  our 
ptudents  in  China  is  chiefly  valuable, 
Jas  Mr.  Wade  pointed  out  many  years 
(ago,  not  for  what  it  gives — apart 
from  style  and  literary  composition 
— but  for  the  curious  knowledge 
of  different  kinds,  and  larger 
information  which  they  must  pro- 
vide themselves  with  as  they  pro- 
ceed from  other  sources,  in  order 
ito  comprehend  what  they  read  in 
its  columns. 

At  first  sight  nothing  can  be  less 
inviting  than  the  columns  of  the 
Gazette,  or  less  promising  of  useful 
information  to  a  foreign  student  of 
Chinese  institutions  and  govern- 
ment. Those  on  whom  the  task 
devolves  of  translating  and  sum- 
marising the  successive  numbei-s, 
are  apt  to  indemnify  themselves 
for  the  irksome  and  seemingly  use- 
less task  by  such  utterances  a^ 
these : — 

The  Peking  Gazette  gives  us  the  im- 
pression either  that  very  little  of  the  least 
importance  ever  takes  place  in  the  Empir*, 
or  that  all  the  important  memorials  aod 
decrees  are  suppressed.  There  nmst  he 
something  far  more  intexestiiig  to  duonicfe 
than  poenlities.  about  gods  and  Feng^Skm, 
or  discussions  about  Uie  merits  of  insig- 


1873] 


The  *  Peking  OazetteJ 


247 


sificant  mandariBs  in  the  most  ont-of-the- 
waj  districts.  Yet  this  is  for  the  most 
purl  whftt  the  Gazette  contains,  and  there 
was  nerer  therefore  a  grosser  blunder  made 
about  China  than  was  made  by  the  writer 
of  an  article  in  the  Quarterl^^  to  the  effect 
that  more  yaloable  illustrations  of  Chinese 
political  and  social  institutions  might  be 
drawn  from  one  year's  scrupulous  transla- 
tion of  the  Peking  Gazettes  than  from  any 
other  source. 

Yet,  notwithstanding  such  sweep- 
ing denunciations,  those  who  are 
best  qnaUfied  to  make  a  proper  use 
of  snch  information  as  the  Gazette 
conveys,  have  come  to  the  same 
conclusion  as  the  much  condemned 
writer  in  the  Quarterly,  And  we 
propose  to  show  in  the  following 
pages  that  it  is  quite  true,  more 
valuahle  illustrations  of  political 
and  social  institutions  may  he  drawn, 
and  a  clearer  insight  may  he  ob- 
tained of  the  actual  working  of  the 
governing  machinery  by  a  carefal 
study  of  the  Peking  Gazette  than 
from  any  other  source. 

The  near  approach  of  the  time 
when  the  *  Audience '  question  must 
once  more  be  brought  on  the  tapis 
at  Peking,  may  tend  to  render  such 
contributions  to  onr  knowledge  of 
Peking    parties    and   the  internal 
condition  of  the  country,  so  wretch- 
edly misgoverned  by  the  present 
rulers,  more  interesting  than  they 
would  he  under  ordinary  circum- 
stances.   In  any  other  country  the 
marriage  of  the  youthftil  Emperor 
— now  some    17  years  old — would 
carry  with  it,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
the  declaration  of  his  majority,  and 
the   assumption    of   the    reins    of 
gorerament.     But  it  by  no  means 
followed  that  such  should  be  the  case 
under    existing    circumstances    in 
China.     Although  he  has  been  en- 
dowed with  more  wives  than  either 
David  or  Solomon  possessed,  and  a 
supplementary  harem  with  eunuchs 
worthy    of  an  Eastern   court, — it 
seemedmoTethan  likely  until  the  last 
advices,  that  the  declaration  of  his 
m^oiilyxiiight  be  still  further  delay- 
ed, if  sot  deferred  indefinitely.   The 


DowagerEmpress  (not  the  Empress, 
mother  of  the  young  Sovereign)  is 
reported  to  be  very  little  disposed 
to  give  up  her  power ;  and  having 
shown   herself   in  the   coup   d'etat 
which  inaugurated  the  boy's  reign 
some  ten  years  ago  a   bold   and 
determined  woman,  the  Council  of 
Regency,  of  which  she  is  the  head, 
might  well  hesitate  to  depose  her. 
On   the  occasion  referred   to,  the 
members  of  the  Regency  she  put 
aside  lost  their  heads  as  well  as  their 
offices,  within  the  space  of  twenty- 
four  hours.     Moreover,  the  Anti- ) 
Foreign  party  among  the   Ruling.* 
classes  generally,  and  most  of  the\ 
high  officers  at  Peking,  are  strongly  • 
opposed    to    any    concession   that 
would  bring  the  Representatives  of  / 
foreign  powers  face  to  face  with  the , 
Emperor.      Without    any    of   the; 
genuflexions    and    head-knockings . 
indispensable  at  the  Court  of  Pe-  | 
king,   as  a  recognition  of  the  un-y 
approachable  Majesty  and  supreme.' 
power  of  the  '  Lord  of  all  the  Earth,'* 
one  of  the  many  high-sounding  titles' 
an^ogated   for   their   Sovereign,  it; 
would  in  their  eyes  be  a  desecration. 
It  is  this  pretension  to  Supremacy 
and    Universal    Dominion,    which 
constitutes   the   main   obstacle   to 
any    direct    intercourse    with    the 
Emperor,  or  access  to  his  presence, 
on  the  part  of  the  Foreign  Repre- 
sentatives.    To  receive  them  with- 
out  abject   prostrations  would   be 
for  the  Emperor  to  abandon  claims,  , 
practically  relinquished  and  no  Ion-  • 
ger  obtruded  in  any  other  form,  but 
which  are  still  maintained  in  prin-  ' 
ciple.    It  would  be,  in  the  eyes  of  his  ; 
own  subjects,  to  descend  fix>m  the  ' 
pinnacle  of  greatness  on  which  the  • 
Celestial  Empire   and  the  Son  of  : 
Heaven,  its  Ruler,  have  been  hitherto  • 
placed  alike  by  tradition  and  na-  1 
tional  worship.     The  Chinese,  both. 
Rulers   and    People,  are  naturally^ 
dogged  and  obstinate  as  they  are 
arrogant.     There  is  little  prospect, 
therefore,  of  their  ever  voluntarily 
relinquishing  these  absurd  preten- 


248 


TJie  '  PeJcmg  Gazette: 


[February 


sions ;  and  they  are  quite  capable  of 
risking  another  war  rather  than 
give  way.  All  the  vast  expenditure 
which  has  so  long  been  going  on, 
for  the  creation  of  naval  arsenals 
and  dockyards,  at  Foochou  under 
Frenchmen,  at  Shanghae  under 
Americans,  and  at  Tientsin  under 
English  chiefly — has  been  incurred 
with  a  view  to  such  a  necessity  of 
resistance  arising.  The  arming 
of  the  Taku  forts  with  Krupp's 
guns,  and  the  Peiho  river  with 
torpedos  of  newest  construction  and 
most  destructive  powers  —  with 
many  other  preparatory  measures, 
plainly  indicate  such  anticipations. 

They  also  point  to  a  menace  of 
serious  resistance,  and  the  gradual 
growth  of  the  same  spirit  which  led 
Yeh,  the  ill-fated  governor-general 
at  Canton,  to  treat  us  with  defiance 
as  outside  barbarians.  The  same 
spirit  which  led  the  late  Emperor's 
councillors  to  try  the  fortune  of 
war  a  second  time  in  1859,  when 
they  first  repulsed  our  squadron 
under  Sir  James  Hope  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Peiho ;  and  again  in 
i860,  when  they  were  defeated — 
rather  than  allow  a  British  Minister 
to  take  up  his  residence  at  Peking. 
An  article  in  the  December  number 
of  the  Gomhill  on  the  armaments 
in  China,  is  well  calculated  to  show 
the  extent  of  this  preparation. 

With  such  a  prospect  before  us, 
the  present  gleanings  from  the 
Peking  Gazette,  and  the  glimpses 
they  give  of  the  actual  condition  of 
the  country  as  well  as  the  governing 
influences  at  work,  may  not  be 
without  interest. 

It  will  be  well,  however,  that  the 
reader  should  start  with  some  pre- 
liminary knowledge  of  the  origin 
and  history  of  the  Peking  Gazette — 
of  the  editorial  as  well  as  of  the  other 
conditions  under  which  it  is  issued. 
It  is  not  attractive  in  outward  ap- 
pearance. Each  number  forms  a 
pamphlet  stitched  in  a  dingy  yellow 
wrapper,  and  is  some  seven  inches 
n  length  by  four  in  width.     The 


Gazettes  are  of  variable  thickness ; 
sometimes  a  number  consists  of 
twenty  and  at  other  times  of  forty 
pages,  in  that  resembling  its  London 
brother.  They  are  very  coarsely 
printed  on  miserable-looking  paper 
of  the  flimsiest  material.  So  much 
so,  indeed,  that  the  characters  show 
through  on  both  sides,  to  the  confu- 
sion of  the  reader,  and  remind  one 
of  Miss  Stanbury's  description  of 
the  Penny  Press,  to  which  her 
nephew  Hugh,  so  much  agqinst  her 
will,  contributed — 'radical  abomin- 
ations printed  on  straw.* 

Mr.  Wade,  now  her  Majesty's 
Minister  in  China,  tells  us  in  an 
interesting  and  valuable  paper  On 
the  Condition  and  Government  of 
the  Chinese  Tlmpire,  which  was 
printed  for  private  circulation  in 
1849 — ^^®  materials  for  which  were 
chiefly  derived  from  the  Peking 
Gazette — that  tradition  assigns  it  a 
birthplace  under  the  Sung  Dynasty 
in  the  latter  part  of  the  tenth  cen- 
tury of  our  era. 

It  is  the  official  organ  of  the 
Chinese  Government  and  Court. 
A  Conrt  Journal  and  Gazette 
combined.  It  is  the  only  newspaper 
or  journal  of  any  kind  in  circulation 
throughout  the  Empire.  This  re- 
markable fact  is  referred  to  by  Mr. 
Medhurst,  her  Majesty's  Consul  at 
Shanghae,  in  his  truthful  little  book 
on  China,  recently  published. 
He  remarks  that  the  press,  which 
holds  so  important  a  position 
in  western  countries,  can  hardly 
be  said  to  be  known  there.  He 
speaks,  however,  of  the  Peking 
Gazette  in  terms  of  greater  dis- 
paragement than  is  justified  in  my 
opinion.  He  says  it  contains  no 
original  matter  of  any  kind,  which 
is  very  far  from  the  fact,  unless  he 
means  editorial  matter.  It  may  be 
true  enough  that  'public  opinion 
finds  no  expression  in  its  pages  save 
through  the  State  Papers  which  it 
contains.'  But,  as  he  himself  adds, 
some  of  these  '  are  not  wanting  in 
outspoken  criticism  both  of  depart- 


1878] 


The  'Peking  Gazette: 


249 


ments  and  individuals,  and  at  times 
eren  of  the  Imperial  Court  itself. 
In  this  respect,  at  any  rate,  it  may 
be  said  to  be  far  in  advance  of  our 
early  London  Gazette^  which  never 
contained  any  intelligence  that  it 
did  not  suit  the  purposes  of  the 
Court  to  pnblish.'  We  are  apt  to 
forget  that  less  than  a  century  ago 
there  was  no  newspaper  in  this 
country  which  supplied  leaders  or 
any  other  information  which  now 
constitutes  their  chief  value. 
Clearly,  then,  the  Peking  Gazette  is 
not  so  &r  behind  the  age  after  all. 
And  if  it  circulates  outspoken  criti- 
cisms on  abuses  in  the  administra- 
tion, or  the  wrong-doings  of  high 
officers,  and  even  of  the  Emperor, — 
it  may  well  afford  valuable  informa- 
tion to  all  who  seek  to  understand 
the  condition  of  the  country  and  the 
abuses  in  its  Government. 

The  strangeness  of  the  fact  re- 
mains, to  which  Mr.  Medhurst 
directs  attention — that  *  the  country 
in  which  the  art  of  printing  was 
earliest  known,  and  in  which  litera- 
ture has  had  an  undoubted  and 
influential  sway  for  many  centuries, 
should  at  this  moment  be  the  only 
one  amongst  nations  making  any 
pretence  to  civilisation  in  which 
the  press  has  no  place  as  a  vehicle 
of  opinion.'  *  It  is,'  he  says,  *  the 
more  remarkable  since  the  Chinese 
are  essentially  a  reading  people,  and 
show  their  appreciation  of  news- 
papers by  the  avidity  with  which 
Th<i  two  or  three  native  papers  issued 
by  the  Shanghae  Foreign  presses  are 
read,  and  by  the  eagerness  with 
which  they  seek  to  have  the  articles 
in  English  papers  translated  for  their 
information.* 

China,  however,  is  not  quite  alone 
in  this  respect,  as  Mr.  Medhurst 
would  infer,  for  Japan  has  been  still 
more  remarkable  in  not  even  pos- 
sessing an  official  Gazette  previous 
to  the  late  revolutionary  changes. 
Its  nearest  western  neighbour  — 
and  the  western  Power  most  like 
China  in   extent  and  the  Asiatic 


character  of  its  population — Eussia, 
cannot  boast  very  much  over  China 
in  this  particular.  It  has  a  news- 
paper press  indeed;  but  as  to  organs 
of  public  opinion,  we  suspect  thero 
are  few  allowed  to  publish  censures 
of  the  Emperor  and  his  Grovem- 
ment.  Neither  do  we  share  Mr. 
Medhnrst's  conviction  *  that  there  is 
nothing  that  would  tend  more  surely 
and  speedily  to  open  the  eyes  of  the 
Chinese  Grovemment  and  people  to 
a  true  sense  of  the  advantages  of 
Western  commerce,  progress,  and 
civilisation,  and  prepare  the  way 
for  more  extended  and  friendly 
relations  with  foreigners,  than  a  few 
well-conducted  newspapers  in  the 
native  language,  and  as  a  channel  for 
effecting  the  change,  would  prove 
more  acceptable  to  the  people  them- 
selves.' *  Credit,'  he  adds,  *  is  due 
to  the  partial  attempts  which  have 
already  been  made  in  this  direction 
at  Shanghae,  but  the  publications 
turned  out  are  sadly  lacking  in  the 
composition  and  style  which  are 
needed  to  ensure  general  acceptance 
with  the  reading  public' 

We  are  by  no  means  convinced 
that  these  anticipations  are  well 
founded,  even  *  if  a  few  well-con- 
ducted newspapers  in  the  native 
language'  could  be  established; 
but  we  are  quite  sure  that  the 
obstacles  in  the  way  are  quite  in- 
superable in  this  generation.  The 
fastidious  taste  of  the  literati  and 
educated  classes  in  China  to  which 
Mr.  Medhurst  alludes,  in  matters  of 
style  and  composition  could  only  be 
met  by  one  of  themselves.  And  they 
know  nothing  worth  communicating 
to  Chinese,  who  have  already  the 
writings  of  Confucius  and  Mencius, 
their  own  classics — with  endless 
commentaries,  each  more  unin- 
telligible and  confusing  than  its 
predecessor,  as  is  the  manner  of 
commentators  both  East  and  West. 
With  their  present  education  and 
system  of  examination — ^the  cur- 
riculum by  which  alone  they  can 
achieve  distinction  or  enter  official 


aso 


The  'Peking  Gazette* 


[February 


life — ^the  masters  of  style  and  com- 
position  in  Chinese  can  have  nothing 
original  to  put  into  a  paper.  With- 
out a  foreign  education  in  addition, 
they  would  make  sorry  newspaper 
editors,  however  perfect  their  style. 
Their  absolute  ignorance  of  all  the 
science  of  the  west,  and  the  whole 
range  of  knowledge  to  which 
western  nations  owe  their  progress 
and  civilisation,  is  an  insuperable 
bar  to  their  co-operation.  On  the 
other  hand,  no  foreigner — Sinalogue 
or  Missionary — can  have  any  pre- 
tension to  write  with  such  perfect 
command  of  the  Chinese  language 
as  to  make  his  information  accept- 
able to  the  natives,  and  especisJly 
to  the  educated  classes.  It  is  to  be 
feared,  therefore,  that  if  the  '  eyes  of 
the  Chinese  Government  and  people 
are  not  to  be  opened  to  a  true  sense  of 
the  advantages  of  western  com- 
merce, progress  and  civilisation, 
and  more  extended  and  friendly  re- 
lations with  foreigners' — ^until  *a 
few  well-conducted  newspapers  are 
established  in  the  native  language  ' 
— these  desirable  results  are  likely 
to  be  a  long  time  in  coming.  I  do 
not  understand  how  a  thoroughly 
well-informed  writer  like  Mr.  Med- 
hurst,  well  versed  in  the  Chinese 
language,  and  knowing  therefore 
the  impossibility  of  securing  the 
one  essential  condition  of  success, 
could  offer  a  suggestion  so  mani- 
festly impracticable. 

The  ease  with  which  a  reading 
and  intelligent  people,  with  a  great 
love  of  gossip,  have  dispensed  with 
a  newspaper  press  for  so  many 
centuries,  without  apparent  con- 
sciousness of  a  want^  is  also  a  matter 
of  remark,  if  not  an  argumentagainst 
Mr.  Medhurst's  theory.  A  news- 
paper and  a  periodical  press  is  un- 
doubtedly an  engine  of  real  power 
in  disseminating  ideas,  giving  in- 
formation and  developing  opinion. 
That  nations  must  make  more  rapid 
progress  in  civilisation  with  such 
assistance  than  without  it  cannot 
admit  of  question.     But  we  may 


see  in  the  experience  of  the  Chinese 
and  the  facts,  undoubted  evidence 
of  the  possibility  of  a  nation  num- 
bering, not  millions^  but  hundreds 
of  millions, — cultivating  literature, 
educating  each  rising  generation  to 
a  certain  literary  standard,  and  de- 
veloping great  industrial  powers 
and  mechanical  skill,  as  well  as 
governing  capacity,  without  the  aid 
of  newspapers,  Badical  or  Conser- 
vative !  Yet  they  are  a  people  as 
avid  of  news  as  were  the  Athenians 
of  old,  and  seek  it  in  every  street- 
comer  and  tea-shop — inventing  it 
when  not  otherwise  to  be  hud. 
The  Chinese  tea-shops  are  the  coun- 
terpart of  the  French  cafes,  and  play 
the  same  part  in  Chinese  life  as  great 
centres  of  intercourse,  but  only  for 
the  lower  and  trading  classes.  Less 
luxurious  than  those  of  the  French, 
they  are  quite  as  crowded  by  eager 
disputants  and  talkers,  who,  over  a 
pipe  of  the  mildest  tobacco  and  an 
endless  number  of  cups  of  the  very 
weakest  tea,  will  pour  out  a  flood  of 
loquacity  which  no  Frenchman  could 
beat,  and  this  for  hours  together 
untiringly. 

But  if  China,  with  a  population 
far  exceeding  that  of  Europe,  if  we 
may  place  any  reliance  on  such  im- 
perfect statistics  as  reach  us  from 
Chinese  sources,  has  managed  to 
exist  and  thrive  without  a  news- 
paper press  for  more  centuries  than 
any  other  surviving  nation  can 
count  in  its  history — and  to  satisfy 
the  natui-al  craving  of  the  human 
mind  for  knowledge  by  other  means, 
it  is  difi&cult  to  understand  how 
the  Grovemment  of  so  vast  a  terri- 
tory has  succeeded  in  its  task  of 
governing.  Without  the  facilities 
afforded  by  railroads  or  tel^raphic 
wires  for  rapid  communication,  it 
would  seem  almost  incredible  a 
priori  that  they  could  succeed  so 
well.  The  necessity  of  directing 
and  controlling  the  o£&cials  ad- 
ministering eighteen  provinces,  each 
larger  and  more  populous  than  many 
European  kingdoms,  and  of  keeping    j 


1873J 


The  *  TeUag  Gazette: 


261 


up  constant  commnnication  between 
tie  Central  authority  and  the  pro- 
vinces,  would   seem    to    tax    the 
largest  governing    or  administra- 
tire  powers.     The  work  has  been 
done,  however,  without  the  aid  of 
steam,    electricity,    or    newspaper 
correspondents   and  press ; — done, 
npon  the  whole,  not  nnsatisfactorily. 
For,  despite  frequently   recurring 
insurrections,   and    the   prevalence 
of  great  abuses  everywhere — patent 
and  known    to    the    multitude — 
the  Chinese  have  been  held  together 
in  the  bonds  of  a  common  nation- 
alitj,  rich  in  industrial  power  and 
resources,  happy  and  contented, — 
and  with  a  command  of  material 
comhri,  beyond  the  usual  average 
of  European   populations,  and   all 
this  under  one  supreme  and  central 
authority.   For,  often  as  the  dynas- 
ties have  changed   from  native  to 
Mongol  and  Mongol  to  Tartar  by 
turns,  there  has  been  no  disintegra- 
tion, once  the  several  parts  were 
welded  together    under   Genghis- 
Khan  and  his   successors.      Such 
results  as  these  are  of  a  nature  to 
claim  attention  from  the  most  ad- 
vanced of  European  States,  which, 
with  all  their  boasted  advantages 
of  superior  knowledge  and  a  higher 
civiliflation,  have  not  always  been 
able  to  achieve  so  much  in  the  way 
of  national  tLnity,  order,  and  de- 
velopment.   With  these  facts  before 
ns,  I  venture  to  invite  our  readers 
to  follow  me  as  we  turn  over  the 
leav«B  of  the   Faking  Gazette,  the 
Maniieur  of  the  Government,  and 
the  sole  newspaper  of  the  people, 
for  some  traces  of  the  means  more 
or  less  secret  and  mysterious,  by 
which  ends  so  vast  have  been  com- 
passed, with  instruments  apparently 
so  primitive  and  inadequate.     But 
there    may    be    something    more 
subtle  both  in   the  influences  em- 
ployed and  the  actual  machinery 
in  operation  than  Europeans  have 
hitherto  been  disposed  to  believe. 
In  that  case  it  may  well  be  that 
they  are  only  to  be  recognised  by 


those  who  acquire  some  power  to 
read  between  the  lines  of  many  of 
the  seemingly  arid  announcements 
of  the  Gazette,  and  extract  from 
them  a  meaning  not  apparent  on  the 
surface,  and  only  to  be  found,  in- 
deed, by  the  help  of  a  key  to  be 
sought  elsewhere. 

The  Peking  Gazette  differs  from 
its  London  contemporary  in  being, 
at  most,  a  semi-official  publication. 
A  small  office  in  the  Palace  exists 
in  which  it  is  the  business  of  those 
employed  in  it  to  make  copies  of 
the  decrees  of  the  day,  and  forward 
them  to  the  Boards  and  other  offices 
in  the  city  which  they  may  respec- 
tively concern.  The  employes  in 
this  office  have  been  allowed,  by 
long  custom,  to  make  private  extra 
copies  of  such  decrees  or  memorials 
as  the  authorities  do  not  forbid  to  be 
made  public.  These  they  distribute 
on  the  evening  of  their  issue  to 
subscribers  in  Peking,  the  money 
realised  being  the  perquisites  of  the 
small  officials  in  the  office.  Such 
copies  are  all  in  manuscript,  and 
about  ninety  are  jnade  each  day. 
Amongst  the  subscribers  are  certain 
printing-houses,  who  print  in  the 
form  of  a  small  pamphlet  whatever 
seems  to  them  important.  The 
printed  copies  thus  made  are  sold 
for  about  one-tenth  of  the  cost  of 
the  manuscript  copies,  and  have  an 
extensive  circulation  in  the  Capital 
and  throughout  the  Provinces. 
Each  province  or  set  of  provinces 
has  an  agent  in  Peking  to  look 
afber  the  printing  and  despatch  of 
the  Gazettes  to  their  constituents. 
The  agent  has  a  semi-official  recog- 
nition, and  occasionally,  in  case  of 
merit,  receives  a  Government  re- 
ward. 

The  Gazette  is  therefore  a  very 
incomplete  record  of  the  public 
business,  as  it  contains  only  just 
so  much  as  the  authoiitieB  choose 
shall  see  the  light.  As  regards  its 
genuineness  and  mode  of  publica- 
tion, it  bears  no  little  resemblance 
to  the  published  reports  of  the  pro- 


252 


The 'Peking  Gazette,* 


[February 


ceedings  in  Parliament.  It  also 
receives  occasionally  similar  official 
recognition,  as  the  high  provincial 
authorities  not  nnfrequently  quote 
the  Gazette  as  the  source  of  infor- 
mation that  has  reached  them. 

The  Gazette  consists  of  three 
parts. 

1.  Kung-MeiuCh* ao  or  Copy  of 
the  Palace  Gate,  answering  in  a 
way  to  the  *  Court  Journal.* 

This  is  a-  daily  account  of  the 
offices  and  officers  on  duty,  of  pre- 
sentations, of  grantings  of  sick  or 
other  leave,  of  the  movements  of 
the  Emperor  to  temples,  &c. 

2.  The  Shang  Yii,  or  Imperial 
Decrees,  These  decrees  are  either 
spontaneous  from  the  throne  or  in 
answer  to  memorials  presented  to 
his  Majesty.  The  greater  part  of 
them  are  appointments  of  officers 
to  posts  civil  and  military.  The 
Emperor's  decrees,  are  described  by 
one  of  the  most  competent  judges 
of  this  kind  of  composition,  to  be 
•remarkably  business-like  produc- 
tions.' 

The  following  is  the  judgment 
given  by  Mr.  Wade,  the  authority 
to  whom  I  refer:  *The  represen- 
tation of  the  subject  entitled  to 
address  him  is  immediately  acknow- 
ledged by  a  brief  memorandum 
signifying  that  his  Majesty  is  in- 
formed of  the  matter  communicated, 
or  has  referred  it  to  the  proper  Court 
or  Board.  After  a  sufficient  inter- 
val his  reply  is  published,  dealing, 
as  far  as  he  is  informed,  legally  and 
sensibly  with  the  case  or  measure 
submitted  to  him,  and  in  language 
as  plain  and  concise  as  that  of  the 
memorial  is  inflated  and  tautologi- 

3.  The  Tsow  Pao,  or  Meinorials 
from  High  Officers  to  the  Throne, 
This  is  much  the  bulkiest  part  of 
the  Gazette,  Such  of  the  memo- 
rials as  have  not  been  answered  by 
previous  decrees  have  a  rescript 
added,  giving  his  Majesty's  ap- 
proval or  disapproval,  or  a  reference 
to  the  proper  Board. 


If  the  visitor  at  Peking  extend 
his  researches  into  the  Chinese  city, 
and  ever  penetrate  into  one  of  the 
narrow  side  streets  near  Lieu-li- 
chang,  the  Paternoster-Row  of  the 
capitel,  he  may  pass  the  door  of 
one  of  the  offices  whence  the  printed 
copies  are  issued.  This  is  the  quar- 
ter of  book- sellers,  and  their  asso- 
ciate instraments,  bookbinders  and 
wood-engravers.  On  entering  the 
shop,  cases  of  wooden-cut  charac- 
ters may  be  seen  ranged  against 
the  wall,  and  sorted  according  to 
the  number  of  strokes  in  each. 
Some  of  frequent  occurrence  toge- 
ther are  arranged  as  double  cha- 
racters, such  as  *  Imperial  edict,' 
Mandarin  titles,  the  official  title 
of  the  reign,  &c.  About  a  dozen 
of  these  printing  offices  suffice  to 
issue  several  thousand  copies,  from 
whence  they  are  distributed,  as  in 
London,  to  their  customers,  or  de- 
spatched in  batches  to  the  different 
provinces.  But  these  offices  are  all 
private,  and  trust  to  the  sale  of 
copies  for  their  reimbursement  and 
profits.  For  six  dollars  a  year 
the  Pekinese  may  keep  himself 
posted  up  in  all  that  the  Govern- 
ment thinks  it  desirable  he  shonld 
know  as  to  its  acts,  or  the  course  of 
events  in  the  provinces.  Or  be  may 
hire  his  Gazette  for  the  day,  and 
return  it  if  he  does  not  approve  of 
the  cost  of  purchasing.  The  various 
changes  which  the  mechanical 
means  used  for  producing  the  print- 
ed copies  have  undergone  within 
the  last  century  are  curious  illus- 
trations of  the  tendency  to  run  in 
old  grooves,  even  after  innovations 
have  been  seemingly  accepted. 

In  the  last  century,  in  Kienlung^s 
time,  it  appears  there  were  copper 
movable  types  in  the  Palace — pro- 
bably obtained  through  the  Jesuit 
Fathers — with  which  some  large 
works  were  printed.  Later,  wax  tab- 
lets were  introduced  for  printing  the 
Gazettes;  but  these  about  the. year 
1820,  it  is  said,  were  exchanged  for 
the  movable  wooden  types  now  used. 


1873] 


The  *  Peking  Gazette: 


253 


Yet  during  the  last  thirty  years 
sothizigwonld  have  been  easier  than 
to  import  from  Hongkong  a  font  of 
metal  type,  with  a  great  saving  of 
labour  and  increase  of  distinctness. 
The  whole  system  of  Chinese 
edacation  has  scarcely  any  higher 
object  than  to  teach  the  student 
how  to  write  State  Papers.  They 
are  always  regular  in  their  mode  of 
composition,  and  written  with  a 
rigid  regard  to  certain  conventional 
forms  in  respect  to  phraseology. 
With  regard  to  what  shall  be  made 
pablic,  great  precautions  are  taken 
to  prevent  any  papers  not  approved 
bj  the  Cabinet  appearing  in  print. 
Notwithstanding  which,  it  is  well 
noderstood  that  many  documents 
which  never  appear  in  the  circu- 
lated copies  of  the  Gazette,  can  be 
obtained,  even  at  the  Palace  gate,  for 
a  consideration. 

Of  the  true  value  of  this  collec- 
tion of  State   Papers,  some  seven 
or  eight  hundred  in  the  year  as 
has  been  stated,  two  opposite  opi- 
nions   have    ^ery   generally  ]>een 
held  by  those  ^whose  business  it  has 
been    to     master     more    or    less 
thoroughly    their    contents.      Mr. 
Wade,  perhaps  the  best  authority 
from  his  long  and  patient  study  of 
all  such  official  sources  of  informa- 
tion, says,  speaking  of  the  Gazette 
&nd   the  papers   circulated  in  its 
pages,  that  '  The  administration  of 
the  laws,  the  changes  suggested  in 
the  penal  and  other  codes,  the  state 
of  the  revenue,  political  movements, 
within  or    beyond    the    limits  of 
China  proper,  and  the  general  treat- 
ment and  estate  of  the  inhabitants 
of  the  vast  portion  of  Asia  over 
which  the   Imperial    Government 
asserts  dominion,  are  all  in  their 
turn  discussed   or    alluded    to  in 
these  despatches,  from  which,  and 
the  rejoinders  to  them,  we  gather 
the   only   intelligence    of  contem- 
poraneous events  which  may  at  all 
claim  the  merit  of  authenticity.' 

Another  writer  speaking  evidently 
with  somepractical  knowledge,  takes 


a  wholly  diflferent  view.  Moved 
perhaps  by  the  weariness  of  spirit 
which  whole  colunms  of  mere  ver- 
biage and  the  stilted  phraseology 
of  many  of  the  memorials  are  so 
well  calculated  to  create.  The  art 
of  stringing  together  sentences  void 
of  sense  is  not  seldom  practised 
to  perfection  in  these  documents. 
While  the  genius  of  mendacity  and 
humbug  revels  in  the  most  in- 
genious circumlocutions.  The 
following  critique  extracted  from 
a  Shanghae  paper  of  great  ability, 
the  Cycle,  is  amusing  as  an  outspoken 
expression  of  the  frankest  con* 
demnation — 

In  the  stilted  and  artificial  composi- 
tions that  ordinarily  go  to  make  up  a 
Gazette^  the  Emperor  leads  the  way.  We 
will  not  multiply  examples  of  Imperial 
homage  paid  to  the  genius  of  humbug,  but 
will  take  the  first  instances  that  come  to 
hand.  Thus  Ksa.  kino  in  1813  ascribed' 
the  disturbances  in  the  capital  and  the 
provinces  to  'the  low  state  of  his  virtue 
and  his  accumulated  imperfections.*  He 
described  himself  as  following  the  traces 
of  his  pencil  with  tears.  Indeed,  Kka. 
KINO  seemed  rather  to  take  a  pride  in 
humbling  himself,  and  issued  several  public- 
confessions.  Tag  kuaxo  {Ch.  Bep.  i.,  236), 
on  the  occasion  of  a  long-continued  drought, 
published  a  memorial  which  he  had 
reverently  presented  to  Imperial  Heaven, 
praying  forgiveness  for  his  ignorance  and 
stupidity,  and  power  to  amend  in  the 
future,  'for  myriads  of  innocent  people 
are  involved  by  me,  a  single  man.  My  sins 
are  so  numerous  that  it  is  difficult  to 
escape  from  them.  I  am  inexpressibly 
grieved  and  alarmed.'  Following  such 
illustrious  examples  we  find  high  officials 
representing  that  age,  or  infirmity,  or 
ignorance,  prevents  them  from  fulfilling 
their  duties.  A  censor  quoted  in  the  Middle 
Kingdom  speaks  of  himself  as  'a  weak 
old  horse,  unable  by  the  exertion  of  his 
whole  strength  to  recompense  the  ten- 
thousandth  part  of  the  Imperial  benevo- 
lence.* And  so  TsBNG^Kuo-FAN  in  the 
memorial  eitracted  by  us  last  week,  pic- 
tures his  past  career  as  that  of  a  child 
'tottering  along,'  and  solemnly  enume- 
rates all  the  failures  in  his  administration. 
It  is  impossible  to  believe  that  these  cun- 
ningly composed  sentences  are  anything 
more  than  words.  The  ex-viceroy  of  Chihli 
knows  as  well  as  the  Court  or  as  foreigners, 
that  whatever  the  estimation  may  be  in 
which  his  talents  are  held,  he  does  possess 


254 


The  ^Peking  Gazette' 


[Febniary 


great  and  Taried  talents.  But  the  form 
has  to  be  gone  through.  It  is  the  *  honour 
of  being  your  most  obedient,  humble  ser- 
vant *  over  again,  and  in  a  Chinese  dress. 
Sensibly,  however,  he  lays  most  stress  upon 
his  age  and  infirmities,  and  signifies  very 
distinctly  that,  so  far  as  he  is  concerned, 
pressing  personal  considerations  have  ob- 
literated all  desire  for  office,  and  all  ambi- 
tion further  to  serve  his  Imperial  master. 

All  this  is  true  enough  as  giving 
one  and  the  most  common  aspect  of 
the  Peking  Gazette.  Even  in  this 
last  paragraph  however  we  have 
an  instance  of  how,  from  a  seem- 
ingly empty  and  verbose  memorial 
from  a  Viceroy  to  the  Throne  there 
might  at  the  time  have  been  val- 
uable information  extracted,  not 
otherwise  attainable  with  equal  cer- 
tainty. At  that  date  it  was  by  no 
means  void  of  importance,  even  to 
the  foreign  communities,  nor  other- 
wise insignificant,  that  one  of  the 
most  influential  of  the  high  ofi&- 
cers  in  China  should  give  such 
pressing  indications  of  his  desire 
to  retire  from  public  life.  He  is 
dead  now ;  but  during  his  life, 
and  not  a  twelvemonth  before  this 
memorial  appeared  in  the  Gazette^ 
his  action  in  the  revision  of  the 
British  and  other  treaties,  exercised 
great  influence  upon  the  long  pro- 
tracted negotiations.  What  might 
be  his  personal  aims  or  ulterior  in- 
tentions as  to  the  continuance  of 
his  service  were  not  then  or  at  any 
later  period  without  a  certain  in- 
terest to  foreign  powers,  from  the 
influence  he  exercised  at  Peking 
and  upon  the  Tsungli  Yamen  or 
Foreign  Board. 

Moreover  the  very  form  in  which 
this  Viceroy  draws  up  his  representa- 
tions, the  object  of  which  is  to 
obtain  his  release  from  the  labours 
and  responsibilities  of  office — which 
in  China  extend  to  life  and  for- 
tune— has  a  special  interest  in  its 
reference  to  the  theory  of  paternal 
relations  between  the  sovereign  and 
his  subjects.  To  the  maintenance  of 
this  in  fall  vigour  has  been  as- 
cribed,  not  unjustly  perhaps,  the 


long  continuance  of  the  Chinese 
Empire  despite  of  bo  many  disrup- 
tive forces,  both  physical  and  po- 
litical— ^inundations,  fiimines,  and 
rebellions  in  a  never  ending 
series.  The  paternal  relation  not 
only  of  the  Sovereign  Head  but  all 
in  authority  under  him,  over  the 
multitudes  whom  they  govern  goes 
far  beyond  a  mere  demand  for 
obedience  from  the  subject  to  the 
laws  promulgated.  It  demands 
*the  surrender  of  all  individual 
right  to  decline  a  public  charge 
however  perilous  and  unremunera- 
tive.*  Nor  can  this  stretch  of 
authority  be  altogether  treated  as 
despotic  while  the  plea  is  the  wel- 
fare of  the  'black-haired  myriads' 
whose  claims  upon  the  parental  and 
pastoral  care  of  their  rulers  is 
peremptorily  insisted  upon,  when 
those  on  whom  the  duties  of  a  re- 
sponsible office  have  devolved  would 
fain  escape  from  its  obligations. 

But  having  now  cleared  the 
ground  of  the  objection  that  the 
Peking  Gazette  has  no  claim  on 
our  attention,  and  given  some  ex- 
planation of  its  general  character 
and  mode  of  circulation,  I  will 
proceed  without  ftirther  delay  to 
give  a  few  illustrations  of  the  kind 
of  information  to  be  found  in  its 
pages ;  and  I  hope  to  show  that 
they  are  anything  but  barren  either 
of  amusement  or  instruction,  to 
those  who  take  any  interest  in  the 
social  and  political  institutions  of 
an  empire  in  every  way  so  remark- 
able, and  a  people  but  very  imper- 
fectly understood  yet,  although  the 
foremost  and  most  civilised  of  the 
ancient  races  which  have  covered 
Asia  from  the  prehistoric  period. 
I  will  begin  with  a  file  of  gazettes 
for  1868-70,  adding  as  I  pro- 
ceed the  commentary  necessary  to 
show  the  information  thsy  can  be 
made  to  yield  to  readers  already  in 
possession  of  the  knowledge  needed 
to  supplement  what  has  been  with- 
held, and  correct  what  is  erroneous. 

The    following    memorial    fi^om 


187S] 


The  'Peking  Gazette,' 


255 


Ckung  EoWf  of  more  reoenfc  date 
th&n  any  I  am  aboat  to  produce,  will 
best  serve  as  an  example  in  point. 
When  on  his  way  to  France  on  his 
mission  of  apology  afber  the  Tientsin 
massacre,  and  before  taking  his  de- 
parture fix>m  Hong  Kong  for  Europe, 
tliis  high  officer  (a  fair  type  of  the 
better  order  of  Chinese  statesmen) 
addressed  a  memorial  to  the  !^m- 
peror  requesting  him  to  confer  some 
mark  of  approyal — not  upon  deserr- 
ing  officers  or  good  administrators 
—bat  the  Queen  pf  Heaven  as  a 
re^vard  for  the  way  in  which  she 
bad  recently  looked  after  the  grain 
^unks  upon  the  coast.  The  follow- 
ing may  be  taken  as  a  free  translation 
'ippearing  in  one  of  the  local  news- 
papers at  Shanghae. 

Chung  How  reports  that  having  for 
many  years  filled  the  office  of  Superin- 
•v^ndent  of  Trade,  he  has  had  constant 
f'Ppurtimities  of  observing  to  what  an  ex- 
leat  coasting  craft  and  the  ships  from 
Fukien  and  Kuangtung  depend  upon  the 
gracf  of  the  Queen  of  Heaven,  each  vessel 
haying  on  board  a  tablet  inscribed  to  her. 
In  (Obedience  to  the  Imperial  will,  your 
ijIsTe  is  now  departing  for  foreign  coun- 
tri**5.  having  alrcAdy  passed  by  seven  pro- 
Tiai\8,  namely,  Chihli,  Shantung,  Ki- 
ane^o,  Chekiang,  Fukien,  and  Kuangtung. 
During  this  passage  he  has  observed  that 
all  along  the  ten  or  fifteen  thousand  li 
<i(  coast  vhich  bounds  the  empire,  the 
people  eveiywhere  derive  their  support 
from  lalonr  on  the  sea.  Whether  they 
an^  fishermen  or  salt  collectors,  they  work 
^y  and  night  in  tempest  and  amid  the 
wares.  Therefore  it  is  especially  necessary 
to  invoke  the  mercy  of  the  sacred  spirit  on 
their  behalf.  The  importance  of  the  traffic  by 
H-a  is  enormous,  whether  between  the  ports 
or  with  foreign  countries,  whence  warlike 
stores  of  all  kinds  are  brought  to  supply  our 
wants.  This,  indeed,  demands  even  greater 
attention  than  the  industry  of  the  people ; 
»htrffore  it  is  begged  that  an  honourable 
epithet  may  be  conferred  upon  the  goddess, 
ind  that  offerings  may  regularly  be  made 
kt  hrr  altars,  whereby  the  people  will  be 
''d  to  display  increased  reverence  for  her. 

The  memorial  is  chiefly  interest- 
ng  as  an  evidence  of  two  important 
ftcts,  well  known  and  appreciated 
y  Chnng  How.  IThe  increasing 
lecessity  for  resorting  to  foreign 


steamships  for  the  transport  of  rice 
to  Tientsin — and  the  importance  of 
conciliating  the  native  shipping  in- 
terests suffering  from  the  perma- 
nent sadden  displacement  of  capital, 
and  the  numbers  of  a  sea-faring  po- 
pulation thrown  out  of  employment. 
These  take  to  piracy  as  a  means  of 
subsistence  and  a  natural  alternative, 
as  did  the  sea-kings  of  old  among 
our  Norse  ancestors. 

To  a  superficial  reader  there 
would  very  likely  be  nothing  in  this 
memorial  worthy  of  attention  fur- 
ther than  an  evidence  of  folly  and 
superstition  which  in  usually  as- 
sumed by  foreigners  to  be  the 
common  characteristics  of  the  race. 
But  to  anyone  better  informed  as 
well  as  more  thoughtfully  disposed, 
what  does  it  say  ?  Chung  How 
many  years  employed  as  Superin- 
tendent of  Trade  at  the  Northern 
ports,  has  naturally  had  his  atten- 
tion fixed  on  the  maritime  affairs  of 
the  empire,  and  to  the  trade  on  the 
coast  more  especially.  The  vital 
importance  to  Peking  of  annual 
supplies  of  tribute  rice  from  the 
provinces  for  the  support  of  its 
population,  no  Chinese  official  can 
overlook.  And  ever  since  the  grand 
canal  has  been  partially  destroyed 
for  the  navigation  of  large  junks, 
now  many  years  ago,  the  Court 
has  been  obliged  to  trust  to  the 
more  precarious  means  of  transport 
supplied  by  sea-going  junks.  Of 
late  years  the  aid  of  steamers  has 
been  found  essential,  and  this  has, 
no  doubt,  borne  hardly  on  the 
owners  of  junks  and  their  crews. 

The  desire  to  propitiate  these  by 
an  evidence  of  interest  in  their  wel- 
fare and  prosperity  is  the  true 
motive  and  meaning  of  the  memo- 
rial. That  a  Chinese  high  officer 
should  seek  this  end  by  showing 
honour  to  the  *  Queen  of  Heaven ' — 
rather  than  any  real  boon  to  the 
junk  population,  is  susceptible  of  a 
double  interpretation.  Either  he 
himself  shares  in  the  superstition  of 
his  countrymen,  and  in  a  devout 


256 


The  *  FeUng  Gazette: 


[February 


spirit  thus  sought  to  aid  them — or 
as  a  Statesman  above  such  supersti- 
tions, he  is  yet  willing  to  avail  him- 
self of  its  existence  in  others  to  in- 
fluence their  minds, — and  at  no  cost 
to  himself  confer  a  cheap  benefit  or 
favour  to  which  they  attach  some 
value.  But  assuming  the  first  to  be 
the  true  one,  is  there  anything  more 
foolish  or  superstitious  in  a  Chinese 
high  officer  wishing  the  aid  of  the 

*  Queen  of  Heaven '  as  a  sacred 
spirit  able  to  assist — than  similar 
invocations  from  high  places  to  the 
Roman  Catholic  *  Queen  of  Heaven ' 
— or    in    Protestant  lands  to   the 

*  Lord  of  Hosts '  for  victory  over 


their  enemies  ?  or  for  rain  or  for 
fair  weather  ?  Another  memorial, 
of  Mu'tu-shan,  a  high  officer  on  the 
western  frontier,  prays  that  a 
temple  may  be  erected  to  the  god 
of  war  for  assisting  the  imperial 
troops  against  the  rebels  at  Kan- 
chow.  We  do  not  raise  temples  'to 
the  God  of  Battles '  in  ETm)pe,  hut, 
as  just  observed,  it  is  common 
enough  in  telegrams  and  despatches 
announcing  great  victories, — to  take 
it  for  granted  that  Grod  was  on  the 
side  of  the  victorious,  and  to  give 
Him  the  glory.  Is  it  not  a  difference 
rather  in  name  than  in  fact  ? 
{To  be continwd,) 


1873] 


257 


GUNS  AND  ARMOUR. 
By  Commaxdbr  Wm.  Dawson,  R.N. 


*  rpHB  best  way  to  defend  your  ovni 
X  ships  is  to  attack  the  enemy 
tigoronsly ' — snch,  in  effect,  was  the 
late  Admiral  Farragut's  advice  to 
the  United  States  Fleet  dnring  the 
American  Civil  War.  And  the  old 
Adrairars  example  nobly  seconded 
the  precept,  as,  in  the  wooden  fri- 
gate Hartford  he  fearlessly  led 
his  wood-bnilt  squadrons  through 
lines  of  torpedoes  and  floating  ob- 
strnctions,  past  formidable  bat- 
teries, and  against,  even,  ironclad 
ghipg.  The  defensive  value  of  gun- 
powder smoke  was  well  illustrated 
when  passing  between  long  lines 
of  batteries.  On  such  occasions, 
Admiral  Farragnt  never  returned 
the  fire  in  heavy  shot  or  shell,  but 
in  clouds  of  grape,  which  annoyed 
bis  opponents  and  distracted  their 
aim,  whilst  obscuring  the  sides  of 
his  ships  in  their  own  smoke. 

Such  practical  lessons  in  real  war 
are  apt  to  be  forgotten  by  those  who 
measure  the  relative  values  of  ships 
by  the  thickest  portion  of  their  de- 
fensive armour,  without  respect  to 
their  powers  of  offence.     This  was 
not  the  way  in  olden  times.     Then, 
ships  were  deemed  worthy  a  place 
in  the  line  of  battle  not  because  of 
the  thickness  of  their  sides,  but  be- 
cause of  the  penetrating  powers  of 
their  ordnance.     The  frigate  was  ex- 
cluded from  the  line  of  battle  because 
carrying  12,  i8,  or  24  pounders,  her 
shot  conld  not  perforate  the  thick 
sides  of  the  larger  vessels  ;  and  hori- 
zontal shell  firing  bad  not  yet  been 
introduced.     But    when    the    old 
Qlatton  was  armed  with  68  pounder 
carronades,    capable  of  making    8 
inch  holes  in  thick  wooden  sides  at 
close  quarters,  no  reason  existed  for 
denying  that  frigate  a  place  in  the 
line  of  battle. 

It  was  the  Americans  who  taught 
us  that  frigates  might  have  as  thick 

TOL.  VII. — KO.  MXVIII.     NEW  SERIES. 


scantling  or  timbers,  and  carry  as 
heavy  ordnance,  as  ships  of  the  line. 
And  long  before  the  screw  steam- 
ship era  the  British  Navy  had  adopt- 
ed the  principle  that  every  vessel, 
large  or  small,  should  carry  guns  of 
equal  calibre,  differing  only  in  their 
number  and  in  the  ranges  at  which 
perforation  was  attainable.  One  of 
the  last  and  noblest  unarmoured  steam 
screw  line-of- battle  ships  was  the 
Buhe  of  Wellington^  a  three- decked 
ship  of  6,071  tons  weight,  armed 
with  131  guns.  But  many  steam 
sloops  of  war  and  gunboats  carried 
heavier  though  fewer  ordnance,  and 
no  steam  frigate  was  provided  with 
guns  of  less  calibre.  The  armaments 
were,  in  short,  so  arranged  that  a 
couple  of  frigates,  a  squadron  of 
sloops,  or  a  cloud  of  gunboats  might 
have  successfully  grappled  with 
a  hostile  two  or  three  decked  ship. 
It  was,  in  fact,  the  number  and  not 
the  size  of  the  guns,  muph  less  the 
scantling  of  the  timbers,  which  de- 
termined a  ship's  place  in  the  line 
of  battle.  And  had  a  general  action 
occurred  in  the  steam- screw  wood- 
built  era,  no  admiral  would  have 
been  justified  in  ordering  the  fri- 
gates, sloops  and  gunboats  to  hold 
aloof  from  the  engagement. 

The  armaments  of  modern  ships 
are  no  longer  arranged  on  the  prin- 
ciples painfully  taught  us  by  the 
Americans  in  181 2*;  but,  rather,  on 
the  system  which  prevailed  in  ante- 
cedent times.  So  that  British 
wooden  ships  are  expected  to  run 
away  from  hostile  ironclads,  how- 
ever thin  their  armour.  Only  one 
unarmoured  frigate,  the  Inconstant, 
could  come  successfully  out  of  such 
an  encounter.  The  captain  of  the 
Inconstant  would  certainly  deserve 
to  be  shot  if  that  ship  did  not 
thrash  such  foes  as  our  own  iron- 
clads   Zealous,    Warrior,  Minotaur, 

T 


268 


Guns  and  Aitnour. 


[February 


Ac,  or  at  least  if  he  didn't  try 
to  do  BO.  Bat  he  might  well  be 
deterred  from  sseking  an  artillery 
encoanter  with  the  Peter  the  Great, 
Beeing  that  the  IneonstanVa  arma- 
ment could  not  perforate  the  Bus- 
Bian's  armour.  Similarly,  it  would 
be  madness  for  any  half-dozen  other 
British  unarmoured  fiigates  to  enter 
upon  an  artillery  combat  with  the 
weakest  hostile  ironclad,  theii^  arma- 
ments being  gauged  for  perforating 
their  own  sides  rafcher  than  those 
of  possible  foes.  It  seems  from  this  to 
be  an  accepted  dogma  that  British 
unarmoured  frigates  shall  always 
decline  to  fight  hostile  ironclads. 
It  is  well,  however,  to  note  that  the 
foe  would  not  obtain  the  command 
of  those  seas  so  much  because  of  the 
thickness  of  his  armour,  as  because 
of  the  weakness  of  British  arma« 
ments.  This  point  is  of  some  im- 
portance on  distant  seas,  as  we  can- 
not hope  to  have  British  ironclads 
at  evcjry  possible  point  where  a  hos- 
tile armoured  ship  may  appear. 
And  it  is  simply  absurd  that  fifth- 
rate  powers  in  the  Pacific  or  South- 
ern Oceans  should  bo  able  to  drive 
British  squadrons  from  their  shores 
by  the  action  of  single  ironclads. 

No  doubt  there  always  would  be 
great  risk  in  pitting  an  unarmoured 
ship  against  an  ironclad,  whatever 
their  respective  armaments  ;  bnt  in 
the  case  of  an  unmaritime  foe  the 
hardihood  involved  is  no  greater 
than  we  have  a  right  to  expect 
from  British  seamen.  If  Farragut 
could  successfully  lead  his  badly 
armed  wood-built?  ships  against  bad- 
ly armoured  ironclads  manned  by 
Anglo-Saxons  like  himself,  surely 
British  seamen,  if  allowed  to  have 
well-armed  wooden  ships,  might  be 
expected  to  risk,  on  occasion,  an 
artillery  encounter  with  a  well- 
armoured  ironclad  belonging  to  cer- 
tain weak  naval  powers.  Seaman- 
like skill,  pluck,  and  historical  tra- 
ditions, will  always  stand  for  some 
inches  of  armour  ;  and  where  these 
happen  to  be   all  on   our  side,  no 


unnecessary    physical  impediment 
to  their  employment  ought  to  exist. 

When,  however,  *  Greek  meets 
Greek,  then  comes  the  tug  of  war  •/ 
and  when  the  British  seaman  meets 
*  a  foeman  worthy  of  his  steel,*  then 
he  may  fairly  take  into  account  the 
relative  thicknesses  of  the  opposing 
armour.  Nevertheless,  even  then, 
he  would  do  well  to  weigh  first  the 
respective  armaments.  Let  us  sup- 
pose two  hostile  ironclads  to  meet  on 
equal  terms  in  every  respect  except 
as  regards  their  armour  and  arma- 
ment. Let  the  guns  on  either  side 
be  capable  of  perforating  the  other's 
armour  at  the  extreme  hithig  or  non- 
glancing,  angle.  Then,  it  matters 
comparatively  little  that  one  ship  is 
plated  a  couple  of  inches  thicker  than 
the  other.  But  it  would  matter  im- 
mensely if  the  ship  with  the  thinner 
armour  carried  the  weight  of  the 
missing  two-inch  plates  in  the  form 
of  extra  artillery.  K  by  throwing 
off  a  couple  of  inches  of  armour, 
double  the  number  of  heavy  guns 
capable  of  perforating  the  thicker 
plates  could  be  carried,  then,  equal 
skill  and  pluck  being  assumed,  the 
chances  of  victory  are  doubled. 

We  speak  now  simply  of  the  ar- 
tillery duel,  and  we  assume  what  is 
probably  true,  that  British  artille- 
rists are  ignorant  of  the  vulnerable 
points  of  hostile  ships,  and  woold 
aim  as  though  all  parts  were 
equally  thickly  plated.  But  we 
need  hardly  point  out  that  future 
naval  combats  will  not  necessarily 
be  decided  invariably  by  artillery; 
and  that  the  thickest  plates  cover 
a  very  small  portion  of  the  ship,  a 
portion  which  an  intelligent  gun- 
ner would  carefully  avoid  if  beyond 
the  perforating  powers  of  his  par- 
ticular weapon.  Wlien  we  see  cer- 
tain thickly  plated  ships  tenderly 
convoyed  by  more  seaworthy  vessels 
from  Sheerness  to  Portsmouth,  from 
Portsmouth  to  Portland,  and  back 
again  in  the  same  way,  at  midsum- 
mer and  after  careful  barometrical 
studies,  the  authorities  holding  their 


187SJ 


Guns  and  Armour. 


259 


breath  tightly  when  sncli  ships  are 
outside  of  land-locked  harbours,  the 
proper  way  of  attacking  such  ves- 
sels in  the  open  sea  wonld  obviously 
not  be  by  artillery  fire.  Still,  the 
defensive  use  of  towing  torpedoes 
by  snch  low-freeboard  ships  might 
save  them  from  being  run  over  by 
more  seaworthy  high-nided  vessels, 
and  compel  an  unslalful  foe  to  rely 
exclusively  on  his  artiUery.  It  is,  in- 
deed, on  the  assumption  that  naval 
torpedoes  will  be  defensively  em- 
ployed by  every  ship,  as  safeguards 
against  being  rammed,  that  the 
question  of  guns  and  armour  retains 
its  old  importance. 

The  ims^inary  ironclads,  ArtiUer- 
ist  and  Architect^  differ  only  in  their 
armour  and  armament.  The  ArchU 
ted  is  own  sister  to  the  Devastation^ 
protected  by  12  incb  plates  and 
armed  witb  four  35  ton  guns ;  and 
i\iQ  Artillerist  \%  covered  with  10  inch 
plates,  but  armed  with  fourteen  35 
ton  guns.  These  guns  are  so  rifled 
that  they  will  not  destroy  themselves, 
during  training  practice,  in  38  hori- 
zontal discbarges,  but  are  capable 
of  enduring  a  well-contested  naval 
action.  Moreover,  as  such  mecha- 
nical rifling  bas  not  '  decidedly  the 
lowest  velocities,'  and  does  not 
compel  the  employment  of  reduced 
charges  as  at  present,  the  35  ton 
gnn  would  consequently  perforate 
the  1 2  inch  plate  at  an  angle  of  40° 
as  readily  as  it  would  the  10  inch 
plate.  Practically,  then,  both  ships 
are  equally  pervious  to  the  other's 
ordnance.  Bat  the  Artillerist  is  able 
to  discharge  fourteen  700  lb.  shells 
for  ererj  four  discharged  by  the 
Architect.  If  only  10  per  cent,  of 
each  discbarge  prove  to  be  good 
hits,  perforating  the  opponent's 
side,  the  advantage  will  still  be 
enormously  in  fovour  of  the  ArtiU 
lenst. 

No  doubt  the  Architects  12  incb 
armour  wonld  stand  her  in  good 
stead  as  against  a  ship  armed  with 
lighter  ordnance;  and  so  long  as 
ships  are  armed  for  the  perforation 


of  tbeir  own  sides,  and  not  for 
penetrating  those  of  any  enemy 
they  may  fall  in  with,  the  Architect's 
defensive  superiority  is  advan- 
tageous. If,  however,  all  ships 
were  provided  with  35  ton  guns,  in 
number  proportioned  to  their  ton- 
nage, the  Architects  defensive 
superiority  would  be  of  small 
avail.  It  is  only  an  unmechanical 
rifling  which  limits  the  endur- 
ance and  size  of  guns.  If  this  ri- 
fling were  got  rid  of,  there  would 
be  no  reason  why  50  ton  guns  shbuld 
not  be  built  to  perforate  24  inch 
plates ;  and  the  same  argument 
would,  therefore,  obtain  should  the 
Architect  be  clothed  in  armour  of 
double  thickness,  which  would  be 
penetrable  to  mechanically  rifled 
ordnance. 

The  questions  tbence  arise :  Why 
should  not  the  Artillerist  be  stripped 
of  her  armour  2  inches  farther,  and 
have  that  weight  substituted  in 
guns  ?  and  What  is  the  limit  to 
this  diminution  of  armour  and  in- 
crease in  number  of  the  heaviest 
ordnance?  Obviously  there  is  a 
point  at  which  space  forbids  ad- 
ditional weapons  ;  and  there  is  also 
a  point  at  which  the  perforation  of 
the  less  heavy  guns  commonly 
carried,  say  the  12^  ton  guns, 
begins.  Again,  there  is  a  thickness 
of  armour  and  backing,  at  which 
the  perforating  700  lb.  shell  ceases 
to  do  the  maximum  of  destructive 
work.  Let  us  suppose  that  ex- 
perimental research  determines  8 
inch  armour  to  be  the  correct  via 
media.  Then  a  very  broad  short 
ship,  clothed  from  end  to  end  in  8 
inch  armour,  thinned  towards  tho 
extremities,  and  mounting  about 
ten  35  ton  guns  on  each  broad- 
side, would  form  the  artillerist's 
ideal  of  an  extremely  offensive  iron- 
clad. 

The  artillery  duel  off  Portland,  on 
the  5th  of  July  last,  resulting,  as  it 
did,  in  the  signal  defeat  of  the  gun 
by  the  armour,  has  revived  tho 
general  interest  in  this  question. 


260 


Chi7i8  and  Armour, 


[February 


Artillerists,  nettled  at  the  publio 
failure  of  the  gun,  have  set  them- 
selves to  work  to  explain  that  the 
system  of  rifling  which  is  oflBcially 
reported  to  have  *  decidedly  the 
lowest  velocities '  must  have  deci- 
dedly the  least  penetration.  And, 
critically  examining  the  unmecha^- 
nical  contrivances  which  cause  the 
French  rifling  to  have  *  decidedly 
the  lowest  velocities,'  they  trace  it 
to  the  system  of  balancing  the  shot 
on  two  points  nearly  under  its  centre 
of  gravity,  and  of  concentrating  the 
rotatory  efibrt  upon  one  of  these 
points.  This  short  rifle-bearing,  as 
it  is  called,  fails  to  steady  and  to 
centre  the  projectile  in  the  barrel, 
and  the  irregular  motions  within 
the  gun  cause  the  absorption  of 
power,  as  evidenced  by  the  marks 
made  upon  the  bore,  upon  the  rifle- 
bearings,  and  upon  the  base  of  the 
shot.  Moreover,  these  irregular 
motions  greatly  increase  in  violence 
when  large  powder  charges  are 
employed,  causing  accumulations  of 
gases  behind  the  shot,  which  further 
enhance  the  irregularities.  To  limit 
these  motions  and  accumulations, 
the  powder  charge  is  reduced  far 
below  that  which  the  bore  could 
otherwise  usefully  consume,  with  a 
corresponding  diminution  of  velocity 
and  perforating  power.  If  the  shot 
were  free  to  escape  along  the  centre 
of  the  bore  without  thus  wedging 
its  rifle-bearings  over  the  edges  of 
the  grooves,  it  would  not  have 
*  decidedly  the  lowest  velocities ; ' 
and  the  artillery  duel  off"  Portland 
might  have  had  a  very  different 
result. 

However,  the  encounter  between 
the  25  ton  gun  of  the  Hotspur  and 
the  14  inch  plate  protecting  the 
fi^ont  of  the  Glutton* s  turret  does 
not  dishearten  ai'tillerists.  True, 
neither  the  25  ton  nor  the  35  ton  gun 
can  at  present  employ  all  the  powder 
fchey  could  usefully  burn.  True, 
they  have  '  decidedly  the  lowest 
velocities,*  and,  consequently,  strike 
weak  blows.     True,  they  have  very 


small  endurance,   and   cannot   be 
fired  continuously,    or   with  high 
elevations,  or  with  long  projectiles, 
lest  their  end  should  be  still  more 
untimely.     But  the  cause  is  evident 
and  removable.     The  able  Principal 
of  the  School  of  Naval  Architec- 
ture told  the   British  Association 
that '  the  consent  of  all  mechanicians 
and  engineers  with  whom  he  had 
ever  conversed  was  absolutely  un- 
animous in  the  condemnation  of  the 
"  Woolwich  "  system  of  rifling,  and 
that  he  had.  never  heard  any  serious 
defence  of  it.'      Nobody  has  aught 
but  praise  for  British-built  ordnance. 
Nobody  has  aught  but  blame  for  the 
misapplication    of    power     within 
them.      Hardly  a  single  qaarterly 
training  practice  takes  place  in  the 
British  Fleet  without  one  or  more 
of  the  heavier  guns  being  disabled 
whilst  discharging  eight  projectiles 
each  at  canvas  targets.     Tet  the 
guns  are  strong  enough,    and  no 
addition  of  metal  would    prevent 
these  mishaps.    The  rifle-bearing  is 
only  one  inch  in  each  g^ove,  whether 
the  shot  be  115  lbs.  or  700  lbs.  in 
weight.     Hence,  the  larger  the  gun 
and  its  projectile,  the  more  suicidal 
the  unmechanical  action  of  the  pro- 
jectile.    Thus  a  6^  ton   gun  may 
discharge  its  115  lb.   projectiles  a 
thousand     times     without     much 
injury ;   but  when  a   25    ton  gun 
does   so   200    times,    spread    over 
several  months,  at  low  elevations, 
and  with  reduced  charges  of  slow- 
burning  powder,  the  official  Manual 
of  Naval  Ghmnery  records  the  fact  as 
*  proving  that  their  powers  of  en- 
durance are  most  satisfactory ' !  and 
when  a  1 2  inch  35  ton  gun  la  found 
to  have  four  cracks  and  four  fissures 
in  the  grooved  part  of  the  bore, 
necessitating  its  being  rebuilt,  after 
only  38  slow  discharges  with  low- 
elevations  and  short  projectiles,  a 
dozen  more  of  the  same  kind  are 
ordered   for  the   British  Navy  to 
fight  with. 

Though  the  gun  failure  at  Port- 
land was  far  more  attributable  to 


W3] 


Ouns  and  Armour, 


261 


that  system  of  rifliog  which  *  has 
decidedly  the  lowest  velocities '  than 
to  the  resistance  of  the  14  inch 
armonr,  it  must  be  observed  that  the 
conditions  of  the  experiment  were 
highly  favourable  to  the  artillerist. 
The  two  ships  were  fastened  to- 
gether at  a  carefully  measured  dis- 
tance of  two  hundred  yards ;  the 
water  was  smooth  as  a  mill-pond, 
the  air  without  a  breath,  the  plane 
0^  the  armour  fairly  at  right  angles 
to  the  path  of  the  projectile,  the  aim 
deliherately  taken  after  two  blank  and 
fire  shotted  preliminary  discharges, 
a  well-trained  crew  working  the 
best  mechanical  broadside  carriage 
in  the  world  obeyed  the  marksman's 
behests,  and  everything  that  cool 
iikill  could  suggest  contributed  to 
fa7oiir  the  gan.  Of  the  five  pre- 
liminary shot,  four  were  aimed  at  a 
canvas  target  placed  on  the  Glatton's 
deck  near  the  turret,  and  one  at  the 
turret  itself;  these  shot  played 
ronnd  their  bull's-eyes,  as  expected, 
near  enough  to  them  to  prove  the 
accuracy  of  aim,  but  so  uncertainly 
as  to  ilJQstrate  the  imperfect  rota- 
tion incidental  to  the  unmechanical 
rifling.  The  fifth  shot,  indeed,  in 
its  irregularity  of  flight,  missed  the 
turret  altogether,  and  the  two  hit- 
ting shot — the  sixth  and  seventh — 
each  struck  eighteen  inches  below 
their  marks;  yet  these  last  two 
shot  appeared  to  strike  fairly  at 
right  angles,  and  to  penetrate  as 
deep  as  previoas  experience  led 
scientific  artillerists  to  expect  from 
a  shot  projected  under  that  system 
of  rifling  whicb  *has  decidedly 
the  lowest  velocities.'  The  shot 
did  not  get  through  the  sides,  the 
working  parte  of  the  turret  were 
onharmed,  and  the  internal  damages 
were  insufficient  to  have  caused 
even  a  temporary  cessation  of  fire 
in  action. 

Yet  the  conditions  of  the  experi- 
ment were  exceptionally  favourable 
to  penetration .  The  loss  of  velocity 
due  to  the  200  yards  range  between 
the  Hotspur  and  the  Olation  was 


only  25  feet  per  second;  and  a  12 
inch  600  lb.  shot,  which  left  the 
gun  at  the  rate  of  1,357  feet  per 
second,  would  have  struck  at  200 
yards  the  necessary  blow  of  7,378 
foot- tons ;  but  the  charge  employed 
would  only  drive  the  shot  at  the 
maximum  velocity  of  1,300  feet, 
striking,  at  200  yards'  distance,  a 
blow  of  6,788  tons,  which,  though 
ample  to  perforate  the  12  inch  side, 
was  unequal  to  getting  thi*ough 
the  14  inch  plates  in  front  of  tho 
turret. 

Now,  naval  combats  are  not  likely 
to  be  fought  out  in  a  miU-pond  be- 
tween two  immovable  ships  se- 
curely fastened  to  one  another,  and 
the  circumstances  under  which  shot 
would  impinge  on  the  armoured 
side  of  a  ship  at  right  angles,  hori- 
zontally and  vertically,  will  so 
rarely  meet,  that  they  may  be  re- 
garded as  accidental.  If  the  ex- 
treme angle  of  incidence  at  which 
penetration  would  take  place  be 
about  40°,  then  the  14  inch  plate 
would  present  at  that  angle  a 
diagonal  depth  of « about  20  inches 
to  be  perforated.  To  accomplish 
this,  the  600  lb.  shot  must  leave 
the  gun  at  the  rate  of  1,560  feet,  or 
a  700  lb.  shot  of  the  same  (12  inch) 
calibre  must  do  so  at  the  rate  of 
1,440  feet,  striking,  in  cither  case, 
a  blow  of  9,737  foot-tons.  But 
neither  the  25  ton  nor  the  35  ton 
gun,  as  at  present  rifled,  on  the 
system  which  yields  *  decidedly  the 
lowest  velocities,'  project  their  re- 
spective shot  faster  than  1,300  feet 
per  second,  and  neither  could  per- 
forate the  Glatton'a  turret  at  the 
extreme  biting  or  non-glancing 
angle.  The  loss  due  to  the  unme- 
chanical  rifling  is  mainly  twofold — 
(i)  in  restraining  the  free  escape 
of  the  shot,  and  (2)  in  compelling 
the  employment  of  a  greatly  re- 
duced powder  charge — and  is  equi- 
valent in  these  1 2  inch  guns  to  the 
perforation  of  about  two  additional 
inches  of  armour.  Though  the 
Olatton'a  turret  might  be  expected 


262 


Guvs  and  Armour, 


to  be  far  more  impervious  to  British 
gans  as  now  rifled,  in  the  open  sea, 
than  even  as  witnessed  at  Portland, 
yet  it  is  clear  that  its  impenetra- 
bility is  dne  rather  to  the  lack  of 
velocity  in  the  shot  than  to  exces- 
sive thickness  of  armour. 

Another  consideration  which  com- 
forts the  artillerist  under  the  defeat 
at  Portland  is,  that  the  14  inch 
armour  covers  only  a  very  few 
superficial  feet  of  the  Glatton,  The 
experiment  teaches  him  to  avoid 
that  small  impenetrable  area,  both 
because  of  its  impenetrability  under 
the  present  slow-velocity  rifling, 
and  because  of  the  difficulties  of 
aiming  at  so  small  a  target.  No 
artillerist  would  aim  at  the  14  inch 
plated  turret  front,  though  if  en- 
gaging to  leeward,  with  the  hostile 
turret  inclined  towards  him,  he 
might  risk  a  shot  at  its  open  top. 
Should  the  foe  take  up  a  leeward 
position  to  avoid  exposing  the 
open  turret  top,  then  the  inclined 
deck  to  windward  would  intercept 
her  own  fire,  except  when  the 
battle  raged  nearly  abeam.  When 
the  Devastation  was  undergoing 
her  speed  trials  in  smooth  water, 
it  was  found  that  when  turning 
at  full  speed  the  action  of  the  water 
on  the  submerged  portion  of  the 
hull  caused  her  to  heel  steadily  4**. 
A  similar  heel  would  probably  be 
produced  by  the  action  of  a  strong 
breeze  upon  the  balloon- shaped  sur- 
faces beneath  the  hurricane  deck, 
-which  are  at  least  as  large  as  the 
largest  sail  carried  by  any  ship. 
If  with  such  a  heel  the  guns  were 
levelled  for  the  horizon  on  the  wea- 
ther or  upper  side,  their  shot  would 
pass  through  the  deck  when  laid 
abeam,  and  through  the  armoured 
breastwork  when  laid  a  few  points 
forward  or  aft.  Evidently,  then, 
the  Devastation  would,  under  such 
circumstances,  try  to  keep  her  foe 
to  leeward,  and  if  the  heave  of  the 
sea  seriously  increased  the  heel  the 
open  turret  top  would  become  ex- 
posed to  a  marksman's  aim.     With 


[February 


this  exception,  it  would  be  thedatj 
of  the  gunner  to  aim  at  the  most 
%'ulnerable  portion  of  the  hull,  and 
as  a  rule  this  ofiers  much  the  largest 
target. 

As  between  the  Glatton  and  the 
broadside  or  fixed-turret  ship  Hot- 
spur,  the  experiment  proves  nothing. 
For  if  the  turret  of  the  Glatton  were 
ten    times    stronger,   her  fighting 
capabilities  would  be  very  sfightlj 
affected.    Such  a  low  freeboard  ship 
would  in  a  general  action  at  sea  bo 
very  easily  run  over,  if  it  did  not 
voluntarily  go  to  the  bottom  before 
the  action  began.     And,  as  we  have 
said,   no    artillerist  in    his  senses 
would  aim  at   the   14   inch  plates 
when     the    perforation    of   mnch 
thinner  ones  would  more  speedily 
sink  the  vessel.    On  the  other  hand, 
the  Hotspur* s  rencontre  with  an  Irish 
pig-boat  in  smooth  water  is  not  losi; 
upon  seamen.   And  it  is  well  kno^n 
that  when  the  Hotspur  accompinied 
the  squadron  in  the  Englbh  Chan- 
nel,   in  midsummer,    the    admiral 
was    ordered    to   send    that   ship 
into  port  the  moment  the  barometer 
looked  suspicious — an  order  which 
was     faithfully     complied     with. 
Moreover,  the  Hotspur's  armament 
affords  the   extremest   example  of 
that    tendency    to    diminution  of 
offensive  power  manifested  in  suc- 
cessive armoured  types.     Every  ton 
of  ordnance  is  floated  by  125  tons 
weight    of    ship    in    the   Hot»ynr, 
whereas  in  the  Royal  A  If  red,  an  old 
ironclad,  the  proportion  is  one  ton 
of  ordnance   to   every   38  tons  of 
ship,  and   the  unarmoured  Incon- 
stant carries  one  ton  of  armament 
for  every  35   tons  of  ship.     In  this 
respect  the  Glatton  is  only  less  ob- 
jectionable than  her  late  amicable 
opponent,  supporting  each  ton  of  gun 
upon  97  tons  weight  of  ship.    That 
the  offensive  artillery  powers  ara 
gradually   reaching     a     vanishing 
point,  will  be  made  clearer  when 
we   state    that  whilst   the  Biaztf 
of    218    tons    w^eight    carries  one 
18    ton   gun,    a    25     ton    gun  is 


1873] 


Guns  and  Armour, 


263 


I  floated  npon  4,010  tons  of  ship  in 
the  Hotspur.  Of  course,  the  obvious 
explanation  is  that  the  Blazer  is  a 
slow  unarmoured  vessel  intended 
fo  operate  in  shoal  veaters,  but  ca- 
pable of  going  round  the  world, 
and  the  Hotspur  is  a  fast,  low-free- 
I  board,  breast-work  ironclad  ship, 
too  deep  for  harbour  defence,  and 
less  qualified  for  coast  defence  than 
a  more  seaworthy  vessel. 

Whenever  a  ship  is  found  unsafe 
or  nnseawortbj,  it  has  become  cus- 
tomarj  to    class  her  as  a  coast- 
defence  ship,  under  the  misappre- 
hension that  a  less  degree  of  sea- 
worthiness   is     necessEuy    on    the 
coasts  of  Great  Britain  than  else- 
where.   No  doubt,  in  the  case  of 
shallow-draft  boats  the  contiguity 
of  land  is  advantageous  in  threaten- 
ing weather,  as  they  can  find  shelter 
in  many  small  creeks  and  estuaries. 
Bnt  when  the  vessel  requires   19 
feet  of  smooth   water  to  float  in, 
land  under  the  lee  is  a  questionable 
comph'cation  of  the  situation.  Such 
a  ship  cruising  in  Cardigan  Bay,  or 
on  the  east  coast  of  England,  dare 
not  approach  the  land  in  a  heavy 
gale,  and  must   be  driven  at  full 
steam  power  against  wind  and  sea. 
Whereas   in  open    water    prudent 
seamanship    would    relax  the   en- 
gines and  present  the  bow  rather 
than  the  stem  to  the  vraves.      That 
is  to  say,  in  an  Atlantic  storm  the 
ship  can  be  relieved  in  compliance 
with  the  requirements  of  wind  and 
sea,  making   good  weather  of  it; 
but  embayed,  or  with  a  long  stretch 
of  coast  under   the   lee,   no  such 
relief  could  be  accorded,  the  govern- 
ing condition  being  the  rocks  to 
leeward.  Hence,  for  large  and  heavy 
ships,  seaworthiness  is  demanded  in 
a  greater  degree  in  coast  warfare 
than  in   ocean    cruising.      K  any 
distinction    be     admitted  between 
coast-defence    ships  and  others,  it 
should     only    be    as    to   carrying 
capacity  and  depth.    For  such  pur- 
poses, the  gunboat  class,  carrying 
tlte  heaviest  ^ans  on  a  light  draft 


and  small  tonnage,  are  infinitely 
superior  to  any  other.  Moreover, 
such  vessels  can  live  in  any  weather, 
and  mighty  on  occasion,  be  employed 
for  the  only  true  British  coast  de- 
fence, viz.  that  of  the  enemy's 
waters. 

Looking  to  the  future  of  iron- 
clads, it  seems  not  unlikely  that 
great  breadth  of  beam  and  much 
thicker  armour  will  be  given. 
Turrets  will  probably  be  discarded, 
and  the  guns  will  be  raised  and 
lowered  somewhat  after  the  Mon- 
criefif  fashion.  In  due  time,  the 
gunners  will  become  sufficiently 
intelligent  to  rebel  against  a  system 
of  gun  mounting  which,  however 
advantageous  on  land,  is  utterly 
unsuited  to  naval  warfare.  The 
lowering  apparatus  will  cease  to  be 
used,  and  the  guns  will  be  fought 
en  barbette  or  with  a  light  covering 
to  keep  out  lead  bullets.  Then, 
after  a  time,  fashion  may  be  ex- 
pected to  come  back  to  a  modi- 
fication of  the  broadside  system.  It 
depends  much  on  the  policy  adopted 
by  other  maritime  nations  as  to 
the  rate  of  progress.  But  there 
are  no  signs  at  present  of  intelligent 
artillerists  having  a  voice  in  naval 
armaments,  or  of  offence  having 
reached  its  lowest  ebb.  Defence 
will,  doubtless,  for  some  time  hold 
sway.  Nor  is  the  system  to  be 
undervalued  which  compels  a  rapid- 
ly progressive  diminution  of  en- 
durance in  ordnance^  If,  by  pre- 
senting 14  inch  armour  to  a  foe,  he 
is  compelled  to  employ  a  35  ton 
gun  which  gives  way  at  the  38th 
horizontal  discharge  spread  dyer 
four  months,  and  may  be  expected 
to  give  way  at  the  20th  battering 
charge  in  quick  firing  with  elevation, 
those  20  discharges  only  making 
two  good  hits,  then  victory  is 
gained  through  the  mere  weakness 
of  the  guns.  If,  then,  a  20  inch 
plate  be  presented  to  the  foe,  a  50 
ton  gun  throwing  a  1,000  lb.  shot 
must  meet  it.  But,  if  rifled  on  the 
same   unmechanical   principles    as 


2G4 


Guns  and  Armour, 


[February  1873 


other  Britisli  guns,  the  process  of 
self-destruction  may  reasonably  be 
expected  to  progress  in  a  similar 
ratio  to  that  of  the  25  ton  and  the 
35  ton  guns.  Then,  the  50  ton 
gun  might  endure  about  20  fuU- 
qifantity  powder  charges  when 
fired  slowly  and  horizontally,  and 
half  that  number  when  fired  quickly 
with  elevation.  If  not  previously 
disabled  whilst  training  the  crew, 
each  50  ton  gun  might  make  one 
good  hit  before  receiving  the  coup 
de  grace  from  its  own  projectile. 
Victory  would  remain  as  before  with 
the  20  inch  armour  owing  to  the 
self-destroying  agencies  at  work 
within  the  gun  in  the  effort  of  the 
1,000  lb.  shot  to  escape  at  the  speed 
necessary  for  the  complete  perfora- 
tion of  the  plate. 

The  naval  architect  must  not, 
however,  suppose  that  common 
sense  will  always  be  excluded  from 
the  Ordnance  Department.  Naval 
artillerists  may,  it  is  to  be  hoped, 
become  in  time  sufficiently  edu- 
cated to  make  their  experience 
valuable  to    the  country.       Their 


voices  will  then  command  an  at- 
tention which  it  does  not  now 
receive.  And  when  the  rifling 
system,  which  is  alone  responsible 
for  the  rapid  destruction  of  British 
guns,  is  abolished,  then  the  'powers 
of  endurance '  of  50  ton  or  70  ton 
guns  will  be  at  least  more  '  satis- 
fiwtory '  than  those  of  the  present 
heavy  ordnance;  whilst  they  will  be 
able  to  employ  the  largest  powder 
charges  which  their  respective  bores 
can  consume.  They  will  not  then 
have  *  decidedly  the  lowest  velo- 
cities,' and  as  their  shot  rattle 
through  the  20  inch  armour  at 
every  biting  angle,  the  question 
will  arise  whether  more  such  guns 
and  less  armour  would  not  be  more 
effective  in  the  day  of  battle.  Mean- 
while, it  is  evident  that,  whatever 
be  the  results  of  single  shot  fired 
at  fixed  targets  at  Shoebur3rne8s, 
naval  victories  are  likely  to  favour 
those  who  have  the  thickest  armour, 
provided  the  foe  is  thus  compelled 
to  employ  ordnance  which  has  *  the 
lowest  velocities*  and  the  least 
endurance. 


FRASER'S      MAGAZINE. 


EDITED  BT 


JAMES  ANTHONY  FROUDE,  M.A. 


NbwSebibs.  march  1873.  Vol.  VII.— No.  XXXIX. 


CONTENXa 

PAGE 

TEE  TBANSFBB  OF  LAND.^Bt  Abthub  Abnold 265 

A  FLEA  FOR  BLACK  BARTHOLOMEW.— Bt  Jakes  Macdoksll  2t9 

CAUSES    OF    THE   FRICTION   BETWEEN    THE   UNITED    STATES 

AND  ENGLAND. — ^Bt  tee  Axtthob  of  'Fbbmibb  aivd  Fbbsident'   ...  293 

A  FEW  WORDS  ON  FHILOLOGY  804 

THE  COMING  TRANSIT  OF  VENUS.— Bt  Richard  A.  Pboctob,  B.A.  322 

OUR  SEAMEN    332 

THE  PEKING  GAZETTE.    Pabt  II.— Bt  Sib  Ruthebfobd  Aloocx,  E.O.B.  341 

BRA  TMHT.TgRRRRrRa 358 

THE  PARIS  COMMUNE  OF  1871.— Bt  Genebal  Cltobbet  360 

THE  IRISH  SCHOOLMASTER  AND  THE  IRISH  PRIEST 385. 


LONDON: 

LONGMANS,    GREEN,    AND  CO. 

1873. 


FRASER'S  MAGAZINE  for  FEBRUARY  1873 


CONTAINS 

THE  DOMINION  OF  CANADA.--BT  Cyril  Gbjlbjlv. 

WITTENBERG  AND  COLOGNE.— Bt  Db.  Schwajbtz. 

JUSTICES  OF  THE  PEACE. 

JAGANNATH  AND  HIS  WORSHIP. 

CHARLES  DE  MONTALEMBERT. 

A  SKETCH  OF  CHARLES  LEVER. 

DAILY  WORK  IN  A  NORTH-WEST  DISTRICT.— By  an  Indiak  OrnaiL. 

PLYMOUTH.--BY  Richard  Johk  Kino. 

BRAMBLEBERRIES. 

THE  ORIGINAL  PROPHET.— Bt  a  Visitor  to  Salt  Lake  City. 

SUGGESTIONS  TOWARDS  MAKING  BETTER  OF  IT.— By  A.  K.  H.  B. 

THE  PEKING  GAZETTE,'-By  Sib  Ruthebfobd  Alcock,  K.C.B. 

GUNS  AND  ARMOUR.— By  Commahdkb  Wm.  Dawsok,  R,N. 


NOTICE  TO  CORRESPONDENTS. 

'OorreypondeiUe  a/re  desired  to  observe  tliat  all  Communications  must  he 
addressed  direct  to  the  Editor, 

Bejeeted  Coniributions  cannot  be  returned. 


FRASER'S    MAGAZINE. 


MARCH   1873. 


THE  TRANSFER  OF  LAND. 


IN  Uiese  days  of  wonderful  projects, 
when  there  seems  no  limit  to 
eredalitj  and  capital,  nor  to  the 
wildness  and  bigness  of  engineer- 
ing schemes,  one  is  almost  surprised 
that  we  have  had  no  proposal  for 
filling  up  St.  George's  Channel,  so 
that  a  railway  could  be  made  direct 
from  Cork  to  Bristol  and  from  Bel- 
fast to  Liverpool.  It  would  be  a 
grand  work  ;  but  I  hope  I  may  be 
pardoned  if,  while  I  avoid  giving 
any  outline  of  the  underta£bg,  I 
glance  at  a  few  of  the  political 
results  which  it  seems  to  me  would 
be  advantageous  to  Great  Britain — 
except  in  one  respect ;  we  should 
lose  the  eminent  services  which 
Ireland  has  rendered  and  is  render- 
ing to  the  United  Kingdom  as  a 
trial-ground,  and  as  a  motive  power 
for  great  reforms. 

For  the  easy  progress  which  the  li- 
beralisation of  government  has  made 
in  England,  Ireland  possesses  great 
indirect  claims  upon  our  gratitude. 
The  trade  of  tbe  empire,  which,  as 
Mr.    Qiadstone    truly     says,    has 
augmented  by   leaps  and  bounds, 
might  still  have  been  confined  by 
what  we  should  now  regard  as  a 
fanaine  price  of  wheat,  hi^  not  the 
attitnde  of  Ireland,  in  consequence 
of  the  potato  disease,  set  finn  the 
swaying  mind  of  Peel  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Free  Trade.     We  have  the 
record  of  this  influence  upon  his 
own   confession,  and  was  it  not  to 
the  same  agitation  that  the  Duke  of 
Wellington  conceded  that  bare  mea- 
sare  of  justice  to  which,  as  a  citizen 

TOI*.  VII.— NO.  XXXIX.    NEW  SERIES. 


of  a  free  country,  I  blush  to  refer 
under  the  common  title  of  Catho- 
lic 'Emancipation ' — as  though  reli- 
gious liberty  were  not  the  unques- 
Sonable,  inalienable  birthright  of 
every  individual  in  such  a  commu- 
nity P  I  shall  not  lay  much  stress 
upon  the  Irish  Church  Act^  because 
tbe  circumstances  were  so  different 
from  those  which  surround  the  sis- 
ter Establishment  in  this  country ; 
but  had  Ireland  been  as  Wales  is, 
a  part  of  the  mainland,  I  doubt 
very  much  if  even  Mr.  Gladstone's 
burning  sense  of  justice  would  have 
enabled  him  ere  this  to  have  re- 
moved an  anomaly  so  scandalous, 
one  which  could  only  be  matched 
by  the  establishment— which,  thank 
God,  is,  we  know,  impossible — of 
Roman  Catholic  supremacy  in  this 
Protestant  land.  And  finally  I 
come  to  the  Land  Laws  of  Ireland ; 
in  regard  to  which  she  is  now  under 
a  regime  so  different  from  that 
wbich  prevails  in  England.  But 
who  will  assert  that  these  whole- 
some and  liberal  changes  would 
have  been  enacted  had  it  not  been 
that  the  lawless  condition  of  the 
country,  and  the  miserable  involve- 
ments of  so  many  of  the  landowners, 
compelled  the  establishment  of  the 
Encumbered  Estates  Court,  of  the 
Eeoord  of  Titles  Office,  and  of  the 
legal  enforcement  of  tenant  right  P 
As,  however,  I  propose  for  the 
present  to  confine  myself  strictly  to 
the  subject  of  the  Transfer  of  Land, 
I  shall  not  touch  upon  the  operation 
of  ihe  Land  Act,  but  solely  upoa 

u  z 


266 


The  Transfer  of  Land. 


[Mttcc^ 


the  example  of  the  Landed  Estates 
Court,  which,  in  its  record  of  titles, 
is  fast  becoming  a  registry  for  the 
transfer  of  Irish  land.  Ireland 
is,  as  everyone  knows,  mainly  an 
agricultural  country,  and  such  are 
always  more  prone  to  be  Catholic 
than  manufacturing  communities.  A 
chief  reason  why  Catholic  communi- 
ties do  not  succeed  in  manufacture 
is  owing  to  the  number  of  religious 
holy*days  and  to  the  habits  which 
such  intervals  of  enforced  rest  en- 
gender. But,  of  course,  there  are 
other  and  obvious  reasons  why  the 
three  southern  Provinces  of  Ireland 
have  not  succeeded  in  manufacture, 
and  I  allude  to  this  only  to  explain 
the  very  general  embanrassment  of 
the  landowners  which  led  to  the 
foundation  of  the  Encumbered  Es- 
tates Court.  Generations  trained 
away  from  habits  of  business  to  a 
life  of  sporting  and  personal  in- 
dulgence, constrained  by  a  sense  of 
duiy  and  public  opinion  to  provide 
for  all  their  children,  and  com- 
pelled by  even  a  stronger  rule  of 
custom  to  give  the  old  domain  to 
the  eldest  son,  soon  became  involved. 
In  England,  such  drones  in  our  hive 
found  from  time  to  time  among  the 
daughters  of  Heth — i.e.  of  trade  and 
of  commerce — ^fairmeans  of  relieving 
the  estate  which  bore  their  family 
name  and  fortunes ;  but  in  Ireland 
this  tribe  of  golden-handed  maidens 
did  not  exist,  and  English  others 
seldom  felt  elation  at  the  thonght 
of  establishing  their  daughters  in 
the  cafitles  of  distant  Ireland.  So 
there  was  no  remedy,  no  relief 
to  be  had  but  through  a  surgical 
process  of  legislation,  and  it  was 
decreed  that  a  Court  should  be 
established,  in  which,  upon  the  pe- 
tition either  of  the  owners  or  of  the 
creditors  of  encumbered  settled 
estates,  these  could  be  sold,  and  the 
land,  together  with  its  incum- 
bent, set  free.  Matters  were  so 
arranged  that  the  Court  should 
enquire  into  and  record  the  title 
witii   despatch  and  economyi  and 


should  give  to  the  purchaser  a  sim. 

Ele  and  indisputable  claim.  What 
as  been  the  result  ?  The  operation 
of  the  Tribunal  was  found  so  bene- 
ficial in  regard  to  the  Transfer  of 
Land,  that  the  Encumbered  Estates 
Court  soon  became  the  Landed  Es- 
tates Court,  in  the  archives  of  which 
the  titles  of  any  estates  might  be 
recorded  after  proper  notice  and 
investigation,  and  a  sale  of  all  or 
part  conducted  with  economy  and 
credit. 

I  do  not  assert  that  this  legis- 
lation was  intended  to  promote  the 
Transfer  of  Land,  but  such  has 
undoubtedly  been  its  effect.  The 
owners  and  occupiers  of  land  have 
in  all  countries  and  at  all  times  been 
the  most  powerful  class,  though  in 
the  United  Kingdom  the  perpetua- 
tion of  the  feudal  system,  long  after 
the  people  have  outgrown  its  re- 
strictions, has  here,  and  here  alone, 
of  all  Stieites  in  the  world,  endan- 
gered this  supremacy.  In  this 
matter  of  Land  Tenure  Reform,  Ipre- 
sume  to  speak  both  as  a  Conservative 
and  as  a  Liberal,  and  to  address  my 
remarks  in  the  first  place  to  the 
landowners,  as  of  particulekr  and  nr- 

fnt  importance  to  them.  Althongh 
believe  implicitly  in  a  policy  of 
righteousness,  and  in  such  as  mould- 
ing every  day  more  and  more  the  pol- 
icy of  nations,  yet  in  nearly  twenty 
years  of  manhood  I  have  learned  the 
sad  truth  that  classes  are  actuated 
primarily  by  self-interest,  and  that 
only  secondarily  do  they  unite  with 
others  in  regard  to  the  public 
wel£&re.  Often  have  I  heani  old 
Irishmen  pipe  in  the  treble  of  age 
the  song  they  heard  in  childhood 
about  the 

Good  news, 
That  Boney'fl  left  Elba  this  moxniog. 

of  which  they  all  agree  the  esoteric 
meaning  was  that  the  price 
of  the  barrel  of  com  in  England 
would  be  more  than,  doubled. 
Bred  among  landowners  and 
fanners  in  tl^  island,  I  remember 


187S] 


The  Tratifffer  of  Land. 


267 


in  childhood  hearing  tales  of  *  the 
good  old  times '  when  a  crop  of 
wheat— fourteen  sacks  to  the  acre — 
hlid  actually  been  worth  the  fee 
simple  of  the  rich  land  on  which  it 
grew,  and  the  talk  of  the  day  was 
Uiat  a  traitor's  death  would  be  the 
proper  fate  of  Villiers  and  Cobden 
and  Bright,  who  were  then,  through 
evil  and  good  report,  labouring  to 
give  the  people  the  inestimable 
blessing  of  cheap  bread. 

That  great  step  which  haa  been 
made    in     Ireland     towards    Free 
Trade  in    Land    was   taken   to    a 
great    extent    unconsciously,    and 
fiierefore  with  much  error,  but  the 
natural  operation  of  self-interest  is 
nevertheless  fast  making  the  Landed 
Estates    Court  a  registry  for  tho 
more  ready  and  economic  Transfer 
of  Land.    The  Encumbered  Estates 
Court  was  established  in  1849,  and 
np  to  the  present  date,  say,  in  the 
space  of  twenty-three  years,  nearly 
one-sixth  of   the  soil  of  Ireland  has 
passed,  in  regard  to  title,  through 
the  hands  of  the  Examiners.     I  do 
not  aver  that  the  whole  of  this  land 
has  been  sold,  though  it   cannot  be 
questioned  that  the  object  of  such 
examination    has    always    had    re- 
ference to  sale.     Anyone  who  takes 
up  an  Lrish  newspaper  may  learn 
much  of  the  operation  of  the  Court. 
He  will  find  that  though  the  per- 
nicious laws  and  customs  in  regard 
to  pnmogenittire,  entail,  and  strict 
settlement,   obtain  in    Ireland,    as 
in  England  and  Scotland,  yet  that 
the  sales  of  land  are  vastly  more 
numeroos  ;   and  especially  he  will 
notice  the  extreme  rarity  of  a  sale 
conducted  otherwise  than  under  the 
authority  of  the  Court,  and  the  still 
more  exceptional  occurrence  of  a  sale 
of  land  without  a  title  stamped  with 
the  authority  of  that  Tribunal.     In 
fact  the  landowners  of  Ireland  have 
already  learned  the  marketable  value 
of  a  simple,  indefeasible,  registered 
title,  and  accordingly  there  are  many 
notices  in  Irish  journals  of  applica- 
tion for  registration,  even  when  a 


sale  is  notimmediately  contemplated. 
Of  course  the  economic  value  of  such 
an  operation  consists  mainly  in  the 
fact  that  such  Transfers  imply  the 
surrender  of  the  great  natural  agent 
in  production — the  land — from  *  ill- 
managing,  because  embarrassed 
hands,  to  those  which  also  hold  the 
means  to  make  it  bring  forth  in 
greater  abundance. 

Nothing  saddens  one  more  in  re- 
gard to  this  question  of  Land  Tenure 
Reform  than  the  wilful  blindness  of 
the  Times,  Now  he  is  gone,  the 
Thnes  permits  to  Mr.  Cobden  a  post- 
humous appearance  on  the  subject, 
but  the  valuable  correspondence  of 
that  journal  has  never  been  enriched 
by  a  fair  exposition  of  the  benefits 
which  would  accrue  from  Free  Trade 
in  Land.  It  suits  the  Times  to  catch 
a  half-truth,  like  that  in  regard  to 
tho  Sales  of  Land  having  amounted 
in  1872  to  io,ooo,ooo2. ;  to  dilate 
on  it  with  an  unction,  and  with  pur- 
blind satisfaction ;  and  so  the  great 
journal  leads  a  number  of  sharp- 
shootei-s  like  the  Duke  of  Somerset 
to  retail  its  fallacies  to  gaping  rustics. 
How  much  more  true  to  its  proper 
function  of  rightly  directing  the 
public  opinion  of  this  country  would 
the  Tim^s  have  been,  if,  instead  of 
taking  this  1 0,000, oooZ.  as  a  text  for 
shallow  glorification  over  the  Land 
system  df  this  country,  it  had  re- 
garded its  singular  inadequacy  to 
the  circumstances  of  England !  How 
much  more  true,  for  exam  pie,  it  would 
have  been  to  '  say  : — *  Her©  is  a 
country  of  surprising  wealth,  a 
country  in  which  capital  has  in- 
creased and  is  increasing  at  a  rate 
which  surpasses  even  the  imagina- 
tion of  the  past,  which  is  so  rich 
that  the  world  is  to  a  great  extent 
under  mortgage  to  its  people.  Its 
realm  is  so  secure  that  it  is  the 
banker  of  the  universe  ;  above 
all,  its  soil  is  guarded  not  only  by 
the  sea,  but  by  a  dense  and  uncon- 
querable people.  And  yet,  such  is 
the  operation  of  its  antiquated  lawa 
and   customs  with  regard  to  the 


268 


The  Transfer  of  Land. 


[Marcli 


Tennre  of  Land,  so  clams  j  and  costly 
is  its  method  of  Transfer,  that  in  the 
year  of  its  greatest  wealth  and  of  its 
most  unexampled    prosperity,   the 
Transfer  of  R«al  Property  did  not 
exceed  the  value   of  ten  millions, 
an  amount  which,  in  the  shape  of  a 
Six    per   Cent.    Loan    to    France, 
London     would     cover      in      ten 
minutes/       Is     any     one     hardy 
enough    to    say    that   this    would 
not  have  been  a  more  accurate  way 
of  putting  the  fact  ?      Let  me  then 
for  his  conviction  make  almost  the 
only  reference  I  shal^  resort  to  in 
this  paper  to  the  Land  system  of  a 
foreign  State,  for  I  intend  on  this 
occasion  to  confine  myself  to"  the 
affairs  if  not  of  the  United  Kingdom, 
at  all  events  to  those  of  *  Greater ' 
Britain.    In  France,  the  Transfer  of 
Land  is  rendered  onerous  to  the 
parties  concerned,  by  the  imposition 
of  a  considerable  tax  on  the  trans- 
action, amounting  in   fact  to  more 
than   six  per   cent.     But  notwith- 
standing  this,  we   find    from   one 
of  the  greatest  authorities  that  in 
France—*  the  value    of  immovable 
[real]  property  annually  sold,  may 
he  estimated  at  8o,ooo,oooL  ;   that 
which  changes  hands  by  succession 
at  6o,ooo,ooo2.,  the  duties  charged 
upon  both  amounting  to  8,ooo,oooZ/ 
Tnus  in  France — which  that  great 
economistyMr.  John  Hamsay  McCul- 
loch,  predicted  fifty  years  ago  would 
to-day  be  *  a  pauper- warren  '  as  a 
consequence  of  its  Land  system — 
the    ordinary    annual  Transfer  of 
Land  by  sale  is  eight  times  as  great 
as  in  the  halcyon  year  of  English 
commercial  and  financial  history. 

But  we  need  not  go  outside  the 
United  Kingdom  to  show  the  un- 
reasonable character  of  this  jubila- 
tion inaugurated  by  the  Times  upon 
the  strength  of  figures  of  which  it 
mistook  the  meaning.  We  may 
again  refer  to  the  operation  of  the 
landed  Estates  Court  in  Ireland, 
and  from  that  we  may  gather  what 
would  be  the  effect  of  a  more  free 
Transfer     of   Land     among    this 


supremely  wealthy  and  land-loving 
English  people.  Through  that  Court, 
as   I   have  already   said,  nearly  a 
sixth  of  all  the   lands  in    Ireland 
have  passed,  either  for  sale  or  with 
a  view  to  sale  or  mortgage,  in  the 
space  of  twenty- three  'years.    Now 
let  us  suppose    that  the  real  pro- 
perty of   England  had  been  dealt 
with    in    the    sstme    manrer.       It 
would  be   quite   a   mistake   to  as- 
sume that  English  estates  are  not 
grievously  encumbered.     None  will 
question  the  authority  of  Mr.  Caird, 
who    concluded    his    report    upon 
English  agriculture  in  the  following 
words : — '  There  is  one  great  barrier 
to  improvement  which  the  present 
state  of  agriculture  must  force  on 
the  attention  of  the  Legislature— 
the  great  eattent  to  which  landed  pro- 
perty is  encumbered..  In  every  county 
where  we  found  an  estate  more  than 
usually  neglected,   the   reason  as- 
signed was  the  inability  of  the  pro- 
prietor to  make  improvements  on 
account  of  his  encumbrances.     We 
have  not  data  by  which  to  estimate 
with  accuracy  the  proportion  of  Land 
in  each  county  in  this  position,  but 
our  information  satisfies  us  that  it 
is  much  greater  than  is  generally 
supposed.      Even  where  estates  are 
not  hopelessly  embarrassed,  land- 
lords are  often  pinched   by  debt, 
which  they  could  clear  oflT  if  they 
were  enabled  to  sell  a  portion,  or  if 
that  portion  could  be  sold  without 
the  difficulties  and  expense  which 
must  now  be  submitted  to.    If  it 
were  possible  to  render  the  Transfer 
of  Land  nearly  as  cheap  and  easy  as 
that  of  Stock  in  the  Funds,  tJie  vdtie 
of  English  property  would  he  greatly 
increased.     It  would  simplify  every 
transaction  both  with  landlord  and 
tenant.      Those    only    who    could 
afford  to  perform  the  duties  of  land- 
lord would  then  find  it  prudent  to 
hold     that    position.        Capitalists 
would  be  induced  to  purchase  un- 
improved properties   for  the    pur- 
pose  of  improving  them  and  seUiug 
them    at   a    profit.       A     measure 


im] 


The  Transfer  of  Land. 


which  would  not  only  permit  the 
sale   of  encombered    estates,  but 
facilitate  and  simplify  the  Transfer 
of  Land,  would  be  more  beneficial 
to  the  owners   and  occupiers  of 
Land  and  to  the  labourers  in  this 
country  than  any  connected  with 
agricoltnre  which  has  yet  engaged 
the  attention   of  the  Legislature.' 
Such  is  the  opinion  of  one  of  the  most 
intelligent  and  well-informed  of  the 
Tithe,    Copyhold,    and    Enclosure 
Commissioners    who     sit    in     St. 
James's  Square ;  and  with  this  au- 
thoritative view  of  the  condition  of 
English  Land  I  propose  to  show 
from  the  operations  of  the  Landed 
Estates  Court  in  Ireland  how  greatly 
the  Transfer  of  Land  in  this  country 
would  be  increased  if  we  had  even 
the  facilities  which  are  possessed  in 
Ireland,  and  how  absurd  was  the 
triumph  of  the  Times  over  this  sum 
of  io^ooo,oooZ.    I  believe  I  am  cor- 
rect in  saying  that  the  Times  has 
endorsed  the  estimate  made  by  Sir 
John  Lubbock  of  the  value  of  the 
real  property  in    the    country  at 
4,5oo,ooo,oooZ.,  or  thirty  years*  pur- 
chase of  150,000,000/.  the  estimated 
rental.     I  do  not  accept  that  valua- 
tion, but  for  the  present  I  am  not 
referring  to   my  own  opinions.     In 
twenty-three  years  the  Landed  Es- 
tates Court  has  touched  nearly  a 
sixth  of  the  land  of  Ireland.     It  is 
not  reasonable  to  suppose  that  if  the 
same  causes  were  at  work  in  Eng- 
land, the  proportion  in  extent  and 
value  of  property  transferred  would 
not  be  vastly  greater  than  in  Ire- 
land.   There,  as  I  have  lately  seen 
in  the  Counties  of  Meath  and  West- 
meath,  the   differences  of  religion 
which,    as    a    rule,     separate    the 
owners  and  occupiers  of  land,  and 
the  terror  of  assassination  which 
has  been  rampant  in  these  years  to 
which  I  am  referring,  together  with 
the  comparative  poverty  of  all,  con- 
trast   forcibly   with    the    teeming 
wealth  of  England,  and  the  plea- 


sure, the  security,  the  unmenaced 
influence  which  attach  to  the  owner- 
ship of  Land  in  England.  But  even 
if  we  make  the  unreasonable  suppo- 
sition that  in  England  the  Transfer 
would  benogreater  thaninlreland — 
what  do  we  findP  Suppose  that  in 
twenty-three  years  property  to  the 
value  of  one-sixth  part  of  Sir  John 
Lubbock's  estimate  had  been  dealt 
with ;  that  would  be  750,000,000?., 
or  more  than  32,500,000/.  a-year! 

We  may  surely,  therefore,  with 
general  acquiescence,  consider  that 
the  Transfer  of  Land  in  this  country 
is  lamentably  hampered  by  restric- 
tions, which  it  was  the  duty  of  the 
Legislature  long  since  to  have  re- 
moved; and  what  is  perhaps  most 
curious  is  to  hear  men  talk  as 
though  the  country  were  proceeding 
to  this  and  such  like  reforms  at 
break-neck  speed.  The  danger 
really  lies  in  the  opposite  direction.. 
I  hold  that  to  deny — as  I  under- 
stood the  Duke  of  Somerset  to  do 
lately — the  need,  nay,  more,  the 
urgency  of  alteration  in  regard 
to  what  are  called  the  Land 
Laws  of  the  country,  is  about 
as  truly  conservative  a  policy  as 
would  be  that  of  a  stoker,  who,, 
seeing  his  fires  grow  hotter  than 
ever  in  a  stationary  engine,  should 
sit  upon  the  safety-valve.  Is  it  not 
wonderful  that  we,  in  the  reign  of 
Victoria,  retain  practices  in  respect 
to  the  Transfer  of  Land  more  bar- 
barous than  those  of  the  Plantage- 
nets  ?  But  even  this  is  perhaps  less 
anomalous  than  that  we  should  do 
so  in  the  teeth  of  the  arguments  of 
the  greatest  lawyers  of  our  time  and 
of  both  parties  in  the  State.  No 
Liberal  lawyer  is  more  respected  than 
Lord  Hatberley  ?  -  He  has  said,  *  Look 
how  the  limitations  of  your  law  affect 
the  Transfer  of  your  Land.  It  is 
only  on  account  of  these  that  yon 
have  diflEiculties  as  to  title ;  because, 
if  it  were  not  for  the  complexity  of 
limitations,  a  system  of  registration 


Address  on  Jorisprndence.    MeetlDg  of  Sociftl  Science  Association,  1859. 


270 


The  Transfer  of  Land. 


[March 


would  long  since  have  been  estab- 
lished, which,  so  far  as  frand  and 
rapidity  of  Transfer  were  concerned, 
would  have  freed  ns  from  any 
difficulty  of  title  whatever.  Ton 
have  now  the  combined  effect  of 
frand  and  the  complicated  investi- 
gation of  title,  which  operates  in  the 
most  serions  manner  to  prevent  the 
free  Transfer  of  the  I^nd  in  our 
community.  WJiat  I  wish,  and  Tuive 
long  wished  for,  is  a  free  Tracer  of 
Land.^  On  the  other  side,  take  a 
lawyer  so  eminent  and  so  powerful  as 
Lord  Cairns  :*  what  does  he  say  ?  He 
has  illustrated  the  evil  in  the  follow- 
ing felicitous  manner: — *You  buy 
ran  estate  at  an  auction,  or  you  enter 
into  a  contract  for  the  purchase  of 
4in  estate.  You  are  very  anxious  to 
get  possession  of  the  property  you 
have  bought,  and  the  vendor  is  very 
anxious  to  get  his  money.  But  do 
you  get  possession  of  the  property  ? 
On  the  contrary,  you  cannot  get  the 
estate,  nor  can  the  vendor  get  his 
money,  until  after  a  lapse — some- 
times no  inconsiderable  portion  of  a 
man's  lifetime — spent  in  the  prepa- 
ration of  abstracts,  in  the  comparison 
of  deeds,  in  searches  for  encum- 
brances, in  objections  made  to  the 
title,  in  answers  to  those  objections, 
in  disputes  which  arise  upon  the 
Answers,  in  endeavours  to  cure  the 
•defects.  Not  only  months,  but  years 
frequently  pass  in  a  history  of  that 
kind  ;  and  I  should  say  that  it  is  an 
uncommon  thing  in  this  country 
for  a  purchase  of  any  magnitude  to 
»be  completed — completed  by  posses- 
:Bion  and  payment  of  the  price — in 
;a  period  under,  at  all  evente,  twelve 
jnonths.  The  consequences  of  this 
yiFere  stated  in  the  Report  of  the 
Commission  [on  the  Land  Transfer 
Act  of  1862].  The  Commissioners 
state  in  their  Report,  ''When  a 
contract  is  duly  entered  into,  the 
investigation  of  the  title  often 
causes,  not  only  expense,  but  delay 
and  disappointment,  sickening  both 


to  the  seller  and  to  the  buyer.    The 
seller  does  not  receive  his  money 
nor    the     buyer    his    land,    until 
the  advantage  or  pleasure  of  the 
bargain  is  lost  or  has  passed  away." 
Unquestionably  that  is  one  anda  veiy 
great  evil  under  which  we  labour. 
But  that  is  not  the  greatest  evil.    I 
can  well  imagine  that  the  purchaser 
of  an  estate  would  be  content  to 
submit  to  delay,  and  even  to  con- 
siderable expense,  if  he  were  assured 
that  when  the  delay  and  expense 
were  over,  upon  that  occasion  at  all 
events  he  would  have  a  title  as  to 
the   dealings  with   which  for  the 
future  there  would  be  no  difficulty; 
but  unfortunately  that  is  not  the 
case.     Suppose  I  buy  an  estate  to- 
day.   I  spend  a  year,  or  two  or  three 
years  in  ascertaining  whether  the 
title  is  a  good  one.    I  am  at  last 
satisfied.    I  pay  the   expense — ^the 
considerable  expense,  which  is  in- 
curred— ^in  addition  to    the    price 
which  I  have  paid  for  my  estate, 
and  I  obtain  a  conveyance  of  my 
estate.    About  a  year  afterwards  I 
desire  to  raise  money  upon  mortgage 
of  this  estate,  I  find  some  one  willing 
to  lend  me  money,  provided  I  have 
a  good  title  to  the  land.     The  man 
says  : — "  It  is  very  true  that  you 
bought  this  estate,  and  that  you  in- 
vestigated the  title,  but  I  cannot  he 
bound  by  your  investigation  of  the 
title,  nor  can  I  be  satisfied  by  it." 
Perhaps  he  is  a  trustee,  who  is  lend- 
ing money  which  he  holds  upon 
trust.     He    says  : —  "  My   solicitor 
must  examine  the  title,   and    mj 
counsel  must  advise  upon  it."   And 
then  as  between  me,  the  owner  of 
the  estate,  and  the  lender  of  the 
money,  there  is  a  repetition  of  the 
same  process  which  took  place  npoti 
my  purchase  of  the  estate,  and  con- 
sequently the  same  expense  is  in- 
curred as  when  I  bought  it ;    and 
for  the  whole  of  that,  I,  the  owner 
of  the  estate  and  the  borrower  of  the 
money,  must  pay.    Well,  that  is  not 


*  Speech  on  Intzodnction  of  Begistration  of  Titles  Bill,  1859. 


187B] 


The  Tranrfer  of  Land. 


271 


ftU.    Months  or  yeani  after  all  this 
is  completed,  from  circamBtanoes  I 
find  I  must  sell  my  estate  alto- 
gether.   I  find  a  person  willing  to 
become  a  purchaser.   The  intending 
purchaser  says  : — "  No  donbt  yon 
thought  this  was  a  good  title  when 
you  bought  this  estate,  and  no  donbt 
this  lender  of  money  thought  he  had 
a  veiy  good  security  when  he  lent 
his  money ;  bnt  yon  are  now  asking 
me  to  pay  my  money.     I  mnst  be 
satisfied  i^at  the  title  is  a  good  one  ; 
my  solicitor  mnst  look  into  it,  and 
my  counsel  mnst  advise  upon  it.'' 
Then  again    commence   abstracts, 
examinations,  objections,  difficulties, 
correspondence,  and  delay.     I  am 
the  owner  of  the  estate,  and  I  must 
pay  substantially  for  the  whole  of 
that,  because,  although  the  expense 
there  is  paid  in  the  first  instance  by 
the  purchaser,   of   course,   in  the 
same  proportion  as  that  expense  is 
borne  by  him,  in  the  same  proportion 
will  he  abate  the  price  which  he 
will  give  for  the  estate.* 

Thus  we  have  the  present  system 
of  Transfer  of  Land  defined  by  the 
great  luminaries  of  the  Law.    I  will 
quote  only  one  other  authority,  and 
I  refer  to  Mr.  Freshfield  for  two 
reasons, — ^first,  because  he  is  a  most 
eminent  member  of  that  very  im- 
portant body  of  professional  men, 
the  solicitors   and  attorneys,  who 
are  practically  engaged  in  the  con- 
veyance of  Land,  and  secondly,  be- 
cause, going  beyond  Lord  Hatherley 
and  Lord  Cairns,  he  tells  us  that 
our  system  of  Transfer  is  not  only  a 
puzzle,  but  a  fiction — that,  in  fact, 
while  every  man  may  be  sure  he  has 
paid  his  purchase  money  and  his 
attorney's  bill,  and  has  endured  all 
the  heart-sickening  delay  of  which 
Ixrd  Cairns  speaks  so  forcibly,  no 
man  can  be  sure,  even  when  he  stands 
upon  it  as  the  reputed  owner,  that 
he  has  indisputable  possession  of 
the  estate.    It  seems  that  under  the 
monstrous    system  of  conveyance 
which  prevails  in  the  United  King- 
dom, ^  the  right  that  a  naan  can 


purchase  to  a  plot  of  land,  is  a 
better  right,  in  the  opinion  of  his 
lawyers,  or  on  tlie  showing  of  his 
deeds,  than  that  of  any  person 
whom  they  can  name,  or  who  is 
named  in  the  parchments.  Mr. 
Freshfield  says  that  '  title  by  deed 
can  never  be  demonstrated  as  an 
ascertained  fisict ;  it  can  only  be 
presented  as  an  inference  more  or 
less  probable,  deducible  from  the 
documentary  and  other  evidence 
accessible  at  the  time  being.' 

Now,  why  in  the  name  of  all  that 
is  English  and  straightforward  and 
simple  should  this  state  of  things 
continue  ?  How  comes  it,  after  the 
leading  lawyers  of  both  parties  have 
condemned  the  system,  and  when 
we  can  add  to  theirs  such  testimony 
as  this  from  a  leading  solicitor — 
himself,  I  believe,  a  Conservative — 
that  such  truthful  and  momentous 
words  are  spoken,  as  it  were,  to 
the  idle  wind  ?  Lord  Westbury^  in 
the  same  chamber  of  which  Lord 
Cairns  and  Lord  Hatherley  are 
ornaments,  speaking  on  the  same 
subject,  has  called  us  a  '  a  lawyer- 
ridden  people;'  and  shall  we  not 
ask  ourselves,  why  does  it  endure  ? 

Half  the  people  seem  disposed  to 
think  the  system  is  as  English  and 
as  immoveable  as  the  Surrey  Hills. 
I  have  thought  much  upon  the  an- 
swer, and  I  can  only  state  my  own 
conclusions  frankly  and  fearlessly. 
I  think,  then,  that  the  reason  why 
these  gentlemen  speak  in  vain  i^, 
that  they  are  generally  retained  as 
the  counsel  of  the  rich — except  on 
the  rare  occasions  when  they  thus 
break  out,  they  are  retained  for  the 
defence— and  that  the  rich  distinctly 
prefidr  the  maintenance  of  the  ex- 
isting condition  of  things  in  regard 
to  the  Transfer  of  Land.  And  why 
should  they  not  ?  What  could  be 
better  suited  to  a  regime  of  entails 
and  settlement,  and  of  absorption, 
as  it  were,  by  attraction  of  the 
smaller  by  ike  bigger  estates  ?  Dif- 
ferent from  all  others  in  many 
respects,  our  Land  system  is  most 


272 


The  Transfer  of  Land. 


[March 


different  in  this — that  the  costs  of 
Transfer  are  to  the .  amonnt  of 
the  purchase  money,  less  as  that 
increases.  I  was  talking  not  long 
ago  with  an  English  millionaire 
who  had  purchased  Prince  Napo- 
leon's estate  of  Prangins,  on  the 
Lake  of  Oeneva.  He  was  describing 
with  admiration  the  simplicity  of 
the  transfer:  how  it  was  all  a  work 
of  a  few  hours  ;  how  he  then  held 
an  indisputable  title — such  as  Mr. 
Freshfield  tells  us  no  layman  in 
England  can  be  sure  he  has  got; 
and  how  the  costs  were  settled  by  a 
cheque,  as  to  the  amount  of  which 
there  could  be  no  dispute,  and  of  the 
proceeds  of  which  no  inconsiderable 
portion  went  to  the  common  purse 
of  the  Canton  in  which  that  beautiful 
property  is  situate.  Now  in  England 
the  process  is  all  the  other  way. 
Mr.  James  Beal,  a  well-known  land 
agent,  states  that  he  has  oflen 
signed  deeds  for  the  purchase  of 
property  of  small  value  and  extent, 
when  the  legal  expenses  have  equal- 
led one-third  of  the  purchase  money. 
A  case  occurred  not  long  since  in 
which  I  had  a  personal  interest;  the 
purchase  money  was  about  7,000/., 
and  tlie  solicitor  who  had  charge  of 
the  conveyance  evidently  thought 
that  a  purchaser  ought  toieel  happy 
who  obtained  a  bundle  of  new  and 
old  parchments,  together  with  the 
best  title  the  sellers  could  give,  for 
about  150Z.,  or  rather  more  than  2 
per  cent.  If  the  purchase  money 
had  been  ioo,oooL,  not  all  his  skill 
in  regard  to  making  bills  could  have 
wrought  the  charge  up  to  one-half  per 
cent.  Thus  it  is  that  the  purchaser  of 
a  whole  parish  or  a  manor  is  protected 
by  our  system  of  Transfer,  and  the 
small  buyer — whom  the  Duke  of 
Somerset  refers  to  the  supplement 
of  the  Times  for  his  satisfaction — 
is  oppressed.  Among  those  an- 
.  nouncements  to  which  the  man  with 
the  savings  of  a  farmer  or  a  small 
tradesman  is  referred  by  the  Duke, 
there  were  last  year  such  bargains 


to  be  had  as  the  Tring  Park  or 
the  Grimstone  Estate,  and  each  sold 
by  auction  for  about  250,000/.  On 
such,  the  percentage  of  the  cost  of 
conveyance  would  be  but  a  flea-bite ; 
our  lumbering  system  of  Transfer 
has  no  money  hardships  or  hin- 
drances for  the  newly-ermined 
Peer  who  wishes  to  put  half  a 
county  under  his  coronet.  But  how 
is  the  little  man,  who  counts  his 
pounds — ay,  and  his  shillings — the 
man  for  whom  all  these  noble  Lords 
and  great  lawyers  speak  (when  thej 
are  in  Opposition,  bien  entendu) — 
how  shall  he  go  to  the  Auction 
Mart  and  bid  for  a  farm,  when  it  is 
simply  impossible  for  him  to  sit 
down  first  and  count  the  cost  of  his 
purchase  ?  He  may  resolve  that  so 
far  and  no  farther  shall  his  bidding 
go ;  but  the  cost  of  conveyance  may 
amount,  as  Mr.  Beal  says,  to  a  third 
of  the  purchase  money  —  who  can 
tell  ?  Has  not  the  histoiy  of  the 
land  for  sixty  years,  for  two  genera- 
tions, to  be  rummaged  over  ? 

1  do  not  say  there  have  been  no 
attempts  to  remedy  this  inefficient 
mode  of  Transfer,  but  I  venture  to 
affirm  that  the  establishment  which 
Lord  Westbury  set  up  by  way  of 
improvement  is  an  utter  if  not  a 
conspicuous  failure.  In  truth,  as 
one  who  feels  a  deep  interest  in  the 
economic  expenditure  of  public 
money,  I  could  wish  that  the  deso- 
late Land  Registry  Office  in  Lin- 
coln's Inn  Fields,  which  Lord  West- 
bury's  Act  set  up,  were  a  little  more 
conspicuous.  This  26  and  27  Vict, 
c.  67  did  indeed  establish  the  idea 
of  an  indefeasible  title ;  and  that  i< 
something  in  a  country  accnstomed 
to  the  'glorious  uncertainties'  of 
conveyancing  by  deed.  But  let  us 
take  a  look  at  the  office.  There  is 
a  registrar  at  2,5ooZ.  per  annum : 
there  is  an  assistant  registrar  at 
i,5ooZ.  per  annum.  At  the  first 
hint  of  indefeasibility  there  was 
a  rush  of  suppliants  to  the  altar 
of    these     titles ;    the     registrars 


187S] 


The  Tra/Mfer  of  Land. 


278 


worked   late  and  early  ;    the  ex- 
aminers of  title  laboured  ;  the  two 
solicitors  of  the  office  rubbed  their 
hands  with  joy  as  the  fees  came 
ponring  in ;  the  chief  clerk  and  his 
three  sabordinates  asked  for  farther 
assfstance.  But  it  was  a  day-dream. 
To  register  a  title  as  indefeasible, 
that  title  must  have  no  restrictions 
npon  it  whatever  ;  a  single  doubtful 
word  in  any  of  its  numerous  deeds, 
and  indefeasible  it  could  not  be. 
Expenses  too   were    heavy  ;    they 
were  like  scorpions,  compared  to  the 
accustomed  whips  of  legal  charges. 
And  so  the  public  refuses  to  dance, 
thoagh  still    the   Office  plays.     In 
words  attributed  to  a  high  authority 
in  the  Office,  *  one  registrar  could 
do  it  all,  and  I  am  in  a  position  to 
state  that  one  would  not  suffer  in 
health  from  overwork.'     The  result 
is  that  in  ten  years  the  Office  has 
registered  titles  of  land  to  the  value 
of  about  5,ooo,oooZ.,  and  in  extent 
aboat  50,000  acres.    At  such  a  rate 
of  progress  it  would  take  about  750 
years  to  accomplish  the  registration 
of  all  the  land  in  the  country.  This, 
I  should  think,  is  not  unfairly  de- 
scribed as  *  how  not  to  do  it.* 

Of  course    such   a   subject  has 
not     been      without     illumination 
from  that  luminous  body,  a  Royal 
Commission.     No  one  who  knows 
anything  of  England  would  doubt 
for  a  moment  that  a  Royal  Commis- 
sion had  sate  upon  the  question  of 
Land  Transfer.      In  Part  2  of  the 
Report  whicli  contains  their  views 
on  the  working  of  Lord  Westbury's 
Act,  and  the  causes  of  its  failure, 
we  find  them  frankly  stating  that : — 
'As  the  number  of  applications  for 
registration  during  the   six   years 
that  the  Act  has  been  in  force  did 
not   average    more    than    80   per 
annum,  and  are   falling   off,  it   is 
clear  that  the  amount  of  business 
done  is  insignificant,  and  its  pro- 
gress affords  no  hope  of  increase.' 
The  Commissioners    thought    that 
obstmction  was  caused  by  the  re- 


quirement in  the  5th  section  of 
Lord  Westbury's  Act,  that  the  per- 
son who  sought  registration  should 
make  out  not  merely  what  is  called 
'  a  good  holding  title,'  but  a  title 
such  as  the  Court  of  Chancery  would 
compel  an  unwilling  purchaser  to 
accept ;  and  Mr.  Gregory,  the  emi- 
nent London  solicitor,  who  is  also 
M.P.  for  East  Sussex,  has  proposed 
to  amend  the  Act  in  that  direction. 
But  they  would  not  touch  the  third 
cause  of  failure  to  which  the  Com- 
missioners point  — ' '  the  disclosure 
of  trusts  '  upon  the  register.  Is  it 
possible  to  conceive  anything  more 
cumbrous,  more  surely  predestined 
to  failure?  The  only  wonder  of 
the  reader  will  be — why  should  the 
ablest  men  in  England  make  such 
laws  ?  Well,  the  reason  is  simply 
this — the  boundaries  of  reform  are 
marked  out  for  them  somewhat 
after  the  fashion  of  a  skating  ring 
on  the  Serpentine.  One  great  area 
— the  professional  area — where  the 
solicitors'  clients  have  tumbled  in 
again  and  again  to  their  necks  in 
costs,  is  marked  '  Dangerous  -,, ' 
then  there  is  the  area  which  is 
broken  up  with  the  interests  or 
the  supposed  interests  of  the  landed 
gentry  —  that  again  is  labelled 
*  Very  Dangerous ; '  and  so  on,  until 
the  poor  law-maker,  who  is  more  to 
be  pitied  than  some  people  suppose, 
warned  on  one  side  of  the  peers  and 
squires,  on  another  of  the  lawyers, 
and  urged,  above  all,  not  to  be  '  sen- 
sational' by  colleagues  who  are 
chiefly  anxious  to  retain  their  places 
as  her  Majesty's  Ministers,  producea 
one  of  the  legislative  abortions,  of 
which  the  miserable  skeletons  are 
strewn  upon  the  track  of  Parliament. 
There  is  probably  not  a  lawyer  of 
eminence  who  does  not  think  that 
conveyancing  by  registration  of 
title  is  superior  to  conveyancing  by 
deed.  I  should  be  unwilling  to 
suppose  that  there  is  one  who 
thinks  it  necessary  that  the  title  of 
every  plot  of  land  in  the  country 


274 


The  J}ransfer  of  Land. 


[Marc 


should  have  its  history  written  in 
crabbed  letters,  and  written  again 
and  re-written  for  the  immense 
space  of  sixty  years.  Why  it  is  not 
sixty  years  since  the  Battle  of 
Waterloo  !  I  lose  patience  when  I 
regard  the  construction  of  many  of 
the  laws  under  which  we  live — laws 
which  seem  retained  only  to  add  to 
the  cost  of  existence,  and  to  the 
waste  of  time  and  money  and  in- 
tellect, all  of  which  might  be  em- 
ployed in  the  service  of  more  just  and 
simple  statutes :  I  say  *  just,*  because 
those  laws  are  obviously  unjust 
which,  being  needlessly  expensive 
to  set  in  motion,  press  more  hardly 
on  the  poor  than  on  the  rich. 

It  is  refreshing  to  turn  from  this 

*  lawyer-ridden  country,'  and  to  see 
what  *  Greater '  Britain  can  do,  and 
has  accomplished  in  regard  to  the 
Transfer  of  Land.  The  operation 
of  Sir  Robert  Torrens*  Act  in  Aus- 
tralia appears  to  be  a  complete 
success  ;  and  he  has  recently  afford- 
ed us  an  opportunity  of  inspecting 
the  machinery  and  working  of  the 
measure  by  a  personal  description. 
Sir  Robert  says  the  measure  was 
suggested  to  him  in  the  course  of 
official  duties  connected  with  the 
transfer  of  Shipping.  He  observed 
that  at  any  great  Custom  House 
*you  may  see  an  ordinary  mer- 
cantile clerk,  without  any  difficulty, 
and  with  perfect  security,  conduct- 
ing transfers  and  mortgages  of 
property  in  Shipping ;  and  the  time 
occupied  in  thus  dealing  with  a 
vast  property  such  as  that  of  the 
Oreat  Eastern  would  not  exceed 
half  an  hour.'     He  saw  that  the 

*  immobility  and  divisibility  of  the 
land,  so  far  from  preventing,  do 
greatly  facilitate  the  dealing  with 
land  by  registration  of  title,  espe- 
oially  as  regards  the  complication 
of  the  record  through  the  frequency 
of  joint  ownership,  arising  out  of 
the  indivisibility  of  Shipping  pro- 
perty ;'  and  his  Bill  became  the 
Law  of  South  Australia  in  1857. 


Already,  he  tells  us  that  no  fewer 
than  18,000  or  19,000  '  distinct 
titles  (a  considerable  proportion  of 
them  complicated  or  blistered)  have 
been  placed  upon  the  record  with- 
out practical  injury  or  injustice  to 
any  one.'  Under  the  system  there 
in  force,  the  requisitions  which  the 
applicant  for  registration  is  required 
to  satisfy  are — *  ist.  That  he  is  in 
undisputed  possession.  2nd.  That 
in  equity  and  justice  he  appears  to 
be  rightly  entitled.  3rd.  That  he 
produces  such  evidence  as  leads  to 
the  conclusion  that  no  person  is  in 
a  position  to  succeed  in  an  action 
of  ejectment  against  him.  4th.  That 
the  description  of  the  parcels  is 
clear  and  accurate.  These  being 
satisfied,  advertisement  and  the  ser- 
vice of  notices  calling  upon  all 
claimants  to  show  cause  against  the 
applicant's  title  within  reasonable 
time,  are  found  to  be  sufficient  safe- 
guai^s  against  risks  arising  out  of 
technical  defects,  and  (in  accord- 
ance with  an  ancient  practice  under 
English  law)  in  the  event  of  non- 
claims  within  the  prescribed  period, 
indefeasible  title  is  issued  to  the 
applicant.'  Under  the  Torrens' 
system,  all  that  relates  to  a  plot  of 
land  is  to  be  found  in  one  book, 
*in  which  a  distinct  folium  is 
opened  for  each  parcel,  which  folium 
contains  a  map  and  the  itjcord  of 
every  estate  and  interest  which  it 
can  concern  a  purchaser  or  mort- 
gagee to  be  acquain  ted  with . '  *  The 
owner  of  each  recorded  estate  or 
interest  receives  an  instrument  evi- 
dencing his  title,  which  is,  in  feet, 
a  counterpart '  or  duplicate  of  that 
portion  of  the  register  which  relates 
to  the  same;  and  this  contains  a 
printed  form  of  agreement  for  trans- 
fer, discharge,  or  surrender,  as  the 
case  may  be,  to  be  signed  by  the 
parties,  wherever  they  may  be,  in 
presence  of  notaries,  or  Commis- 
sioners for  taking  affidavits,  and 
transmitted  by  the  post  for  regis- 
tration.' 


187S] 


The  Transfer  of  Land. 


275 


Thai  our  system  as  established  by 
Lord  Westbary's  Act  is  a  failure, 
and  that  this  Australian  method  is 
a  complete  success,  caa  surely  ex-r. 
cite  no  wonder.     Our  system^  it  ia 
tme,  dangles  before  the  eyes  of  the 
applicant  the  bait  of  indefeasible, 
title :  but,  on  the  other  hand,  there 
are  good  reasons  to  keep  him  &om. 
the  Office.     In  the  first  place,  he 
may  not  have  '  a  perfect  marketable 
UHe ;'  in  that  case  he  will  be  every 
way  a  loser.  A  conspicuous  merit  of 
Sir  Robert  Torrens'  method  is,  that 
it  gives  security  to  the  possessor  of 
'  a  £sur  holding  title.'    Then,  again, 
personal  attendance  is  required  in 
the  former ;  in  the  latter,  parties  may 
transact  their  business  in  the  locali- 
ties in  which  they  reside,  and  pro- 
vide for  the  execution  of  the  in- 
stnuoents  '  in  an  easy,  and  at  the 
same  time  a  safe  way.'     The  plain 
fact  is  obvious,  that  our  system  is 
not  Registration  of  Title,  but  rather 
Certification    of  Deeds;   the  very 
essence  of  a  system  of  registration 
of  Title  for   the  Transfer  of  Land 
is,  that  the  land  shall  be  passed 
by  the  act   of  transfer   upon  the 
register.     As  the  3 1  st  section  of  Sir 
R.  Torrens'  Australian  Act  puts  it : 
— 'No  deed  or  instrument  shall  have 
effect  to  pass  or  charge  any  interest 
or  estate  in  Land ;  but  so  soon  as 
the  recorder   of  titles  shall  have 
entered  in   the  record  the   parti- 
culars of  any  transfer,  charge,  or 
dealing,  the  estate  or  interest  shall 
thereupon  pass  or  become  charged.' 
It  remains   only  to  speak  of  the 
Australian  system  on  two  points — 
the  registration  of  trusts,  and  of 
mor^;ages.       With  regard  to  the 
former,   mere  trusts  are  excluded 
fiom  the  register ;  and  in  regard  to 
mortgages,  that  excuse  for  costs, 
the  transfer  of  the  legal  estate,  plays 
no  part.     The  Act  plainly  states 
that  *  mortgage  and  encumbrance 
shall  bAve  effect  as  security,  but 
shall  not  operate .  as  a  Transfer  of 
die  Land  thereby  charged ;  and  in. 


case  de&ult  be  made  in  the  pay- 
ment of  the  principal  sum,  interest, 
annuiiy,  or  rent-charge  thereby  se- 
cured, or  in  the  observance  bf  any 
covenant,  and  such  default  be  con- 
tinued for  the  space  of  one  calendar 
month,  or  for  such  other  period  of 
time  as  may  therein  for  that  pur- 
pose be  expressly  limited,  the  mort* 
gagee  or  encumbra^cee  may  give 
to  the,  mortgagor  or  encumbrancer 
notice  in  writing  to  pay  the  money 
then  due  or  owing  on  such  mort- 
gs^  or  encumbrance,  or  to  observe 
the  covenants  therein  expressed; 
and  that  sale  will  be  effected  unless 
8[uch  default  be  remedied. 

What  do  the  British  mortgagors 
suppose  is  the  cost  of  the  opea^ 
tionp  Ten  shillings!  half  being 
for  transfer,  and  half  for  release. 
But  more  than  this;  the  mort- 
gage being  transferable  by  endorse- 
ment, may  pass  freely  from  hand 
to  hand  like  a  Bank-note.  As  a 
specimen  of  the  transfer  powers 
of  the  Torrens'  Act,  one  gentleman 
writes : — *  Onhr  two  days  before  the 
packet  sailed  I  had  an  offer  for  my 
estate.  The  intending  purchaser 
went  with  me  to  the  Lands  Title 
Ofice,  and  in  less  than  an  hour  the 
business  was  transacted.  I  got  a 
cheque  for  the  purchase  money, 
and  he  got  an  indefeasible  title  to  the 
land ;  and  as  we  did  the  business 
ourselves,  the  cost  was  only  three 
or  four  pounds.'  As  to  mortgage, 
another  correspondent  writes : — 
'  Recently  I  purchased  a  sheep  sta- 
tion for  my  son,  and  being  5,ooo2. 
short  of  the  purchase  money,  I 
mortgagedaome  landfor  the  amount. 
The  transaction  was  completed  in 
less  than  half-an-hour ;  and  as  I 
did  the  business  myself,  the  whole 
expense  was  only  fifteen  shillings. 

It  appears  to  me  that  in  legis- 
lating for  the  Transfer  of  Land  in 
England  we  could  hardly  do  better 
tlum  copy  the  Australian  system  in 
much  of  its  detail.  But  we  must 
not  inake  the     of  error  supposing 


276 


The  Transfar  of  Land. 


[Marcli 


that  the  registration  of  title  is  quite 
BO  simple  a  matter  in  the  old 
conntry  as  in  tbe  new.  We  cannot 
make  registration  compulsory,  be* 
cause  tiiere  exist  many  defective 
titles  such  as  no  office  could  pass. 
The  owners  of  such  titles  must  be 
^owed  to  keep  them  as  they  are 
until  time  has  matured  their  claim. 
In  t^e  article  entitled  '  Free  Trade 
in  Land/  which  appeared  in  the 
Oontetnporary  Review  for  November 
last,  I  made  several  propositions 
which  it  is  necessary  to  re-state,  be- 
cause I  cannot  more  briefly  express 
the  views  I  hold  with  regard  to  the 
question  of  the  Transfer  of  Land. 
The  propositions  were  as  follow : — 

1.  The  devolution  of  real  pro- 
perty in  cases  of  intestacy  in  the 
same  manner  which  the  law  directs 
in  regard  to  personal  properly. 

2.  The  abolition  of  copyhold  and 
customary  tenures. 

3.  The  establishment  of  a  Landed 
Estates  Court  for  the  disposal  of 
encumbered  settled  properly. 

4.  A  completion  of  the  Ordnance 
Survey  of  the  United  Kingdom  upon 
a  sufficient  scale. 

5.  A  system  of  registration  of 
title  which  shall  be  compulsory 
upon  the  sale  of  property,  the  fees 
upon  registration — sufficient  at  least 
to  defray  all  official  expenses — ^being 
a  percentage  on  the  purchase 
money ;  the  same  percentage  for  all 
sums.  A  certificate  of  title  would 
be  given  free  of  all  costs  in  respect 
of  any  freehold  lands,  of  which  the 
reputed  owner  could  prove  undis- 
turbed possession  for  thirty  ^ears. 
Any  title  could  be  registered  m  the 
Land  Registry  Office  upon  evidence 
of  title  for  thirty  years;  the  fees 
being  the  same  as  in  case  of  sale, 
when  the  reg^tration  would  be 
compulsoiy. 

6.  That,  preserving  intact  the 
power  of  owners  of  land  to  bequeath 
it  undivided  or  in  shares,  no  gift, 
or  bequest,  or  settlement  of  life 
estate  in  land,  nor  any  trust  esta- 


blishing such  an  estate,  should  here- 
after be  li^wfnl;  the  exceptions  being 
in  the  case  of  trusts  for  the  widow 
or  the  infant  children  (until  they 
attain  majority)  of  the  testator,  or 
for  the  benefit  of  a  a  posthumous 
child. . 

I  venture  to  think  that  each  one 
of  these  propositions  would  tend 
to  facilitate  the  Transfer  of  Land, 
(i)  The  first  would  make  the  law 
equal  and  easily  intelligible  in  its 
operation  in  the  case  of  intestates ; 
whereas,  at  present,  if  a  man  dies 
in  Kent  without  a  will  his  land  is 
distributed  equally  among  his  sons, 
while  in  the  adjoining  counties  the 
Law  of  Primogeniture  prevails. 
(2)  Copyhold  tenure  has  a  certain 
similarity  to  tenure  by  record  of 
title,  but  it  is  absolutely  necessary 
to  abolish  copyhold  and  customary 
tenures  if  we  are  to  establish  a 
register,  because  a  universal  regis- 
tration of  title  is  in  one  sense  an 
adoption  of  the  State  as  Lord  of  the  | 
Manor,  which  cannot  admit  any  pri- 
vate competitors.  (3)  The  establish- 
ment of  a  Landed  Estates  Court 
would  greatly  facilitate  the  Transfer 
of  Land.  We  have  seen,  from  the 
statements  of  Mr.  Caird,  how  large 
a  proportion  of  the  soil  of  this 
country  is  in  the  hands  of  embar- 
rassed holders,  whose  lands,  on  their 
own  petition  or  that  of  their  cre- 
ditors, might  be  sold  by  order  of  a 
Judge  of  such  a  Court.  The  pro- 
duce of  the  soil  of  England  might 
probably  be  doubled  by  the  applica- 
tion of  500,000,000!!.  of  capital  in 
excess  of  that  with  which  it  is  now 
so  poorly  provided.  A  part  of  this 
sum  would  be  expended  by  land- 
owners, if,  by  the  operation  of  snch 
a  Court,  the  land  could  be  taken 
from  the  hands  of  men  who  are 
forced  to  starve  it  in  order  to 
keep  themselves  from  insolvency. 
(4)  We  cannot  have  an  efficient 
registration  of  title  without  an.  ^Tec- 
tive  means  for  the  identification  of 
each  parcel  of  land,  and  to  this  end 


187S] 


The  Transfer  of  Land. 


277 


we  most  Iiave  a  completion  of  the 
Ofdoance  Surrey  upon  a  sufficient 
(three  chains  to  an  inch)  scale.     I 
hare  personally  examined  a  consi- 
derable number  of  the  pariah  maps, 
and  havefoundthem  so  excellent  and 
accurate  that  I  have  no  hesitation  in 
saying  they  mighty  in  very  many 
eases,  be  adopted  at  once  for  pur- 
poses of   registration,  being  cor- 
rected,  when    necessary,    by    the 
officers  of  the  Government  survey: 
(5)  With  regard  to  the    register 
itself,  we  must  remember  that  Eng- 
lish titles  are  to  those  of  Australia 
as  the  voluminous  histoiy  of  the 
mother  country  to  that  of  her  young 
and  buxom  daughter  in  the  South 
Pacific  Ocean.     It  would  not  be 
possible  to  pass  a  Bill  through  our 
Legislature    enacting    compulsory 
registration;    -we    must    seek    the 
means  of  completing  our  register 
by  the  same  agency  which  is  ope- 
rating in  Ireland — the  self-interest 
of  the  landowners.     Now  on  sale, 
eyery  man,  by  the  act  itself,  declares 
his  willingness  to  expose  his  title, 
and,  therefore,    there   can    be   no 
hardship    in    making  registration 
compulsory    on    the    occasion    of 
the  sale  of  land.     But  a  most  im- 
portant matter — which,  of  course, 
presents  no  difficulty  in  Australia — 
is  to  shorten   the  time  for  which 
eridence  of  title  is  requisite.     It  is 
now  obligatory  to  prove  title  for 
sixty  years.     I  propose  to  reduce 
this  requirement  by  one-half,  and 
the  change  would,  of  course,  affect 
a  vast  number  of  titles  which  are 
now  '  maturing '  in  consequence  of 
flaws  between  the  thirty  and  sixty 
years  of  possession.     The  presenta- 
tion, free  of  all  fees,  of  a  certificate 
of  registration  in  respect  of  auv 
freehold  lands,  the  owner  of  which 
could    satis^    some  such  queries 
is  those  whicli  I  have  previously 
juoted  from  Sir  R.  Torrens' method, 
n  respect  of    bis  title  for  thirty 
rears,  would,   I   anticipate,    bring 
it  once,  and  without  difficulty,  upon 


the  register  the  bulk  of  that  vast 
portion  of  the  soil  which  is  held  in 
settled  or  entailed  estates.  And 
this  is  needful,  because,  in  order  to 
make  a  registry  successful  which 
cannot  be  compulsory,  it  is  neces- 
sary to  devise  means  for  bringing 
the  owners  of  property  to  the  posi- 
tion of  applicants.  The  advances 
of  registration  soon  prove  them- 
selves when  once  their  reputation 
extends  over  a  wide  area.  The  supe- 
rior selling  value  of  registered  land 
would  attract  the  attention  of  all 
who  might  find  themselves  in  the 
position  of  sellers  or  mortgagors. 
It  is  not  in  Ireland,  and  it  would 
not,  of  course,  be  necessary  in  Eng- 
land,  that  an  applicant  for  registra- 
tion should  be  about  to  sell.  '  Any 
title  could  be  registered  in  the  Land 
Registry  Office  upon  evidence  of 
title  for  thirty  years;*  and  as  for 
the  fees,  the  wisdom  of  Parliament 
would  decide  whether  these  should 
be  of  such  weight  as  to  contri- 
bute largely  to  &e  publio  revenue, 
as  is  the  case  in  most  continental 
States,  or  whether  they  should  be 
sufficient  only  to  defray  all  official 
expenses.  (6)  The  final  proposi- 
tion I  have  put  forward  would  have 
a  powerful  effect  in  promoting  the 
Transfer  of  Land,  it  is  stated  on 
respectable  authority  that  one-sixth 
of  the  soil  of  this  country  is  held 
in  mortmain  by  corporations;  but 
this  proportion,  large  as  it  is,  can 
be  but  small  in  comparison  with  the 
area  which  has  no  owner  in  fee 
simple,  which  is  held  by  the  nobi- 
lity and  gentry  on  a  system  of  life 
tenure,  of  nominal  ownership ;  a 
system  under  which  the  duties 
and  the  responsibilities  of  parent 
and  landlord  are  so  conflicting  and 
so  inequitably  regelated.  I  propose 
to  make  no  change  in  the  status  of 
the  aristocracy ;  these  suggestions, 
indeed,  tend  to  raise  the  status  of 
the  landowner  by  compelling  him 
to  be  the  real  owner  of  his  estate, 
with  as  much  power  to  bequeath  it 


278 


The  Transfer  of  Land, 


[Uarch 


xuadivided  or  in  shares  as  he  has 
oyer  his  money  in  the  Funds.  Exist- 
ing trusts  would  not,  of  course,  be 
d^t  with,  except  in  the  case  of 
corporations  which  never  die,  but 
I  would  strictlj  prohibit,  with  the 
exception  I  have  named,  the  crea^ 
tion  of  new  trusts;  and  this,  of 
course,  would  greatly  simplify  the 
registration  of  titles.  The  aim 
should  be  to  have  but  one  descrip- 


tion of  title  to  laud — that  of  owner 
in  fee  simple.  Then  the  registry 
would  be,  indeed,  a  simple  affair, 
dealing  with  ownership,  leaseholds, 
andmortgages.  In  sight  of  so  great 
a  national  i^vantage,  I  am  disposed 
to  think  and  to  hope  that  the  real 
or  supposed  interest  of  any  class 
will  not  much  longer  be  allowed  to 
impede  progress. 

Abthub  Asnold. 


1878J 


279 


A  PLEA  FOB  BLACK  BARTHOLOMEW. 


AT  a  time  when  the  demands 
of  the  Roman  Catholic  hier- 
archy are  forcing  the  Grovemment 
to  overtwm  the  XTnirersity  system 
of  Ireland,  it  is  interesting  to  note 
how  mildly  those  dignitaries  have 
recently  heen  speaking  about  here- 
tics.   The  fact  is  rather  melancholy 
to  aoy  one  who  valnes  the  logic  of 
fiuth,  and  the  consistency  of  the 
priesikhood. '  We  have  surety  fallen 
on  degenerate  days  when  the  Latin 
Church  is  losing  the   old  logical 
rigonr  with  which  she  shaped  her 
practice  in  the  ages  of  faith.     A 
chill  of  horror  would,  for  example, 
have  been  struck  to  the  heart  of 
Pope  Pius  v.,  Pope  Ghregory  XIII., 
Pope  Clement  Vlll.,  the  Cardinal  of 
Lorraine,  Cardinal  Salviati,  Cardinal 
Santorio,  and  the  Pere  Sorbin,  if 
they  could,  in  the  place  of  bliss  to 
which  thej  have  gone,  have  read 
what    the     public    journals    said 
some  time  ago  about  the  venge- 
anoe  which,  on  the  day  of  Saint 
Bartholomew,  smote  down  the  he- 
resy of  France.  Those  Popes  of  holy 
memory  and   those  sainted  fathers 
of  the   Church  would  have  been 
shocked  by  the  degenerate  pietj  of 
modem  Catholicism;  for  they  all 
held  the  destraction  of  heretics  to  be 
a  high  and  holj  duty,  the  highest 
and  the  holiest  indeed  that  could 
fall  to  their  hand  in  the  dark  days 
which  followed  the  revolt  of  Luther. 
Before  Pius  V.  was  made  Pope,  he 
had   been    trained  in  the  saintly 
oflBce  of  Inquisitor  General  to  see 
that  thumb-screws  and  the  rack  and 
the  fagot  were  the  most  potent  argu- 
ments against  heresy.     Thus  had 
he  won   many  victories  over  men 
jwsaeased  with  the  seven  devils  of 
theological  error,  and  thus  had  he 
stamped  heresy  out  of  Italy.  In  that 
favoured  land  the  Church  was  safe. 
But  he  saw  Qermany  more  than  half 

TOJd^  VU. ^NO.  IXIEL     NEW  SEBIE8. 


won  over  to  the  enemies  of  Heaven 
beci^use  Cajetan  had  argued  with 
Luther  instead  of  hanging  him  up 
by  the  thumbs ;  and  he  found  heresy 
so  strong  in  France  that  the  Hugue- 
nots might  yet  capture    a    great 
stronghold  of  the  Chnrch.     So  he 
cried    to    all    Catholic  kings  and 
princes  to  make  bare  the  sword 
against  heresy;  and  he  gave  the 
message  of  '  Slay  and  spare  not' 
to  that  Catherine  de  Medicis  who 
could  play  the  part  of  a  Catholic 
when  she  had  an  object  to  gain, 
although  she  believed  as  little  in 
priest  as  in  presbyter,  and  although 
she  kept  what  small  store  of  supersti- 
tion lay  in  her  Machiavellian  soul  for 
her  sibylline  communings  with  tha 
stars.     She  was  commanded  to  ex^ 
terminate  the  heretics  if  she  would 
save  herself  from  the  vengeance  or 
God.    Bnt  the  Holy  Father  went 
to  the  grave  uncheered  hj  the  sight 
of  even  one  great  massacre  of  the 
Huguenots  ;  and'the  clouds  of  night 
seemed  to  be  gathering  over  the 
Church  when  it  passed  under  the 
sceptre  of  Gregory  XIII.    The  King 
of  France  was  about  to  enter  into  a 
league  with  the  heretics  by  giving 
the  hand  of  his  own  sister,  Margaret 
of  Valois,  to  the  Prince  of  Beam, 
the  son  of  that  Jeanne  d'Albret  who 
had  defied  the  Pope,  and  Spain,  and 
Prance  ;  who  had  advocated  Pro- 
testantism with  the  learning  and  the 
logic  of   a  theologian ;  who    had 
codified  the  laws    of  her   people* 
with  the  zeal  of  a  provincial  Jus> 
tinian ;  and  who  governed  her  littlo 
country  with    such   statesmanlike 
wisdom,  such  forethought,  and  such 
baffling  aadacity,  that,  if  she  had 
possessed  as  large  a  field  of  action 
as  her  contemporary  Elizabeth,  she 
would  have  left  even  a  greater  name. 
To  prevent  the  unholy  union,  the 
Vatican  sent  to  Charles  an  embassy 


260 


A  Plea  for  BlcLck  Bartholomew. 


[Hsitli 


of  such  saintly  men  as  the  Cardinal 
of  Alessandria,  the  Father  Greneral  of 
the  Jesnits,  and  Cardinal  Aldobran- 
dini,  who  was  afterwards  Pope.  The 
obstinate  king  would  not  forego 
the  project.  Bat  he  whispered  to 
the  Cardinal  of  Alessandria  a  word 
which,  when  the  news  of  Saint 
Bartholomew  was  brought  to  Borne, 
caused  that  saintly  man  to  cry, 
*  Thank  God,  the  king  has  kept 
his  promise  !'  The  interview  took 
place  early  in  1572.  The  mar- 
riage  was  celebrated  in  August. 
Admiral  Coligny,  most  of  the  other 
Huguenot  chiefs,  and  a  crowd  of 
Huguenot  gentlemen  and  heretics  of 
low  degree  had  gone  to  Paris  with 
Henry  of  Navarre  and  his  mother. 
But  Jeanne  d'Albret  did  not  live  to 
see  the  marriage  to  which  she  had 
given  an  unwilling  consent.  She  died 
in  the  midst  of  the  gaieiy,  poisoned 
by  Catherine,  it  was  whispered,  but, 
it  is  much  more  likely,  smitten 
down  by  anguish  for  the  thought  of 
the  dark  future  that  she  saw  before 
her  poor  people.  The  greatest  soul 
of  France  was  soon  forgotten  in  the 
revelry ;  the  Protestant  Prince  and 
the  Catholic  Princess  were  wedded 
in  spite  of  the  Pope  ;  and  all  Paris 
was  gay  with  festive  light  and  song 
and  dance,  when  the  shot  of  an  as- 
sassin struck  down  Coligny.  Whe- 
ther it  was  fired  with  the  consent 
of  Charles,  and  whether  Charles 
had  thus  been  wilfuUy  leading  the 
Admiral  on  to  death ;  or  whether  the 
deed  was  solely  the  work  of  Cathe- 
rine, the  Dukeof  Anjou,  and  the  Duke 
of  Guise,  is  a  question  that  threatens 
to  for  ever  live  among  the  unsolved 
problems  of  history.  Whether, 
again,  the  massacre  had  been  de- 
liberately planned  when  the  Hu- 
guenots had  been  drawn  to  Paris, 
and  whether  the  marriage  had  only 
been  used  to  bait  the  trap,  is  another 
question  which  reveals  a  drawn 
battle  of  evidence.  But  all  the  rest 
is  comparatively  clear.    The  king 


consented  that  there  should  be  a 
slaughter  of  the  caged  Huguenots. 
In  the  evidence  which  is  said  to  be 
his  brother's,  we  are  told  that  the 
king's  consent  was  reluctantly  given 
at  first,  but  that,  after  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  act,  he 
was  so  eager  that  the  work  should 
be  done  thoroughly  as  to  cry, 
'  Kill  them  every  one,  so  that  none 
shall  be  lefb  to  reproach  me.'  The 
signal  was  given  by  the  murder  of 
the  wounded  Admiral ;  the  bands  of 
the  Court  took  each  a  district  of 
Paris,  so  as  to  make  a  harvest  of 
death  in  which  there  should  be  no 
need  for  gleaning ;  they  were  joined 
by  crowds  of  good  Catholics, 
whose  souls  had  been  stirred  to 
frenzy  by  the  pious  message  of  the 
priests  that  the  heretics  were  hated 
by  Heaven,  and  were  to  be  de- 
stroyed with  an  utter  destruction. 
So  the  work  of  blood  went  on  for 
three  days  and  three  nights.  Nobles, 
gentlemen,  and  plebeian  people, 
philosophers,  scholars,  and  preach- 
ers, grey-heskded  men,  women,  chil- 
dren, and  the  baby  at  the  breast  lay 
dead  in  the  streets  and  the  houses, 
or  were  swept  down  by  the  flooded 
Seine.  The  Court,  it  is  said,  would 
have  stopped  the  naassacre  if  it 
could ;  but  fanaticism  is  too  fiery  a 
steed  to  be  pulled  up  by  the  toj 
bridle  of  a  kingly  message,  and  the 
people  had  too  well  learned  the 
lesson  of  the  priests  to  forget  how 
to  practise  it  when  the  preachers  of 
heresy  lay  within  their  grasp.  And 
so  the  massacre  spread  to  Meaux, 
Orleans,  and  Lyons,  gathering  such 
strength  of  fury  that  in  some 
places  the  gutters  ran  with  blood, 
and  until  forty,  fifty,  sixty,  or  se- 
venty thousand  Frenchmen  and 
Frenchwomen  had  been  sent  before 
the  throne  of  that  God  who  is  ttje 
last  judge  of  theological  proposi- 
tions. Never  had  bo  tremendoiis  a 
blow  been  given  to  heresy.  And 
the  Holy  Father  was  fall  of  becoming 


1873] 


A  Plea  for  Black  BarthoUymew. 


281 


When,    before    the 
Fopeand  the  assembled  cardinals,  th  e 
Cardinal  Secretary  of  State  read  the 
despatch  of  the  Nuncio  Salviati,  Ore- 
goiy  said  that  the  tidings  were  more 
welcome  to  him  than  fifty  battles  of 
Lepanto,  and  the  holy  band  walked 
straight  to    chorch   to   sing    a  Te 
deum  unto    the   God  of  mercies. 
That  night  the  gnns  of  St.  Angelo 
8oanded  forth  their  jubilation,  and 
for  three  nights    the   illuminated 
streets  of  the  Eternal  City  carried 
to  far-off  peasants  the  glad  tidings 
that  the  enemies  of  Heaven  had  been 
slain.    When  the  fullness  and  pre- 
cise character  of  the  vengeance  had 
been  further  borne  to  his  ears,  the 
Holy  Father  went  to  the  church  of 
San  Luigo  with  thirty-three  of  his 
cardinals  to  hear  mass  in  token  of 
gratitude.     And  he  proclaimed   a 
jabilee  to  the  Christian  world.  And 
in  a  solemn  Bull  he  announced  that, 
since  God  had  enabled  the  King  of 
France  to  pour  out  vengeanqe  on 
the  heretics  who   had  defaced  re- 
ligion, and  to  punish  the  chiefs  of 
the  rebellion  which  had  laid  waste 
the  country,  all   Catholics  should 
pray  that  he  might  have  grace  to 
finish  what  had  been  so  well  begun. 
The  skill  of  a  medalist  was  called 
in  to  stamp  the  symbol  of  the  great 
victory  in  everlasting  brass  ;   and 
the  skill  of  the  painter  was  invoked 
to  give  it  the  glory  of  fitting  line 
tod  hue.    The  rose  of  gold  was  the 
high  and  holy  gid  which  denoted 
the  depth  of  the  Papal  gratitude  to 
Charles. 

Such  was  the  Massacre  of  Saint 
Bartholomew.  There  have,  no 
<}oubt,  been  attempts  to  rob  the 
Pope  and  the  cardinals  of  the  saintly 
honour  which  they  won  by  their 
jubilations.  It  has  often  been  said 
that  they  did  not  know  how  the 
deed  had  'been  done  when  they 
offered  up  to  God  the  praises  of  the 
Church,  and  that  they  fancied  the 
victory  to  be  such  as  men  might  win 


in  fair  fight.  But  to  pnt  forward 
such  a  plea  is  to  do  a  signal  in- 
justice to  the  Vatican.  It  must 
often,  I  feel,  denote  only  the 
modesty  of  the  theologians.  For 
many  of  them  must  be  well  aware 
that  the  Pope  thoroughly  knew 
what  had  been  done  in  the  streets 
of  Paris,  and  it  is  only  because  they 
are  bashful  that  they  do  not  claim 
for  him  so  high  a  crown  of  theo- 
logical consistency.  A  ruder  ex- 
planation is,  that  those  who  rob 
him  of  due  credit  are  guilty  of  de- 
liberate lying.  A  subtler  hypo- 
thesis is,  that  long  and  loving  study 
of  hagiology  and  priestly  miracles 
has  so  blotted  out  the  sense  of  truth 
as  to  make  falsehood  the  unconscious 
but  inevitable  tissue  of  speech  in  all 
who  frame  apologies  for  the  Papal 
Church.  '  Since  I  am  writing  a  plea 
for  Black  Bartholomew,  I  fall  back 
upon  the  idea  that  the  denial  of 
notorious  fact  springs  from  undue 
and  mistaken  modesty.  But  to  all 
who  prize  the  grand  logical  consis- 
tency of  theology,  the  alarming  fact 
is,  that  not  a  single  Catholic,  not  even 
Louis  Veuillot,  will  now  audibly 
praise  the  slaughter  of  the  Hu- 
guenots. Crowds  of  Catholics  come 
forward  to  brand  it  as  a  deed  of 
wickedness,  and  eminent  dignitaries 
of  the  Church  have  been  quick  to 
say  that,  if  the  Pope  and  the  car- 
dinals did  know  what  kind  of  deed 
they  were  glorifying  with  the  in- 
cense of  their  Te  Deum,  they  stand 
condenmed  in  the  eye  of  Heaven. 

For  my  purpose,  however,  it  is  need- 
less to  prove  either  that  the  Vatican 
prompted  such  a  deed  of  vengeance 
as  the  massacre,  or  applauded  the 
vengeance.  My  proposition  is  that, 
if  the  Pope  and  the  cardinals  had 
not  a  hand  in  the  massacre,  they 
ought  to  have  had.  If  they  had 
not,  they  so  far  forgot  their  duty  as 
to  gibbet  themselves  for  the  scorn 
of  all  who  have  at  heart  the  grand 
old  rigour  of  the  Church,  the  lo- 

X  2 


282 


A  Plea  for  Black  Bartliolomew. 


[KmV 


gical  conftistencj  of  her  creed,  and 
the  reality  of  her  message  that  snch 
as  Moses  was  to  the  Children  of 
Israel,  she  is  to  all  peoples  who 
wander  through  the  desert  of  sin. 

We  fail  to  do  justice  to  such 
Churchmen  as  Pius  Y.  and  the  Car- 
dinal Santorio,  because  the  imagina- 
tion itself  can  scarcely  figure  the 
immensity  of  the  space  which  was 
once  filled  by  the  Church,  or  fathom 
the  depth  of  the  sanctity  which 
went  with  her  ministrations.  She 
alone  was  the  gate  of  heaven.  To 
her  alone  had  been  given  those 
spiritual  keys  which  could  unlock 
the  fountains  of  sacramental  grace. 
She  could  give  everlasting  bliss  to 
untold  milhons  of  men ;  and,  were 
she  to  be  enfeebled  in  any  land,  or 
to  be  driven  from  any  place  of 
power,  or  to  be  dethroned  in  a  great 
country  like  France,  everlasting 
perdition  might  come  to  millions 
more.  These  were  no  vague, 
phrases.  The  theologians  believed 
in  heaven  and  hell  as  we  worldlings 
believe  in  the  Stock  Exchange  or 
the  Bankruptcy  Court.  Heaven 
had  not  yet  fled  away  into  the 
abysses  of  space,  beyond  the  sweep 
of  the  mightiest  spiritual  telescope, 
leaving  only  a  tradition  of  dream- 
land to  mark  its  place  and  glory.  It 
wafi  as  near  and  as  well  known  as 
the  Paradise  of  Islam.  A  monk 
would  give  a  list  of  the  joys  which 
awaited  the  shriven  and  purified 
soul.  He  could  figure  in  cunning 
line  and  glowing  tint  his  render- 
ing of  the  Holy  City,  the  New 
Jerusalem,  with  the  light  like 
a  jasper  stone,  clear  as  crystal,  the 
twelve  gates,  the  twelve  angels,  the 
streets  of  pure  gold,  as  it  were 
transparent  glass,  the  city  that 
had  no  need  of  the  sun,  neither  of 
the  moon  to  shine  in  it,  the  gates 
that  should  not  be  shut  at  all  by 
day,  for  there  should  be  no  night 
there.  All  this  was  a  reality  that 
men  could  touch  with  the  finger, 


and  see  with  the  eye,  of  faith,  and 
towards  which  they  could  go  at  the 
hour    of    death   with    snch    cer- 
tainty as  we  make  our  waj  from 
street  to  street.     And  stiU  nearei 
and  more  tangible  was  the  lake  that 
burned  with  fire  and  brimstone.    Ib 
vision  penitents  had   skirted  that 
place  of  fire  and  woe,  had  been  sick- 
ened by  the  scent  of  the  sulphur,  had 
been  scorched  by  the  flames  that 
burned  everlastingly,  had  heard  the 
groans  of  the  anguish  that  should  go 
up  for  ever  to  the  throne  of  God,  and 
should  for  ever  find  a  pitiless  ear. 
There  had  no    doubt    been  times 
when    elegant    pagans    like   Pope 
Leo  X.  could  pass  lightly  over  snch 
horror  and  such  joy,  when  sceptics 
like  Pope  Alexander  could  langb  at 
the  whole  fabric  of  dogmatic  theo- 
logy,    and    when  refined   recluses 
could  subtilise   the  tenets   of  the 
Church  into  the  empty  air  of  alle- 
gory;   but  nevertheless    thej  had 
always  been  tremendous  realities  to 
the  mass  of  men,  and  the  intensity 
had  been  deepened  by  the  revolt  of 
Luther.     His  assaults  made  more 
vivid  the   reality  of   the   faith  at 
which  he  had  struck.     The  faithfal 
wished  to  defend  the  Church  like  a 
band  of  citizens  whose  reveliy  has 
been  broken  by  the    note  of  the 
enemy  at  the  gates,  and  who,  dash- 
ing down  the  wine-cup,  forget  their 
mirth,  and  go  grimly  to  die.    No 
more  elegant  pagans,  atheists,  mnr' 
derers,   and  unhanged    scoundrels 
were  allowed  to  seat  themselves  io 
the  chair  of  St.  Peter  ;  but  decoram 
was  placed  there,  and  ansteritj  of 
life  and  faith,  and  ferocious  piety. 
Pius  V.  belonged  to  the  new  order 
of  pontifis.     He  cared  for  nothing 
but  the  Church.     He  knew  that  all 
the  other  treasures   of    the   earth 
were  but  as  dust  and  ashes  in  com- 
parison.    Hence  he  hated  heresy  & 
thousand  times  more  than  he  hated 
theft,  or  lying,  or  mnrder,  or  any 
of  the  sins  against  which  Moses  had 


1873] 


A  Flea  for  Black  Bartholomew. 


283 


hronghi  to  Israel  the  mandate   of 
Jehovftfa.     He  called  heretics  the 
greatest  of  Bcoimdrels.   He  said  that 
be  wonldrather  give  pardon  to  a  man 
wliohaddoneahundred  deeds  of^nr- 
der  ihsax  to  one  confirmed  heretic. 
He  summoned  Catherine  de  Medicis 
to  put  all  the  Hngnenots  to  death. 
He  proclaimed  that  he  wished  them 
to    be    exterminated.       And     he 
feasoDod  with  nnimpeachahle  logic. 
Falsehood  and  robbery  and  mni^der 
tend  to  kill  themselves  by  the  fact 
that  they  manifestly  tend  to   kill 
society.    They  are  never  enjoined 
in  solemn  edicts  or  in  gospels,  and 
at  least  an  attempt  is  made  to  stamp 
them  out  as  if  they  were  nozions 
beasts.    £ach  generation  and  each 
country  tends  to  shut  in  and  ex- 
tinguish its  own  brood  of  crime ;  so 
that  crime  is,  after  all,  not  a  cnrse 
that  need  carry  fear  to  the  hearts 
of  holy  men.     But  it  is    terribly 
different  with  heresy.     That  takes 
the  form  of  an  angel  of  light,  so  as 
to  deceive,  if    possible,   even    the 
elect.    It  spreads  like  a  pestilence, 
from  land  to  land,  borne  as  stealth- 
ily as  if  on  the  wings  of  the  wind, 
aod  as  fatally  as  if  it  carried  the 
touch  of  the  angel  of  death.     It 
jaenetrates    everywhere,    into     the 
palace  of  kings  as  into  the  huts  of 
peasants.       No  argument  or  ana« 
themacan  bar  its  stealthy  way,  and 
^herever  it  goes  it  brings  everlast- 
ing  woe.  Aa  the  leper  of  the  middle 
^ges  was  shunned  by  all  unsmitten 
men,  even  when  rich,  or  nobly  bom, 
or  gifted  with  intellect,  so  should 
the   heretic     be    accursed    of    all 
Catholics.       There    was    once,    as 
Heine  says,    a    poet  whose   songs 
vere  sung  by  all  his  German  coun- 
trymen,  and    whose,  name  was    a 
glory  in  their   ears ;  but   no   man 
dare  speak  to  him  or  touch  him,  for 
lie  was  a  leper  ;  and  oft  at  eventide 
the  people  would  hear  him  sounding 
through  the  gloom  the  clapper  of 
Lazarus,  with  which  the  poor  clerk 


warned  away  the  singers  of  his 
songs  from  the  touch  of  his  undean 
hand.  And  so  was  it  with  the 
heretic.  However  nobly  endowed 
with  brain,  or  with  what  the  world 
calls  goodness,  he  was  to  be  shunned 
like  a  leper,  for  in  his  words  lay 
everlasting  banishment  from  Grod. 

Such  was  heresy  three  hundred 
years  ago,  when  the  rulers  of  the 
Church  saw  the  august  and  holy 
fabric  menaced  with  partial  destrnc- 
tion,  and  millions  of  the  people, 
therefore,  with  eternal  death .  What 
then  were  the  Pope  and  the  cardi- 
nals bound  to  do  P  '  Do  nothing  but 
E reach  the  truth,'  says  that  modem 
dberalism  which  draws  its  inspira- 
tion from  the  natural  unregenerate 
heart  of  man.  '  Do  nothing  but 
preach ! '  while  the  enemy  was 
thundering  at  the  gates  of  the 
Church,  poisoning  the  wells  of  her 
people,  smiting  thousands  and  mil- 
lions with  unending  woe  !  It  is  dif- 
ficult to  measure  the  feebleness  of 
the  imagination,  or  the  dulness  of 
the  theological  sense,  which  could 
tender  such  advice  to  fren2ied 
Churchmen.  We  should  give  the 
reply  of  speechless  contempt  or  in- 
dignation to  such  counsel  if  it  were 
offered  as  a  guide  to  ourselves  in  the 
every-day  affairs  of  life.  To  do 
nothing  but  preach  is  not  what  we 
imagine  to  be  our  duty  when  we 
stand  face  to  face  with  an  evil,  seen, 
palpable,  tremendous  in  its  sweep  of 
ruin.  We  do  not  preach  to  a  Thug 
whom  we  have  caught  in  the  act 
of  flinging  his  leaded  cord  round  the 
neck  of  a  traveller.  We  shoot  him 
dead,  or  we  hang  him  on  the  near- 
est  tree,  contemptuously  deaf  to  his 
plea  that  he  was  taking  life  at  the 
dictate  of  a  profoundly  religious  im- 
pulse. We  lau^h  at  his  prayer  for 
religious  toleration,  and  we  tell  him 
that,  if  such  is  the  supreme  sacra- 
ment of  his  faith,  he  cannot  exist  in 
the  same  world  as  we,  and  must  be 
strangled  as  pitilessly  as  if  he  were 


284 


A  Plea  for  Black  Bartholomew. 


[Marc^ 


a  wolf.  K  we  were  to  catch  a  colony 
of  Thugs  red-handed,  if  we  were  to 
see  the  bodies  of  our  dearest  rela- 
tives lying  dead  in  the  grasp  of  the 
knotted  cord^  if  we  were  to  be  filled 
with  cool  frenzy  by  the  memory  of 
the  thousand  murderous  rites  that 
had  gone  unpunished,  we  should  not 
stop  for  the  ministrations  of  juris- 
prudence, but  should  peremptorily 
bid  the  fanatics  begone  from  a  world 
which  they  were  trying  to  make 
uninhabitable.  In  truth,  we  poor, 
degenerate,  faithless  modems  have 
done  such  deeds  at  the  impulse  of  less 
maddening  motives.  The  punish- 
ment of  the  sepoys  after  the  Indian 
Mutiny  is  not  generally  supposed  to 
have  erred  on  the  side  of  mercy ; 
nor  is  the  massacre  of  the  negroes  in 
Jamaica  usually  cited  as  a  proof 
of  superstitious  respect  for  the 
etiquette  of  law  ;  nor  again  is  the 
vengeance  which  the  troops  of  Ver- 
saiUes  poured  out  upon  the  Commu- 
nalists  of  Paris  commonly  supposed 
to  have  been  marked  by  a  reverence 
for  the  rules  of  the  Code  Napoleon. 
Now,  such  as  a  colony  of  Thugs 
would  be  to  us,  such  as  the  muti- 
nous sepoys  were  to  our  Indian 
soldiers,  such  as  the  negroes  of  Ja- 
maica were  to  Eyre's  *  Lambs,*  and 
such  as  the  Gommunalists  of  Paris 
were  to  the  trooper^  of  Galifet,  that, 
and  a  thousand  times  more  than 
that, were  the  Huguenots  to  Salviati, 
the  Cardinal  of  Lorraine,  Aldo- 
brandini,  PiusV.  and  Gregory  XIII. 
The  Huguenots  were  worse  than 
Thugs,  for  they  were  choking  the 
spiritual  life  of  men ;  they  were 
throwing  the  leaded  cord  of  damn- 
able and  wicked  error  round  the 
neck  of  that  Holy  Church  which 
had  been  sanctified  by  the  blood  of  a 
thousand  martyrs.  Those  princes 
of  the  Church  were  men  of  intellect, 
sincerity,  and  intrepidity,  who  saw 
what  was  practically  meant  by  her 
tremendous  doctrines,  and  who 
knew  that  they  dare  not  tamper 


with  the  least  of  her  mighty  appli- 
ances  of  salvation.  A  slaughter  of 
the  heretics  would,  they  knew,  save 
milUons,  perhaps  hundreds  of  mil- 
lions,  from  everlasting  destruction ; 
and  in  comparison  with  such  a 
victory  of  Heaven,  what  signified 
the  destruction  of  a  paltry  forty  or 
fifty  thousand  heretics,  who  had,  of 
course,  already  earned  for  them- 
selves the  blackness  of  darkness  for 
ever  ?  The  Pope  and  the  cardinals, 
I  repeat,  were  brave  and  consistent 
men,  who  understood  their  creed, 
and  did  their  duty.  And  so  were 
most  of  the  Catholics  of  Paris  and 
the  other  orthodox  cities  of  France. 
The  Church,  and  especially  the 
Jesuits,  had  been  thundering  into 
their  ears  the  tidings  that  Protes- 
tantism was  not  an  intellectual 
error,  but  a  crime;  and  not  only 
a  crime,  but  the  most  damnable 
wickedness  that  it  had  ever  entered 
into  the  heart  of  man  to  conceive ; 
a  crime  worse  than  robbery  or  than 
murder,  because  it  laid  its  annihi- 
lating grasp  on  the  hopes  of  the 
world  to  come.  So  Pope,  and  car- 
dinals, and  priests,  and  people  hated 
the  enemies  of  the  Church  as  the 
Israelites  had  hated  the  Philistines 
whom  the  chosen  people  had  been 
commanded  to  destroy,  both  man 
and  woman,  young  and  old,  with 
the  edge  of  the  sword.  And  so  thej 
smote  the  Huguenots  of  Paris  as 
Joshua  smote  the  people  of  Ai.  The 
avengers  of  Holy  Church  went  to 
Orleans  and  Lyons  and  slew  the 
rebels  against  her  decrees,  even  as 
Joshua  went,  and  all  Israel  Trith 
him,  to  Debir,  and  took  it,  and  the 
king  thereof,  and  all  the  cities 
thereof,  and  smote  them  with  the 
edge  of  the  sword,  and  utterly  de- 
stroyed all  the  souls  that  were 
therein.  The  ministering  spirit  of 
dogmatic  theology  came  like  an 
angel  of  death  to  all  the  cities  of 
France,  as  Joshua  smote  all  the 
cities  of  the  hills,  and  of  the  sontb. 


im] 


A  Flea  for  Black  Ba/rtholomew. 


285 


and  of  the  vale,  and  of  the  springs, 
and  all  their  kings ;   and  left  none 
remaining,  but  ntterl j  destroyed  all 
that  breathed,  as  the  Lord  God  of 
Israel  had  commanded .     Never  had 
the  world  seen  snch  an  outburst  of 
theology  since  Israel  was  armed  with 
the  sword  of  Joshua.  And  the  pious 
crowds  of  CathoHcs,  the  priests,  the 
cardinals,  and  the   Holy    Father, 
who  did  the  deed  of  vengeance,  or 
sanctified  it  by  the  hymns  of  the 
Church,  displayed  a  grand  consis- 
tency which  casts  shame '  on  the 
facing  both  ways  of  this  (degenerate 
age.    They  acted  like  the  true  host 
of  Israel,  armed  with  the  mandate 
of  absolute  truth,  and  commanded 
to  follow  the  Joshua  of  the  Vatican. 
It  is  true   that  in  the  time  of 
Catherine  and  Gregory,  as  in  our 
own  day,  some  degenerate  Catholics 
did  display  less  theological  consis- 
tency.   At  least  one  prelate,  and 
many  priests,  and  a  crowd  of  lay- 
men, did  whisper  words  of  horror 
when  they  saw  the  gutters  of  the 
streets  red  with  Huguenot  blood; 
and   some    of    those    soft-hearted 
people  even    gave  shelter  to   the 
honied  heretics.     The  Nuncio  Sal- 
viati  indignantly   told    the    Holy 
Father  how  some  great  men  of  the 
Court  had  betrayed  the  weakness  of 
then*  zeal  for  the  Church  by  deliber- 
ately sparing  the  lives  of  heretic^ ; 
and  80  high  a  crime  against  theo- 
logy was  unquestionably  perpetrated 
by  the  Duke  of  Guise,  who  was  too 
much  of  a  politician,  and  too  eager 
to  fight  for  his  own  land,  to  be  a 
good  Catholic.       Those  who  thus 
weakly  listened  to  the  promptings 
of  their  own  hearts  were  faithless, 
I  repeat,  alike  to  the  spirit  and  the 
letter  of  the  edicts  of  the  Church  ; 
but  we  can  plead  some  excuses  for 
their  refusal   to    be   faithful  unto 
slaying.     Most  of  them  were  poor, 
ignorant,    and  more  fond  of   the 
world  than  of  the  Church.     They 
weie  men  of  mean  understandings. 


They  came  from  that  'common 
people,'  of  whom  we  hear  in  those 
Gospels  which  lamentably  lack  a 
systematic  theology.  And,  as  Dr. 
Newman  says,  a  popular  religion 
must  always  be  a  corrupt  religion. 
However  full  of  logical  vigour  a 
theological  system  may  be  when  it 
has  been  fashioned  by  schoolmen, 
and  straitened  by  inquisitorial  fin- 
gers, the  natural  unregenerate  heart 
of  man,  which  is  deceitful  above 
all  things  and  desperately  wicked, 
will  break  the  force  of  the  blows  by 
the  padding  of  a  soft  and  illogical 
mercy.  Fleas  for  mercy  may  have 
been  whispered  even  in  the  camp  of 
Joshua  himself  when  Joshua  waS' 
out  of  hearing :  and,  at  any  rate, 
such  prayers  did  break  the  force 
of  the  vengeance  which  fell  on 
the  heresy  of  France,  because  the 
spirit  of  dogmatic  theology  had  not 
been  able  to  root  out  those  weak 
feelings  of  the  heart  which  prompt 
men  to  show  pity  upon  all  prisoners 
and  captives,  and  to  defend  all  that 
are  desolate  and  oppressed.  Many 
a  parish  priest  must  have  but 
feebly  conceived  the  grandeur  of 
the  apparatus  of  salvation  which 
stretcned  to  the  ends  of  the  earth ; 
which  was  destined  to  last  until  the 
Judgment  Day ;  which  held  within 
the  grasp  of  doctrines  and  sacra- 
ments the  issues  of  eternal  salva- 
tion; and  which  made  all  other 
human  institutions,  human  life 
itself,  and  the  claims  of  kindred, 
.  sink  by  comparison  into  the  depths 
of  insignificance.  And  many  of 
the  poor  burghers  knew  as  little 
about  the  theological,  hierarchical, 
and  political  machinery  which  sent 
the  pulses  of  spiritual  life  through 
the  Church,  as  any  poor  agricultural 
labourer  of  England  knows  about 
the  secrets  of  the  Cabinet.  Hence 
we  cannot  visit  them  with  high 
blame  because  they  so  far  listened 
to  the  promptings  of  their  own  un- 
tutored hearts,  as  to  fancy  that  the 


28C 


A  Plea  for  Black  Baiiholomew, 


[March 


destmctioa  of  the  Hagaenots  was  an 
iwt,  Bot  of  sovereign  mercy,  but  of 
detestable  murder.  It  is  sufficient 
to  know  that  the  official  interpreters 
of  theology  better  understood  their 
duty,  and  that  their  eyes  were 
blinded  by  no  tears  of  maudlin 
sympathy. 

There  is  only  one  ground  on 
which  such  a  deed  of  vengeance 
could  be  consistently  denounced  by 
the  theologians  of  the  Latin  Church. 
It  could  be  consistently  denounced 
•  if  they  could  prove  that  so  extreme 
an  act  of  punishment  was  not 
needed  to  compass  the  overthrow  of 
herepy;  that  the  work  could  have 
been  done  in  milder  ways ;  and  that, 
not  only  did  the  plan  fail,  but  was 
manifestly  doomed  to  be  a  fidlure. 
Even  the  Church  has  no  right  to  use 
niidue  rigour  of  stroke.  She  has 
doubtless  as  much  right  to  stamp 
out  heresy  as  the  State  has  to  stamp 
out  the  rinderpest,  and  to  do  that 
duty  in  precisely  the  same  way. 
But,  just  as  the  State  would  do 
wropg  to  kill  all  the  diseased  cattle 
within  a  given  area  if  it  wore  obvi- 
ous that  the  pestilence  could  be 
prevented  from  spreading  by  milder 
ways  of  protection,  or  if  it  were  clear 
that  the  slaughter  could  not  stop  the 
contagion,  so  the  Church  would  be 
blind,  thoughtless,  and  unmerciful, 
were  she  recklessly  to  slaughter 
diseased  Christians. 

That  plea,  however,  fails  to  cast 
the  slightest  doubt  on  the  theolo- 
gical necessity  of  Saint  Bartholo- 
mew, for  it  was  clear  to  the  Pope, 
and  to  every  other  person  with  an 
eye  in  his  head,  that,  if  ihe  Hugue- 
nots were  not  put  down  with  fire 
and  sword,  they  might  gain  such  a 
victory  in  France  as  the  Lutherans 
had  won  in  Germany.  The  fate  of 
French  Catholicism,  and  hence  the 
prospect  of  eternal  salvation  for 
millions,  waa  at  stake.  When 
Coligny  and  the  rest  of  the  Protes- 
tant chiefs  lay  in  Paris,  the  power  of 


heresy  might  be  cut  off  at  a  stroke, 
and  such  a  chance  of  rooting  out 
heresy  would  probably  never  come 
again.     It  would  have  been  high 
treason  against  the  majesty  of  theo- 
logy to  let  the  opportunity  pass  bj. 
And     the      supreme      theological 
defence  of  the  deed  is  given  by  its 
theological    effects;    for    it    saved 
France.      It  saved  France  for  the 
Church.     The  massacre  did  not,  it 
is  true,  wholly  stamp  out  heresy. 
Indeed  it  left  nearly  two  millions  of 
diseased  Christians  to  spread  the 
rinderpest    of   eternal    death.    So 
far,  it  failed  because  the  acts  of  the 
Court  did  not  rise  to  the  rigour  of 
the  vengeance  which  had  filled  the 
imagination  of  Pius  Y.     A   Pope, 
armed  with  the  power  of  Charles 
IX.,  would  have   been    needed  to 
sweep  away  the  whole  Protestant 
brood.    A  merely  secular  king,  even 
if  as  free  &om  disturbing  emotions 
as  Catherine,  or  as  gifted  with  f oiy 
of  passion  as  Charles,  could  not 
have  done  an  act  so  grand  in  its 
sanguinary     completeness.       And 
even  such  theological  rigour  as  the 
Court  did  attempt  was  but  half  exe- 
cuted, because  some  governors  of 
the     provincial    towns    had    been 
taught  theology  so  badly,  or  under- 
stood it  so  ill,  that  they  would  not 
obey  the  whispered  commands  of 
the  Court  to  slay  the  Protestants. 
Thus  did  the  punishment  fall  short 
of  Papal  completeness.     Indeed  no 
act  of  statesmanship  touches  perfec- 
tion.     But  perhaps  the  massacre 
was  as  near  an  approach  to  absolute 
success  as  we  can  hope  to  see  in  the 
fruits  that  come  from  the  edicts  of 
kings.      It  would  be    difficult    to 
name  an  example  of  punishment^ 
fashioned  on  an  equal  scale,  and 
meant  to  compass  an  end  of  equal 
magnitude,   which  was    an    equal 
triumph.      Well  might   the    Pope 
sing  jubilations,  for  Charles    had 
blasted  the  hopes  of  Protestantism 
in  France.  In  three  days  and  nights 


1873] 


A  Plea  for  Black  Barthohmew. 


•287 


of  slanghier  be  had  given  heresy 

sacli  a  blow  as  it  would  not  have 

I       roceiTed  from  centuries  of   arga- 

'      ment    Although  '  the    Huguenots 

could  be  counted  hj  hundreds  of 

thousands  on  the  morrow  of  the 

deed,   although    they    still     held 

Bochelle,  and  although  they   had 

still  the  son  of  Jeanne  d'Albret  to 

lead  them  to  victory  at   Couti*as 

and  Ivry,  their     power    was     so 

broken  that  their  beloved  chief  had 

to  become  a   Catholic  before    he 

oooid   become     King    of   France. 

Tbeir  power  was  so  broken  that 

even  Henry  TV,  had  to  put  forth  all 

his  high  daring  in  order  to  grant 

them  some  rights  of  worship  in  the 

Edict  of  Nantes.      Even  after  the 

saintly  hand  of  an  assassin  had  taken 

Heory  away,  they  might  still  speak 

high,  and  blaster,  and  do  a  little 

persecution  on  their  own  account ; 

hat  the  strong  hand  of  Richelieu 

soon  put  down  such  small  outbursts 

of  heretical   impatience,   and .  left 

them  at  the  mercy  of  the  combined 

piety  of  the    Jesuits,  Madame  de 

ACaintenon,  and  the  great  Louis. 

The  Massacre  of  Saint  Bartholo- 
mew led  to  tbe  Kevocation  of  the 
Edict  of  Nantes.     The  Jesuits  saw 
how   flagrantly    the    great    Louis 
was    sinning    against    Heaven   by 
letting     damnable     heresy    poison 
the      moral        atmosphere      with 
hymns  and   sermons.     Madame  de 
Maintenon's  spiritual  eyesight  was 
equally  clear  -when  she  was  com- 
passing heaven  and  earth  for  power 
to  climb  from  the  Purgatorio  of  the 
king's  mistress  to  the  Paradise  of 
the  king's  wife.    And  the  holy  duty 
of  breaking  faith  with  heresy  be- 
came more  clear  to  the  king  himself 
with  every    fit    of  repentance  for 
his  last  fit  of  debauchery  ;  so  the 
Protestants    could    breathe    freely 
when  he  was  sunk  in  sin,  but  they 
had    reason    to  tremble  when  he 
went  to    chnrch    and    confession. 
The  final  blow  came  when  he  took 


leave  of  sin  by  marrying  the  lady 
who  had  ceased  to  be  a  Huguenot 
when  she  had  been  promoted  to  his 
harem.  The  Edict  of  Nantes  was 
torn  to  shreds.  The  Protestants 
were  forbidden  to  meet  for  what 
they  were  pleased  to  call  worship. 
Their  pastors  were  ordered  to  quit 
the  kingdom  within  fifteen  days. 
The  evangelical  force  of  dragoons 
was  let  loose  on  the  heretics.  Vil- 
lages were  burned,  women  insulted, 
women  outraged,  men  murdered, 
children  torn  from  their  parents  to 
be  placed  in  the  safe  keeping  of 
nuns.  The  heretics  fled  by  hun- 
dreds of  thousands  from  a  land  in 
which  they  were  not  allowed  to  defjf 
the  mandates  of  Holy  Church.  They 
fled,  although  when  caught  they 
were,  if  women,  doomed  to  pine  for 
life  in  the  cell  of  the  cloister,  and,  if 
men,  were  sent  to  the  living  death  of 
the  galleys.  They  made  their  way 
through  dragoons  who  had  found 
out  that  the  Gospel  looked  kindly 
on  torture,  burning,  and  ravishing, 
if  only  heresy  were  thus  smitten 
down.  They  glided  through  the 
guards  at  the  sea-ports,  and  hid 
themselves  in  the  holds  of  vessels, 
although  piety  had  so  far  antici- 
pated the  resources  of  hell  as  to  call 
to  its  aid  lighted  sulphur,  with 
which  it  smoked  every  suspicious 
ship,  in  order  to  drive  into  the  day- 
light any  heretics  who  might  have 
hidden  themselves  among  the  cargo ; 
and  in  order,  also,  to  give  such 
rebels  a  foretaste  of  the  pangs  that 
awaited  heresy  in  the  world  to  come. 
Nothing  daunted  these  strangely  de- 
praved zealots.  They  fled  from  the 
beloved  land  of  their  fathers  as  if  at 
the  dictate  of  such  an  overmaster- 
ing instinct  as  that  which  is  said 
to  drive  crowds  of  some  dumb  crea- 
tures over  mountain  and  fen  and 
torrent  to  seek  the  inflnite  sea. 
They  fled  to  England,  Holland,  and 
Prussia,  carrjring  with  them,  these 
depraved    fanatics,  such   priceless 


288 


A  Plea  for  Black  BaHhohmew. 


[March 


possessions  as  the  manufactaring 
skill  of  France,  her  best  manhood, 
and  her  purest  conscience.  They 
rashed  away  for  years,  until  France 
had  lost  nearly  a  million  of  her  peo- 
ple. Never  had  the  world  seen 
snch  an  exodus  since  the  time  when 
Moses  led  Israel  out  of  Egypt  to 
wander  in  the  desert,  and  hear  the 
mandates  of  Jehovah  against  sin. 

The  Massacre  of  Saint  Bartholo- 
mew was  indeed  a  tremendous 
theological  triumph,  when  it  pre- 
pared the  way  for  the  Bevocation  of 
the  Edict  of  Nantes.  As  we  look  at 
both  events,  we  might  almost  hear 
the  irony  of  Fate  whispering  to  the 
Company  of  Jesus,  the  Cardinals, 
and  the  Pope,  on  the  Eve  of  the  St. 
Bartholomew,  *Tou  say  that  the 
greatest  of  all  sins  and  crimes  and 
curses  of  a  nation  is  the  heresy 
which  denies  the  doctrines  and  de- 
stroys the  power  of  the  Holy  Church. 
You  say  that  France  would  be  made 
fiikir  and  bright  and  happy  if  that 
pestilence  were  only  to  be  swept 
away  for  ever.  Well,  your  will  shall 
be  done.  You  shall  get  for  your 
work  a  field  swept  clean  of  heresy. 
The  most  brilliant,  polished,  and 
powerful  Court  in  the  world  shall 
be  your  servant.  Fleets,  if  you 
choose,  shall  cany  your  gospel,  and 
armies  shall  be  your  evangelists. 
The  most  splendid  of  aristocracies 
shall  help  you  to  guide  the  most 
docile  of  peasantries.  A  literature 
which  rivals  the  literature  of  Gh'eece 
in  perfection  of  form  lies  within  the 
reach  of  your  guidance.  And  you 
shall  lead  into  the  ways  of  eternal 
life  the  most  brilliant  people  that 
earth  has  seen  since  the  days  of 
Athens ;  you  shall  make  them  the 
servants  of  Heaven;  and  through 
the  aid  of  their  wondrous  gifts,  you 
shall  win  back  the  treasure  wUch 
was  stolen  by  Luther.  All  this 
you  shall  do,  since  you  are  the  ap- 
pointed servants  of  the  Most 
High.' 


The  promise  has  been  bo  faith- 
fully kept  that  the  Company  of 
Jesus  may  now  proudly  point  to  the 
mighty  spiritual  triumphs  which 
have  flowed  from  the  Massacre  and 
the  Revocation.  All  but  a  handful 
of  Protestants  were  either  killed  or 
forced  to  fly  to  heretic  nations,  or 
were  made  good  Catholics  by  the 
evangelical  pressure  of  dragoons. 
Charles  IX.  and  Louis  XIV.  £d  for 
France  what  Claverhouse  might 
have  done  for  Scotland  if  James  IL 
had  not  been  defrauded  of  the  divine 
right  to  murder  his  own  subjects. 
And  the  result  has  strikmgly 
proved  how  true  is  the  boast  of  tiiie 
Church,  that  she  does  not  value  the 
things  of  this  world.  So  strange 
is  the  irony  of  history,  that  the 
heretics  were  the  flower  of  the 
French  people.  They  were  the  wo- 
men of  saintliest  life,  the  men  of 
truest  hearts  and  best  brains.  Such 
wealth  of  devotion  as  their  neigh- 
bours spent  in  the  observance  of 
Saints'  Days,  the  Protestants  spent 
in  weaving  good  cloth,  in  giviag 
a  new  touch  of  beauty  to  silk, 
in  finding  out  the  hidden  beauty 
of  new  dyes,  in  telling  the 
truth  by  deed  and  word,  in  lead- 
ing lives  of  beautiful  household 
purity,  and  in  worshipping  God 
with  the  simplicity  of  unpre- 
meditated prayer  and  choral  song. 
But  they  were  swept  away  as  if 
with  the  force  of  the  sea.  And 
when  those  fanatics  lay  dead 
in  the  streets,  or  took  up  their 
abode  in  London  and  Amsterdam, 
Jesuitism  had  the  field  so  much  to 
itself  that  it  represented  Christian- 
ity to  the  eyes  of  philosophy.  Le 
Christiamsme,  c*esi  moi^  was  the 
mute  boast  of  the  company  which 
represented  Loyola.  And  to  philo- 
sophy such  Christianity  seemed  to 
be  so  largely  a  thing  of  firaads> 
imbecilities,  idiotcies,  lies,  and  mur- 
ders, that  the  result,  of  course,  was 
Voltaire.    From  Voltaire  has  come 


IBfS] 


A  Flea  for  Blaok  Bartholomew. 


289 


ft  Gallican  liabit  of  believing  tbat 
the  sanctities  of  religion  are  a  fitting 
mark  only  for  epigrammatic  spurts 
of  ndicale.    The  loss  of  the  Pro- 
testant middle  class  placed  France 
at  the  mercj  of  the  Coart,  the  no- 
bles, the  country  lawyers,  the  vision- 
aries of  the  schools,  and  the  scum 
o(  the  towns.     So  was  lost  all  check 
on  the  fury  of  the  Revolution.    So 
came  Robespierre,  and  the  reign 
of  Terror.     The  Revolution  drove 
sanctity  deeper  into  the  arms  of 
that  Church    which    is    the  most 
richly  gifted  with  the    power    of 
baffling  the  devil  by  the  magio  of 
saints'  bones  and  Sacraments ;  and 
Voltaire  made  even  intellects  likeDe 
Maistre's  fly  for  refuge  to  infalli- 
bility.   That  recoil  from  rationalism 
drove  the  working  people  to  a  hate 
of  the  priests  because  they  said  that 
piety    meant      devotion     to    the 
monarchyy      that     attendance     at 
Mass    meant  the  hatred  of  a  re- 
pnbhc,  and  that  &ith  meant  a  belief 
in  the  old  noblesse.      Hence  such 
deeds  as  the  murder  of  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Paris,  'the    Jesuits  and 
the  Dominicans,   when    the    chief 
buildings  of  Paris  were  set  on  fire, 
and  when  the  flight  of  the  Commn- 
nalist    leaders  had  left  the  worst 
ruffians  of  the  capital  free  to  show 
that  ihey  oonld  murder  priests  al* 
most  as    remorselessly    as  priests 
had  mardercd  Protestants.     Hence, 
by  another  recoil,  has  come  such  a 
bunt  of  zeal  for  the  Catholic  reli- 
gion as  France  has  not  displayed 
for  more    than    a    century.     The 
churches  are  full  to  the  door ;  Paris 
is  at  once  the  most  immoral  and 
the    moat     church- going    city    in 
Europe.     The  coffers  of  the  priests 
are  filled  with  the  offerings  of  eager 
penitents,     ^he  Jesuits  cannot  taJce 
in  half  the  pupils  that  are  brought 
beseechingly     to     their     colleges. 
Miracles  are  wrought  at  the  tomb 
of  the  murdered    Jesuits,  within 
a  mile  of  the  house  in  which  Yol- 


taire  died.  Greater  crowds  than 
were  ever  seen  before  flocked  on 
last  Good  Friday  to  see  a  bit  of  the 
true  Cross  exhibited,  within  a  gun- 
shot of  the  house  in  which  Auguste 
Comte  revealed  the  art  of  being 
pious  without  believing  in  a  Qt)d. 
The  miracles  of  La  SaJette  and 
Lourdes  are  an  article  of  £uth  to 
those  fine  ladies  of  the  Faubourg  St. 
Germain  who  combine  the  worship 
of  the  Virgin  Mary  with  the  worship 
of  their  own  ancestors.  And  forty 
thousand  men  and  women  flocked 
to  Lourdes  to  be  miraculously  cured 
of  spiritual  and  bodily  ills  at  the 
shrine  of  the  Virgin  and  her  holy 
well,  led  by  an  army  of  priests, 
by  seven  bishops,  by  a  hundred 
and  fifty  ladies  of  fashion  and  fifteen 
members  of  the  National  Assembly. 
Meanwhile,  the  educated  and  there- 
fore the  sceptical  Frenchmen  are 
looking  on  the  scene  with  such 
amusement,  contempt,  or  disgust  as 
Pagan  philosophers  might  have 
viewed  the  rites  of  the  Druids. 
Meanwhile,  also,  the  working  peo- 
ple are  learning  to  link  the  priests 
and  their  religion  more  and  more 
closely  with  whatever  is  hateful 
to  those  who  see  a  divine  right  in 
the  Republican  rule  of  the  Prole- 
tariat. Such  journals  as  the  Rap-^ 
pel,  which  is  their  chief  political 
food,  are  daily  filled  with  lunpoons 
against  the  priests  and  the  creed  of 
the  Church;  and  woe  be  to  those 
priests  and  that  creed,  if  ever  the 
democracy  of  Paris  should  again  be 
let  loose  !  Nor  can  much  guidance 
come  from  those  men  of  thought 
and  culture  whose  office  it  is  to 
teach  the  people  moral  and  political 
wisdom.  Standing  between  the 
two  camps,  they  are  eager  to  pre- 
serve order,  but  too  scorofal  of  im- 
postures to  form  a  league  with  the 
priests ;  and  they  are  eager  also  to 
be  political  Liberals,  yet  fearful  to 
give  any  rein  to  a  party  which  finds 
its  idesd  in  anarchy,  and  gilds  an- 


290 


A  Plea  for  Black  Bartholomew, 


[Marcli 


arcliy  with  the  name  of  Revolntion. 
Standing  between  two  fires,  thej 
are  so  fearful  of  falling  into  either 
that  they  dare  hardly  move.  Some 
help  might  have  been  expected 
from  the  Protestants,  since,  al- 
though sunk  in  the  wickedness  of 
heresy,  they  did  once  display  poli- 
tical capacity,  and  they  still  contrive 
to  make  Christianity  respected  even 
by  men  who  reject  it  as  a  dog- 
matic creed ;  but  the  act  of  Saint 
Bartholomew,  and  the  Revocation 
of  the  Edict  of  Nantes,  so  broke  the 
power  of  the  Huguenots  that,  as 
the  Company  of  Jesus  may  proudly 
boast,  the  French  Protestants  are 
now  a  powerless  sect.  Thus  has 
the  victory  of  Catholicism  been  so 
complete,  that  France,  *  the  leader 
of  civilisation,'  is  made  up  of  two 
nations  which  hate  each  other  with 
the  hatred  which  claims  the  appease- 
ment of  extermination ;  and  the 
sovereignty  is  tossed,  now  to  one 
nation,  now  to  another,  or  again  to 
a  military  despot ;  and  the  path  of 
La  Belle  France  lies  from  revolution 
to  revolution ;  and  she,  the  civiliser 
of  nations,  threatens  to  become,  like 
Spain,  the  prey  of  pronunciamientos^ 
the  prize  of  uniformed  brigands 
whose  murders  the  Church  shall 
•wash  away  when  the  brigands  shall 
give  her  part  of  their  spoil.  Thus 
is  France  a. living  plea  for  Black 
Bartholomew. 

Such  is  my  plea  for  the  Massacre 
of  St.  Bartholomew.  It  was  a 
tremendous  theological  triumph, 
justlyconceived,  if  the  Latin  Church 
speaks  the  truth,  and  magnificently 
executed. 

And  for  that  very  reason,  of 
course,  it  is  the  most  atrocious 
crime  recorded  in  modem  history. 
It  is  the  seal  and  the  symbol  of 
the  creed  that  Grod  has  appointed 
but  one  way  of  salvation,  and  given 
that  way  into  the  keeping  of  men 
who  called  themselves  the  Church. 
It  flashes  the  light  of  fact  on  all 


the  dogmas  which  speak  with  tbo 
voice  of  infallibility,  and  which 
proclaim,  with  Thtia  saiih  the  Lord, 
that  all  men  must  walk  in  the  one 
way,  or  perish  everlastingly. 

It  were  a  poor  employment  to 
treat  the  revealed  theology  of  Arch- 
bishop Manning  or  of  Mr.  Mackono- 
chie  as  gravely  as  we  should  be 
bound  to  weip:h  even  the  lightest 
guesses  of  Mr.  Darwin.  We  might  as 
profitably  bring  up  again  the  old  ar- 
guments of  Copernicus.  The  theo- 
logy of  the  High  Anglicans  and  the 
Papal  Church  has  ceased  to  be  intel- 
lectually interesting,  save  as  a  col- 
lection of  the  symbols  by  which  the 
best  and  the  greatest  of  men  once 
formed  the  expi^ssion  of  their  high- 
est hopes.  Nor  would  it  be  worth 
while  to  make  the  story  of  Saint 
Bartholomew  a  mere  chapter  of 
theological  polemics,  if  the  battle 
lay  between  one  set  of  dogmas  and 
another.  The  story  is  full  of  mo- 
ment because  it  cuts  beneath  the 
theological  rind  of  dogmas  to  the 
moral  pith,  and  because  it  proclaims 
that  the  last  court  of  theological 
appeal  is  neither  a  Pope  nor  a  book, 
but  the  individual  conscience.  In  a 
confused  andhalf-confessed  way,  this 
conviction  has  been  the  faith  of  all 
who  have  striven  to  lift  their  fellow- 
men  out  of  the  mire  of  systems.  It 
nerved  Luther,  although  he  lived 
too  early  to  cut  himself  clean  away 
from  infallible  leading-strings,  and 
although  his  trust  in  his  own  reason 
betrays  itself  only  by  spasmodic 
spurts  of  rebellion.  It  gave  force 
to  the  polemics  of  Calvin,  notwith- 
standing the  iron  grip  which  he 
fastens  on  the  letter  of  the  Scrip- 
ture. It  was  the  inspiration  that 
made  Knox  the  prophet  of  an  his- 
toric people.  It  lay  at  the  root  of 
the  spiritual  life  which  was  cast 
into  Christianity  by  the  Quakers, 
who  have  given  a  better  picture 
than  all  the  other  sects  put  toge- 
ther of  such  moral  beau^  as  lay 


1873] 


A  Flea  for  Black  Bartholomew. 


291 


in  tlie  life  of  early  Christendom, 
Acd  who,  as  an  organised  body, 
are  now  perishing  under  the  Pagan 
&8cinafcions  of  the  High   Church 
and  the  Pauline  dialectics  of  the 
Low,  because  they  have  not  been 
true  to  the  belief  that  Ood  is  a 
Spirit^  and  they  that  worship  Him 
mnnt  worship  Him  in  spirit  and  in 
truth.    It  is  the  same  feeling  that 
lies  at  the  root  of  the  Broad  Church 
protest  against  dogmas  which  out- 
rage the  conscience  by  their  depar- 
tnres  from  the  commonest  tenets  of 
right  and  wrong.      The  future  of 
Christianiiy  will  be  shaped  by  the 
principle  that  ch arches  and  books 
can   only    be    aids     to     devotion, 
promptings  to  piety,  or  guides  to 
such  work  as  men  will  profit  by; 
that  &e  last  spring  of  action  must 
be  the  indiyidual  conscience ;  that 
each  man  mnst  be  a  law  unto  him- 
self; and  that  unity  must  be  sought 
in  aim,  instead  of  in  assent  to  in- 
comprehensible propositions.      All 
this  ia  a  mere  commonplace  to  men 
whose  thoughts  have  been  shaped 
hy  philosophical    reflection.     But 
truisms  are   oflen  the  most  fertile 
of  truths,    and  it  is  well  to  hold 
aloflb  the  fact,  that  the  Mount  Sinai 
of  the  individual  conscience  must 
be  the    last    court  of  theological 
appeal  at  a  time  when  a  wave  of 
Paganism  is  sweeping  over  England 
side  by  side  with  a  wave  of  science ; 
when  crowds  are  casting  aside  with 
scorn  the  name  of  Protestant,  and 
when  they   are  hastening  to   offer 
High  Church  incense  to  the  gods 
which  our  fathers  tried  to  throw 
down  at  the  inspiration  of  common- 
sense,  the  Healthy  hatred  of  cloister 
sentimentalism,  and  the  manly  scorn 
of  lies.     It    has    become   fashion- 
able to  sneer  at  Protestantism,  and 
even   Liberals  sometimes  join    in 
the   sport.      !Nor  is  it   difficult  to 
taunt  Protestantism  with  its  want 
of  logical    consistency,  its  narrow- 
ness, and  its  acceptance  of  doctrines 


which  have  led  it  to  make  feeble 
copies  of  Saint  Bartholomew.  But, 
after  all,  Protestantism  was  an  at- 
tempt to  speak  the  truth.  It  has 
signified  a  slow  but  sure  jour- 
ney towards  a  rational  appeal 
to  the  individual  brain  and  con- 
science. It  has  signified,  therefore, 
a  gradual  assent  to  that  truth  in 
word  and  deed,  that  habit  of  f&vr 
dealing  between  man  and  man,  and 
that  ordered  sequence  of  things  ac- 
cording to  their  tested  values,  which 
we  call  by  the  name  of  civilisation. 
A  high  and  uniform  level  of  civili- 
sation cannot  exist  in  the  same  land 
with  a  great  and  powerful  priest- 
hood, any  more  than  a  lighted  torch 
can  live  in  hydrogen  gas.  France 
will  perhaps  be  the  field  of  experi- 
ment in  this  matter  as  she  has  been 
in  so  many  others.  Either  France 
must  kill  Catholicism,  or  Catholic* 
ism  must  kill  France.  It  is  worth 
while  to  forgot  the  philosophical 
incompleteness  of  Protestantism 
and  to  look  at  the  moral  health 
which  it  generates,  when,  driven 
by  those  Pagan  promptings  which 
recur  as  certainly  as  the  seasons  of 
the  year,  crowds  are  rushing  for 
the  solace  of  devotion  to  a  symbol- 
ism and  a  creed  which  enfeeble  the 
thinking  power  and  dull  the  moral 
sense.  There  could  be  no  surer 
sign  that  the  moral  fibre  of  the 
English  people  is  relaxmg,  and  that 
they  are  losing  tho  fearless  honesty 
of  instinct  which  made  unlettered 
burghers  and  peasants  rebel  again  st- 
the  Universal  Church,  when  she 
tried  to  harden  their  hearts  so  that 
they  might  believe  a  lie. 

A  time  there  was  when  that 
Church  was  the  great  moral  teacher, 
and  when  she  could  be  trusted  to 
sound  the  noblest  of  moral  notes. 
She  stood  thus  high  because  the 
best  brains  and  hearte  of  the  age 
lay  within  her  fold,  and  because  her 
doctrines  did  but  codify  the  best 
ideas  of  right  and  wrong  to  which 


292 


A  Plea  for  Black  Bartholomew, 


[Marc\i 


mankind  had  groped.  That  waa 
long  ago.  We  do  not  now  go  to 
Church  Congresses,  or  Convocations, 
or  CEcumenical  Councils  for  clear 
and  high  notes  of  denunciation 
against  such  concrete  forms  of  human 
wickedness  as  lies  and  fraud;  nor  do 
we  go  for  a  trumpet  call  to  the 
highest  duty  which  we  owe  to  our 
race.  We  go  chiefly  for  instruction 
as  to  the  use  of  incense,  the  colour 
of  vestments,  the  proper  shape  of 
incomprehensible  dogmas,  and  aids 
to  overcome  Dissent.  We  have 
ceased  to  expect  that  the  priesthood 
shall  rush  to  the  front  with  jubila- 
tions and  anathemas  when  slaves 


have  to  be  liberated,  or  a  great  on* 
just  war  to  be  stayed.  For  high 
moral  guidance  we  now  look  to 
those  secular  teachers  whom  the 
sacerdotal  churches  cast  out  of  the 
spiritual  fold  with  as  much  pomp 
of  mute  anathema  as  lay  in  the  com- 
prehensive curses  with  which  the 
synagogue  of  Amsterdam  cursed 
Bardch  Spinoza  in  his  goings  OTLt 
and  comings  in.  Nor  wiE  the 
Church  win  back  its  lost  moral 
power  until  it  shall  part  with  all 
the  theology  which  drove  kings  and 
citizens  to  do,  and  popes  to  bless, 
the  deed  of  Black  Bartholomew. 
James  Maodonell. 


1873] 


293 


CAUSES    OF   THE   FRICTION    BETWEEN    THE    UNITED 
STATES  AND  ENGLAND. 

By  the  Authoe  of  *  Premier  and  President.' 


THE  relations  between  England 
and  the  United  States  have 
always  been  a  piquant  and  tanta- 
lising topic  of  reflection  and  discns- 
sion.  That  there  is  something 
about  those  relations  exceedingly 
unique  will  be  conceded,  I  think,  by 
all  who  have  given  them  any  care- 
ful investigation. 

No  other  two  nations  spend  so 
much  time  in  affirming  their  friend- 
ship, and  no  other  two  nations  find 
it  so  difficult  to  live  on  friendly 
terms.    In  fact  we  are  the  only  two 
nations  that    ever    say    anything 
about  their  friendship,  and  the  only 
two    that    have  any  difficulty  in 
inaintaining  amicable   intercourse. 
True,  other  nations  fight,  but  they 
do  not,  chronically  speaking,  quar- 
rel    They  are  sometimes  techni- 
cally '  enemies,'  but    they    would 
resent  the  imputation  of  being  ha- 
bitually anything  but  friends.  They 
are  occasionally  at  war,  but  it  is 
never  a  war  of  words.    They  sheathe 
their    swords    and     shake     hands, 
smooth   their  wrinkled  fronts,  and 
smile  each  upon  the  other's  patriot- 
ism and  prowess.     Our  two  nations 
are  never  so  much  at  daggers'  points 
as  when  they  are  airing  and  repair- 
ing their  pacific  relations.     We  are 
alteroatelj  gushing  and   nagging, 
nay,  we  guah  and  nag  simultaneous- 
ly.     Our    friendliness    for    other 
countries,    like    civiHty  in  private 
Hkj  is  taken  quite  as  a  matter  of 
course,  and  nothing  therefore  is  said 
about  it ;  the  friendship  of  our  two 
countries  for  one  another  is  the  vic- 
tim of  incessant  protestation. 

A  penetrating  observer  of  this 
would  saj  there  was  something  en- 
igmatical about  it.  Nor  would  he 
l^ve  to  go  far  before  reaching  its 
solution.      He    would    infer    from 


tho  frequency  and  publicity  of  these 
affectionate  expressions  that  they 
were  indicative  of  the  friction  they 
were  intended  to  disprove.     That 
the  friction  exists,  and  that  it  is  an 
extremely  irritative  kind  of  friction, 
no  student  of  the  temper  of  the  two 
nations  will   deny.     Nor  do  I  see 
how  he  can  deny  that  this  friction 
is  traceable  to  the  very  souixses  from 
which  it  is  claimed  should  flow  an 
uninterrupted    stream  of   concord 
and  sweetness.     It  is  said,  for  ex- 
ample, that  we  should  be  hard  and 
fast  friends  because  we  have  '  a  com- 
mon origin,'  and  the  same  language, 
literature,  and  laws  ;   whereas  no- 
thing is  more  promotive  of  our  es- 
trangement than  the  fact  that  we 
come  of  the  same  quarrelsome  stock, 
speak  the  same  irritating  vernacu- 
lar, poison  with  our  spleen  the  same 
•well    of  English    undefiled,'  and 
boast  of  the  same  complicated  mass 
of  impracticable  legislation.     We 
are  just  near  enough  of  kin  to  ex- 
change    self-gratulations    at    the 
public    dinner-table,   and  just  far 
enough  apart  on  the  *  family  tree  '  to 
chatter  our  ill-nature  after  the  man- 
ner of,  as  well  as  with  respect  to 
•  the  origin  of  the  species  '  to  which 
we  belong.      A  nation  derives  its 
strength,  because  its  unity,  from  its 
homogeneity,  but  two  nations  of  a 
'  common  origin  '  are  alienated  in- 
stead  of  consolidated  by  this  cir- 
cumstance.     And  all  the  more  ali- 
enative  is  the  circumstance  if  it  is  of 
the  nature  of  an  open  question,  and 
one   of  those  '  foolish  questions  ' 
which  Timothy  is  advised  to  let 
alone  because  they  gender  strife  to 
no  profit.    Very  much  such  a  ques- 
tion is  that  perennial  English  ques- 
tion— Who  are    the    Americans  ? 
Now  it  is  well  known  that  as  Eng- 


294        Causes  of  Friction  hetwem  the.  United  States  wnd  England.  [Mudi 


lisb-speaking  or  any  other  human 
nature  is  now  constituted,  there  is 
no  more  delicate  or  hazardous  ques- 
tion to  put  than  that  of  pedigp:ee. 
There  is  no  more  sensitive  human 
weakness  (or  strength?)  than  the 
vanity  of  descent.  Jrride  is,  I  think, 
the  more  accurate  word.  Pride  of 
race,  of  family,  of  lineage,  of  blood — 
what  a  part  it  has  played  in  the 
tragedies  of  history  !  No  form  of 
government  or  of  society  or  of 
religion  has  ever  done  it  away.  Rev- 
olutions  may  submerge  it  for  a  time, 
but  when  they  spend  themselves,  it 
gradually  regains  its  old  ascendency. 
The  Americans  of  the  United  States 
are  all  the  more  touchy  respecting 
their  origin  and  social  status  for 
repudiating  such  trifles  in  the ' 
articles  of  their  political  faith. 
There  is  no  more  thin-skinned  aris- 
tocracy than  the  highest  society  of 
the  great  Republic,  and  none  that 
betrays  so  alert  an  anxiety  with  re- 
spect to  the  foreign  estimation  of  its 
sign-marks  and  credentials. 

This  leading  question — ^Who  are 
the  Americans  ?  receives  two  an- 
swers in  England.  The  one  is  ex- 
tremely gratifying  to  the  vanity  (or 
pride)  aforementioned,  and  is  there- 
fore well  calculated  to  keep  our  inter- 
national social  relations  in  the  best  of 
repair;  the  other  is  to  a  much  greater 
degree  aggravating  and  separating, 
because  it  wounds  the  American  sen- 
sibilities at  their  tenderest  point. 

*  With  regard  to  what  was  once 
our  colony  but  is  now  the  United 
States  of  America  ' — ^said  an  elo- 
quent English  statesman  on  a  re- 
cent public  occasion — *  not  any- 
thing has  been  lost  of  the  masculine 
character  of  Englishmen . '  No  com- 
pliment more  acceptable  to  an 
American  than  this  could  be  spoken 
by  an  Englishman.  But  it  is  only 
in  the  after-dinner  speech  that  we 
are  congratulated  upon  having  the 
honour  of  belonging  to  the  muscu- 
lar christian  branch  of  the  human 
family.  Elsewhere,  which  comes 
ezasperatingly  near  being    every- 


where, we  are  condoled  with  for 
having  long  since  lost  our  Vpnre 
English '  clmracteristics.  Statistics 
are  so  manipulated  as  to  confirm  our 
worst  apprehensions.  Additions 
and  subtractions  are  paraded  to 
show  with  what  rapidity  we  are 
ceasing  to  be  the  descendants  of  onr 
European  ancestors  and  are  becom- 
ing the  descendants  of  onr  Ameri- 
can predecessors.  The  climate  is 
named  as  one  of  the  reasons  for  this 
English  theory  of  Anglo-American 

*  extinction.'  Aversion  for  fiwnily 
responsibility,  and  the  disobedience 
of  an  explicit  Divine  command  are 
deplored  as  other  causes   of  this 

*  degeneracy.'     Your  America  of 

*  the  old  thirteen  '  feels  his  *  colonial' 
blood  rise  to  see  that  blood  subject- 
ed to  the  analytical  complacency  of 
his  English  contemporaries.  How 
is  his  mettle  stirred  within  him  by 
this  question  of  his  identity ! 
Instead  of  being  congratulated  upon 
his  success  in  supplanting  the  bar- 
barous tribes  of  aborigines,  with 
the  highest  attainment  in  the  way 
of  a  race  which  the  world  has  ever 
seen,  he  is  deliberately  diagnosed  as 
a  new  and  curious  species  of  the 
genus  homo  by  the  *  chiel  among  ns 
taking  notes.'  His  dream  of  l^ing 
all  this  century  back  the  admiration 
of  mankind,  especially  of  the  Eng- 
lish portion  of  mankind,  is  suddenly 
interrupted  by  the  question  of  his 
rank  in  the  descending  scale  of 
being. 

When  we  do  well,  oar  mother 
country  presses  us  to  her  bosom  and 
pats  us  on  the  back  ;  when  we 
stumble  or  go  wrong,  our  mo- 
ther country  shakes  ns  out  of  her 
lap  and  pushes  us  from  her  in  ener- 
getic disdain.  When  all  goes  hope- 
fully she  takes  the  credit  of  oar 
success  and  calls  the  world  to  wit- 
ness— How  like  his  mother  1  Chip 
of  the  old  block !  No  decay  or  de- 
generacy there  I  When  something 
happens  to  us,  even  if  it  be  the 
breaking  out  of  an  inherited 
disease — We  are  no  child  of  hers ; 


ISTZ].    Causes  of  FncHcm  between  {he  Umted  Staiee  and  England.        29^ 


The  theory  of  the  '  common  origin  ' 
is  abandoned  and  the  *  common  bond 
of  union '  is  cnt  in  twain.  This  is 
annoying  to  those  who  are  as  easily 
annoyed  as  the  Americans. 

After  a  seven  years'  war,  won  with 
bare  feet  through  long  winters 
against  the  best  troops  in  the  world, 
i^r  a  half  a  dozen  other  wars, 
(wise  and  otherwise)  and  a  four 
years'  war  in  which  we  whipped, 
and  got  whipped  by  one  another  to 
oar  hearts'  content,  it  nettles  ns 
to  be  asked  by  a  person  whose  good 
opinion  we  desire  so  much  as  that  of 
John  Bull,  who  we  are,  where  we 
came  from,  and  what  language  we 
speak.  One  frnitftil  cause  of  the 
friction  between  our  two  countries 
is  the  ignorance  of  the  English 
*  with  regard  to  what  was  once  our 
colony,  but  is  now  the  United 
States.'  We  are  not  proud  enough 
to  meet  such  indifference  with  its 
equivalent  in  kind  and  degree,  but 
we  are  vain  enough  to  give  the 
slight  the  dignity  of  a  grievance 
and  chUdish  enough  to  speak  of  it  as 
such. 

The  confusion   that  prevails  in 
England  on  this  subject  of  the  Eng- 
lish in  America,  is  nowhere  worse 
confounded  than  in  English  books 
on  this  subject.      Open  almost  any 
book  on  the  United  States  written 
by  an  englishman  and  you  shall  see 
either  a  Pickwickian  surprise  over 
the  fact  that  *  the  Americans  are  so 
like  onrselves,'  or  a  series  of  crack- 
ling epigrams  over  the  absence  in 
America    of    everything  *  English ' 
and  the  presence  therefore  of  every- 
thing ominous. 

Passings  by  as  too  grotesque  a 
distortion  to  be  used  as  an  illustra- 
tion, a  book  which  declares  that  the 
Shakers,  -who  are  unknown  beyond 
their  extremely  'local  habitation,' 
are  '  exercising  a  magnetic  influence 
on  American  thought/  let  us  turn 
over  a  pa^  or  two  of  Greater  Bri- 
tain.  On  page  30  we  are  told  that 
*  in  Pittsbnrg,  in  Chicago,  a  few 
years  make  the  veriest  Ps^dy  Eng- 

VOL.  Vll. 1^0-  XXXIX.     NEW  SEBIES. 


lish,*  and  that 'year  by  year  the 
towns  grow  more  and  more  intense- 
ly Irish.*  On  page  224  *the  child- 
ren of  Irish  parents  born[in  America 
are  neither  physically"  nor  morally 
Irish  but  Americans '  and '  the  latest 
product  of  the  Saxon  race.'  On 
page  199  'the  single  danger  that 
looms  in  the  more  £stant  future  is 
the  eventual  control  of  Congress  by 
the  Irish,'  but  on  page  216  '  Irish 
are  systematically  excluded  from 
Congress,'  and '  disgusted  with  their 
exclusion  fi*om  political  life,  and 
power  it  is  these  men  who  turn  to 
Fenianism  as  a  relief.' 

Perhaps  a  useful  fact  or  two 
should  be  inserted  here.  Of  the  74 
members  of  the  United  States 
Senate  one  only  is  an  Irishman  by 
birth  and  one  is  by  birth  a  German — 
a  race  not  altogether  unknown  in 
either  remote  or  recent  English  his- 
tory, and  a  race  which  has  been  of 
incalculable  service  to  America. 
Of  the  243  members  of  the  National 
House  of  Representatives  three 
only  are  Irishmen — not  but  what 
some  of  the  rest  of  them  would  be 
the  better  for  being  Irishmen^  At 
all  events,  I  am  not  aware  that  any 
of  these  Irish  members  have  proved 
themselves  any  more  unworthy  of 
their  seats  than  have  their 
countrymen  in  the  two  Houses  of 
the  British  Parliament.  The  same 
remark  may  be  made  of  the  one 
Englishman  (by  birth)  the  one 
Scotchman,  and  the  one  German 
whose  name  is  upon  the  rolls  of  the 
Lower  House  at  Washington.  The 
remainder  of  the  members  of  both 
Houses  are  as  nearly '  Americans ' 
as  any  of  us  can  be  expected  to  bo, 
considering  that  the  da^te  of  both  the 
settlement  of  the  country  and  the 
establishment  of  the  Republic,  is  an 
incident  of  our  *  origin '  over  which 
we  had  no  control.  It  is  from  no 
fault  of  ours  that  we  are  twitted 
with  being  *  foreigners '  as  well  as 
*  pale  faces '  by  our  copper-coloured 
predecessors.  But  to  be  published 
in  addition,  as  aliens  to  the  English- 

Y 


296        Causes  of  Friction  heiween  tlie  United  States  and  EngUmd.  [Mardi 


speaking  oommoiiwealili  by*  oth* 
former  fellow  citij&enB  thereof  is 
owing  to  our  present  sensitiveness 
as  a  people  almost  unendurable. 

There  is  nothing  like  these  sta- 
tistics, which  are  so  manipulated  as 
to  prove  that  the  original,  like  the 
aboriginal,  American  is  passing 
awaj,  to  demonstrate  how  easily 
figures  can  be  made  to  lie,  and  how 
difficult  it  is  to  make  facts  tell  the 
truth.  And  in  proportion  to  the 
unfairness  of  this  arithmetic  is  its 
adaptation  to  the  purposes  of  those 
who  delight  to  rub  their  hands  the 
wrong  way  of  their  neighbour's 
fece.  There  is  just  enough  of  truth 
in  it  to  make  it  fulfil  the  end  of 
those  who  wish  to  nag  with  it,  and 
just  enough  of  fallacy  in  it  to  keep 
those  who  combat  it  in  a  chronic 
state  of  argumentative  exaspera« 
tion. 

As  a  specimen  of  this  irritating 
way  of  making  a  fallacious  state- 
ment respecting  American  society 
studiously  pursued  by  a  certain 
class  of  English  writers,  read  this 
paragraph  on  page  179  of  Or  eater 
Britain — *The  only  one  of  the 
common  charges  brought  against 
America  in  English  society  and  in 
English  books  and  papers  that  is 
thoroughly  true  is  the  statement 
that  American  children,  as  a  rule, 
are  forward,  ill-mannered,  and  im- 
moral. An  American  can  scarcely 
be  found  who  does  not  admit  and 
deplore  the  fact.  With  the  self- 
exposing  honesty  that  is  character- 
istie  of  their  nation,  American 
gentlemen  will  talk  by  the  hour  of 
the  terrible  profligacy  of  the  young 
New  Yorkers.  Boys,  they  teU  you, 
who  in  England  would  be  safe  in 
the  lower  school  at  Eton,  or  in 
well-managed  houses,  in  New  York 
or  Now  Orleans  are  deep  gamesters, 
and  God-defying  rowdies.  In  New 
England  things  are  better,  in  the 
west  there  is  yet  time  to  prevent 
the  ill  arising.' 

Now  this  paragraph,  in  common 
with   a   large    proportion    of   the 


^poisonous   Exiglish  writing   about 
American  social  li&,.  is  admirably 
calculated    for    being    swalloTved 
without  suspicion  ii^  England,  and 
for  being  resented  with  some  spirit 
in  America.    The  'statement'  ap- 
pears, .upon  the  first  reading,  to  be 
that  (i)  American  children  are,  as 
a    rule,    immoral ;    that     (2)    the 
Americans    themselves  admit  this 
statement  to  be  accurate ;  and  that 
therefore  (3)  the  statement  is  in- 
controvertible.       The     statement, 
when  analysed,  amounts  to  this: 
that  (i)  tne  whole  west  and  the 
whole  of  New  England  is  excluded 
from  the  *  charge,'  and  (2)  that  the 
charge  is  true  only  of  New  York 
and  New  Orleans.  First,  all  Ameri- 
cans  admit  that  their  children  are 
immoral ;  second,  Americans  '  talk 
of  the  terrible   profligacy    of  the 
young  New  Yorkers  '  only,  and  tell 
you  that  it  is  (not  ^  American  cliil- 
dren  as  a  rule,'  but)  the  boys  of 
New  York  and  New  Orleans  that 
are    immoral.       Nevertheless,    the 
hasty    reader   (and    hasty   writers 
have  only  hasty  readers)  will  close 
the  paragiraph  with  the  impression 
on  the  authority  of  the  author  of 
Greater    Britain^    that   *  American 
children  are  as  a  mlo  deep  gamesters 
and  God-defying  rowdies.'  But  if  the 
author  were  arraigned  for  «ach  a 
statement  he  would  probably  refer 
us  to  the  *  American  gentleman' 
who  cannot  be  found,  which  re- 
minds us  of  another  peculiarity  of 
this  and  of  many  another  English 
gentleman's  reflections  on  the  social 
life  of  the  United  States.     It  is  im- 
possible to  tell  just  where  the  state- 
ment of  the  informant  leaves  oET 
and  that  of  the  author  begins.     The 
*  They-says  '   and  *  I-am-tolds  '    of 
English  books  on  America  are  as 
frequent  as  they  ai*e  ingenious,  are 
as  craftily  inserted  by  the  writer  as 
they  are  certain  to  be  overlooked 
by  the  reader.  We  Americaus  are,  as 
a  nation,  the  victim  of  one  of  our  own 
habits  of  mind — generalisation,    A^ 
no  country  in  the  world  presents  so 


fl97S]   Oata^  of  Fncttoh  helkk&ritU  UnitieS  Btaiesaiid  England.       '297 


•itfrife]^  A*^]d  fof^tltt  ex^MiSeof 

.  pwjeriaity  as  ^Iserw  Alaoferica;'  e&  no 
<3it}iWkiKy'temXiTif^hksiy  seifoj^cted 
'toii  'Aff'^atetbe  lafitt>6bbte  in 
^the  world  to  be  inaken  at  6n&  WbfAng, 
so  we'  ste'ihe  Most  distbrfjigd-Iddldng 
'ttatito  in  the  "Wdrld  -When,  fitAick 
from  ihib  negatiVe  of  an  iirhertint 
and  '  instantaneous ' '  pKotogr&pliei*. 
He  turns  Ub  camei^  npon  us,  pulls 
ont  his  watch,  uncor^i^  th6  lens6, 
claps  on  the  coyer  again,  atld  thei'e 
we  are — the  entire  39  millions  of  us 
under  Hhe  magnetic  influence'  of 
6,000  Shakers ;  and  under  the  '  con- 
trol '  of  the  Irish',  who  have  aban- 
doned political  a£Pairs  becaxisid  ihe^ 
cannot  colitrol   them ;    absorbing 
and  getting  absorbed  by  thid  Gdts ; 
canying^fdoffe  the  banner  of  the  in- 
€stingaishable  Anglo-Saxon,  while 
nothing   but   the  fossiliferouS  re- 
mains of  that  ettinct  species. '   Or  if 
I  may  be  indulged  in  a  chilnge  of 
metaphcm,    tbe   popular    English 
books  on  the  United    States  are 
kaleidoscope^  in  wiiich,  as  we  turn 
crer  the  leaves,   we   see  Shakers 
tombling  into  the  arms'  of  Free 
Ixnrers,  Mormons  cracking  heads 
with  *  Second-Goming-ites,'  and  Co^ 
mancheCT' grabbing  £it  the  ^g-tails 
of  the  Chinese. 

It  is  extrenaely^  doubtftd  wliether 
seeing  a  ccnmtry  is  any  advantage 
to  the  percfon -who  wishes  to  write 
about  it.  K  it  is  true  that  hi^rian^ 
iu  Older  to  be  tmert  worthy  xanst  have 
no  part  or  lot  iti'  ik6  events  which 
they  narrate^  it  may  be  maintained 
with  to  lees  piansibility  that  there 
is  otly  one  person  worse  qualifled 
to  wiitixtg  about 8'oonntry  than  th6 
person  who  knciwfl  nothing  ^bout  it, 
and  that  is  the  person  Who  kxiows  a 
iittle  about  it.  This  *'  liitk  know- 
ledge '  h  tfn  exceedingly  ^  dange- 
rous thin^/  TTravelling  thriptigh  k 
country  prejudices  the  mind,  oi: 
at  least  nnaettles  it.  If  you  are  & 
guest  you  are  under  bonds  to  keep 
die  peace,  and  may  speak  only  of  the 
outside  of  the  cup  and  the  platter ;  if 


•  ydndfttch  the  fevisr  itncl  agud  yDtt  Cui 
jsee'ndthing-toadmii'eih  otLr  pdliti- 

•  bal  institnfionS  ;  Or  if  you  come  and 
go  ah  ^  unappreciated  *  lecturer  you 

•  should  be  ejtcuded  fbr  refusing  to 
''ttdmit  that  itny  good  thing  6ah  coike 

out  6f  a  Dekiocratic  form  of  Gd- 
'vemtaent.  ^ 

I  Wa^  rtruck  with  the  answer  of 

'thelUkte  Dr.  Keith  Johnston, the eini. 

'hent  geographer,  when  I  asked  him 

'  why  he  who  had  nlade  so  many  maps 

of  America  hM  not  visited  it.     Ho 

'  paid  he  ^  never  had  any  difficulty  in 

making  maps  of  a  country  until  be 

travelled 'in  it.      Before  he  went 

-Ettst  he  m^ide  maps  of  it  with  ease ; 

since  his  return  he  had  not  made 

onetosuitliim.  ItwassowithAmen- 

c6»;  if  he  should  see  the  country  lie 

would  never  be  sat^fied  with  his 

maps  of  it.*       • 

So  it  is  with  writers  on  America ; 
iiie  less  they  sfee  of  the  country  the 
more  intelligeiitlytheyfcanspeakof  it. 
The  most  accurate  book  about  the 
United  States  I  ever  read  was  writ- 
'ten  by  a  gentleman  who  never  saw 
our  shores,  and  he  was  a  French- 
man at  that!  However,  whether 
the  writer  speaks  from  eyesight  or 
insight  let  Mm  load  and  crack  away 
if  lie  would  contribute  to  the  blind- 
ing mass  of  pyrotechnical  generali- 
•sations  whiqh  make  up  Our  know- 
ledge of  the  human  family.  And 
-the  more'  crackle,'  sparkle,  and  snap 
there  is  about  his  performance  tho 
mora' readers  he' will  have  and  the 
more  confusion  he  will  make. 

When  thd  author  of  Greater 
Britain  tG6uoh6dln6dA  in  his  tour  of 
the  English-sjf^esking  coun^es,  an 
'Officer  said  to  him,  *  All  genertil  ob- 
servations upon  India  are  neces- 
sarily absurd*;' and  our  author  con- 
cedes t^at  *  mh  is  true  enough  of 
theories  that  besjr  upon  the  customs, 
eocial  andt^ligious,  of  India.'  Pos- 
sibly he  would  make  the  sauie  con- 
cession with  reference  to  the  social 
customs  of  America,  for  it  does 
not  follow  that  because  one  deals  in 
*  general  observations,'  alias  glitter- 


Y  2 


298        Causes  ofFrieUon  between  the  Untied  States  and  England,  [Maidk 


ing  generalitieB,  he  is  ready  to  justi- 
fy them.  For  my  part  I  am  quite 
willing  to  confess  that  they  are  ne- 
cessary evils.  Nothing  can  be  more 
*  absard '  than  *  general  observa- 
tions *  npon  America,  except  being 
annoyed  at  them.  In  default  of 
books  that  bring  us  only  the  naked 
truth  respecting  our  fellow  creatures 
of  other  countries  than  our  own,  we 
must  hope  that  in  some  way  or 
other  something  may  be  learned 
fW>m  books  in  which  the  limbs  of 
truth  are  elaborately  concealed  by 
the  foliage  of  rhetoric. 

However,  it  cannot  be  denied  that 
the  Americans  as  a  people  are  un- 
philosophical  enough  to  be  worried 
by  the  kind  of  criticism  to  which  I 
have  alluded.  They  know  that  the 
great  public  of  England  are  not  at 
all  indebted  for  their  information 
about  America  to  afber-dinner 
speeches,  but  are  very  much  in- 
debted for  their  enlightenment  to 
sensational  books  and  general- 
isationaJ  tourists;  and  they  know, 
therefore,  that  the  convivial  voice 
which  periodically  congratulates 
them  on  their  English  origin,  is 
drowned  by  the  incessant  voice 
which  ridicules  their  Anglo-Saxon 
pretensions,  pities  their  social  in- 
feriority, or  patronisingly  moralises 
on  their  'degeneracy,'  or  'ex- 
tinction.' 

I  have  read  in  English  news- 
papers, and  in  recent  English  books, 
that  our  people  are  hostile,  and  even 
belligerent  toward  the  people  of 
England,  and  some  have  gone  so 
far  as  to  say  that  we  would  like 
to  see  England  get  a  thrashing  from 
some  continental  Power.  This  is 
nonsense,  utter  nonsense.  There 
is  no  hostility  of  that  species  in  the 
United  States  worth  a  moment's 
consideration.  There  may  be  indi- 
viduals who  cherish  it,  and  a  news- 
paper or  two  that  utters  it,  but  as 
either  a  prevalent  or  a  local  public 
sentiment  it  is  unknown  in  this 
country.  It  is  also  gravely  asserted 
in  English    books    that  a    preju- 


dice prevails  in  some  parts  of  oiir 
country  against  English  immigr&ait«. 
This  comes  of  an  effort  on  the  part 
of  Mrs.  Partington,  or  some  other 
person  equally  sanguine,  to  sweep 
the  tide  of  English  emigration  into 
other  than  its  fkvourite  channels. 

I   read    too    that    this  hostilitj 
toward     England     is      'commoiN 
schooled '  into  us  from  the  earliest 
hour  of  our  education — ^if  indeed  our 
very  mothers'  milk  is  not   soared 
by  it,  and  we  soured  by  the  milk. 
Our  Fourth  of  July  is  represented 
as  an  annual  covenant  of  meditatiTe 
revenge,'  notwithstanding  the  hct 
that  eminent  Englishmen  freely  tak& 
part  in  it  both  in  their  countiy  and 
ours,  and  seem  to  enjoy  it  as  much 
as  we  do — ^if  any  of  us  do  enjoy  it  t 
All  these  charges  are  so  preposter^ 
ously  contrary  to  facts  that  I  cannot 
believe  that  they  are  seriously  enter- 
tained by  thoughtful  Englishmen. 
On  the  contrary,  we  must  conclade 
that  the  effect  of  these  misrepresen- 
tations is    very  limited   when  we 
recall  the  rising  figures  of  English 
emigration  for  the  last  ten  years 
(now  greater  than  those  of  the  Insb)^ 
the  constantly  increasing  number  of 
educated  and  professional  English- 
men who  are  making  America  their 
home,  and  the  continually  multiply- 
ing witnesses  from  all  these  classes 
who  tesl^y  to  the  cordiality  and 
hospitality  of  our  people.     So  that 
this  particular  one  of  the  little  foxes 
that  know  the  vines  of  our  neigh- 
bourliness is  scarcely  worth  running 
to  earth. 

But  it  is  time  to  make  that  kind 
of  '  confession  '  which  is  said  to  be 
*  good  for  the  soul.'  There  are  no 
English  errors  respecting  us  more 
unwelcome  to  us  than  certaixL  well- 
accredited  iacts,  whichy  whether 
served  alone  or  mixed  with  the  errors, 
are  as  unpalatable  in  the  United 
States  as  they  are  relishable  in  the 
United  KingdouL  A  part  at  l^kst 
of  the  ugliness  which  Americans 
sometimes  manifest  toward  their 
English  critics,   comes    of    feeling 


187S]   (hwes  cf  FricHm  between  ihs  UnUed  Slates  and  England.        299 


tlui  those    critics  are   sometimes 
provokingly  near  right.    We  know 
that  manj  of  the  points  of  onr 
foreign  aalarists    are  well    taken. 
Conacionsness  of  ill-doing  is  fatal 
to  amiability.     There  is  no  bitterer 
or  more  enduring  enmity  than  that 
which  yoa  incnr  by  allowiDg  your 
enemy  to  know  that  yon  know  that 
he  is  in  the  wrong.  He  is  compara- 
tively harmless  so  long  as  he  be- 
Ikyes  yon  are  deceived  with  refer- 
ence to  his  desigpis.     Better  meet 
a  bear  robbed  of  her  whelps  than  a 
man  ashamed  of  himself.    The  great 
body  of  res]>ectable  people  in  the 
ITmted  States  (out  of  office)  are 
ashamed  of  the   scandals,  political 
and  judicial,   for  which  they  are 
censnred  by  the  English  Press.  And 
they  are  all   the  more  chagrined 
because  they  cannot   giiinsay  the 
charge  of   their  own    cnlpability. 
They  know  perfectly  well  that  they 
have  only  themselves  to  blame  for 
the  present  low  state  of  the  public 
conscience  and  for  the  official  vena- 
litj  at   the   great   centres.     This 
conviction  of  onr  guilt  makes  ns 
cfanrliah  toward  our  accusers.     If 
we  were  inncMsent  we  might  take 
refuge  in  contemptuous  unconcern; 
as  we  are  gailty  we  can  only  be 
choleric  and  peevish— -especially  to- 
ward Eneland,  whose  g^ood  opinion 
we  prize  in  exact  proportion  to  onr 
snapidon  of  not  deserving  it. 

The  same  is  true  with  reference 
to  English  lampoons  of  American 
•Society.' 

Here  again  we  are  not  at  ease,  for 
the  reason  that,  as  I  have  intimated, 
weallpride  ourselves  upon  belonging 
to  an  aristocracy  in  which  the  rest 
of  us  have  no  share,  and  in  addition 
we  are  quite  sure  our  ideas  of  an 
upper  class  are  not  those  which 
prevail  in  Enrope.  While  we  vrill 
not  yield  to  any  other  society  in  the 
matter  of  feminine  beauty,  or  in 
the  graces  of  generosity  and  hos- 
pitality, we  cannot  but  betray  some 
restiveness  under  the  strictures  that 
are  made  npon  the  clangour  of  our 


voices;  the  deficiency  of  compo- 
sure  in  our  manners  and  conversa- 
tion ;  the  laxity  of  our  home  disci- 
pline ;  the  intemperate  use  of  per- 
sonality and  florid  rhetoric  in  onr 
oratory;  the  apparent  absence  of 
chivalry  from  our  public  life,  and 
the  display  of  personal  adornments, 
irrespective  of  occasion,  by  our 
ladies,  who  make  very  little  dis- 
tinction between  the  opera  and  the 
church,  or  between  a  full-dress 
dinner  party  and  a  public  meeting 
called  to  consider  the  claims  of  the 
undressed  classes. 

The  English  say,  onr  decorated 
classes  behave  like  those  of  their  own 
country  who  have  suddenly  got  on 
in  the  world,  and  combine  patrician 
taste  with  plebeian  loudness;  draw- 
ing-room elegance  with  the  syntax 
of  the  servants'  hall. 

If  such  criticisms  as  these  are 
suspected  of  being  well-founded,  by 
the  criticised,  we  can  hardly  wonder 
if  the  critic  should  be  requested  to 
mind  his  own  business.  The  insult 
to  our  flag  on  the  high  seas  would 
not  rankle  longer,  nor  so  long,  since 
the  latter  may  be  redressed,  while 
the  former  is  beyond  the  reach  of 
redress. 

Furthermore,  we  are  reminded 
that  the  literature  of  the  two  coun« 
tries  is  the  same,  and  for  that  reason 
they  should  be  affectionate  friends. 
But  here  again,  if  at  the  public 
dinner-table  we  are  assured  that 
Shakespeare  is  the  heritage  of  both 
nations,  in  the  less  restraining  at- 
mosphere of — say,  everywhere  else, 
the  Americans  are  commiserated 
with  for  having  '  produced  no 
Shakespeare!'  Now,  when  Shake- 
speare was  bom,  the  American  Re- 
public was  not.  My  ancestors,  and 
those  of  my  English  reader  toge- 
ther, brought  forth  Shakespeare. 
But  if  those  of  my  EngUsh  reader 
alone,  why  have  not  '  we  English ' . 
blessed  the  world  with  another 
Shakespeare?  Is  it  any  more 
astonishing  that  America  has  pro- 
duced no  Shakespeare,  than  that 


300        Causeg  of  Friction^  between,  the  United  States  and  England.  [Mardi 


Ihoigland  has.  prodvced  bat  ,oBe  ? 
For  we  mnst  remember  tba^titre* 
qnired  Qur  united  iocceA  to  produce  ■ 
that.o^er  If.wehayepxodaeednaiie 
without  your  assistcoice  you  have  - 
produced  none  without  our  assist* . 
auce.    Where,  indeed,  w  e  may  sadly  , 
ask,    ace    the    Shakespearos    ai^^ 
Hiltons  of  your  prodactaon^ince  we  * 
parted,  company  at  Plymouth  Book, 
and  Jamestown  ?    Should  not  these  ^ 
symptomsof  'degeneracy  '.be  diyided  ^ 
between  us  instead .  of .  being  fas- . 
tened  exclusiyely  upon  the  younger  ^ 
of  us?     And  so  much  younger  I 
And  so  much  more  obliged  to  look 
after  what  we  shall  eat  and  what 
we  shall  drink  I  And  then^  look  you,  % 
O  mother  country  of  ours,  if  you, 
unaided,  produced  a  Shakespeare,  < 
you.  were,  say,  five  hundred  years, 
about  it ;  and  we,  your  child,  are 
npt  one  hundxaed  years  old  yet! 

.  Ko^no,  we  take  you  at  your  word 
when  you  are  oveiHGLowing  with  the 
good  spirits  of  a  good  dinner  rather 
than  when  you  are  under  the  bale- 
ful influence  of  acidinouB  statistics. 
We.  cannot  forego  our  satisfaction  of  • 
having  had  our  share  iu  adorning 
the  world  with  Shakespeare  and  • 
with  Scott,  and  in  postponing  ap«  . 
p^reciation.  of  tbenir  until  afiar  they 
were  dead.   So  we  have  recently  xm* . 
veiled  a  statne  of  each  of  .these  great 
English-speaking  (and  writing)  ce- 
lobritiea  iuNewYorkamid  the  accla* 
stations  of  a  vast  multitude  of '  our  . 
kinsmen,'  who  thus^thenand  these, 
renewed  tiieir  vows  of  pai^ntaee  to 
t^  Bard  of  Avon,  and  the  Magician  > 
of  Abbots&rd.. 

^So  loxi^g,  theis  8»  .family  4isputte.r 
like  these  I  have  advecied  to  are  • 
^le£t  unsettledi  we  must  anticipate  > 
fiiiction  between,  the  twg  members  - 
of  the.  English-i^esiking  family.. 
Thaii  which  we  ^cannot .  settie  by> 
argument^  and  .nomst mot.  settle  by> 
tkofiword,  must  remain  nnsettled-rr.. 
by  the  pen  I  ..  Indeed,  nothing  :So.i 
well  illustrates  the  impossibilify/of  I 
settling,  a  questioa  with  the>  pen.  as., 
t^ejresort  forits  settlemen,t  to  the> 


sword;  It  is  •  comparatively  easy 
to.  d^nnine  >  which  side  is  the 
weaker  in  ertaUeiy,  however  diffi.< 
cult  it  is  to  decide  which  isi  the  in-- 
feriop  in;logical  acumen.  Duelaud^ 
battle  may  be  illogical,  but  they  are 
certainly  decisive*  The  contest  over 
forms  of  civilisation,,  of  govermnent^  * 
Of  ot  £uth  are  pei^lexing,  until  the  ^ 
question  in  dispute  is  submitted  to 
the  arbitramentiof  projectiles.  We 
never  know  when  we  get  the  wont 
of  a  controversy,  but.  nothiBg  is 
more  self-evident  than  a  corporeal 
thrashing.  Consequently,  from  the 
earliest  and  the  rudest,  to  the  latest 
and  the  most  refined  times,  there 
has  always'  been  this  impatienoe 
with  dialectics,  and  this  partiality 
for  arms.  We  still  *  sing  of  arms 
and  the  hero.' 

What  can  be  more  evident  than 
that  bur  'common  language,'  so 
far  from  being,  as  claimed,  a  *  bond 
of  union'  between  the  two  countries, 
acts  as  both  a  cause  and  an  effect  of 
their  friction  P.  If 'blood  and  iron' 
cemented  the  German-speakiBg 
States,  the  English-speaking  natiocu^ 
are  estranged  by  bile  and  ink.  The 
common  language  not  only  conceals 
thought,  but  reveals  choler.  Tlie 
Son  Juan  boundary  difficulty  could . 
not  have  survived  all  but  two  or 
three  of  the  statesm^i  of  both 
countries,  who  first  undertook  to 
settle  it,  if.  they  had  not  been  com- 
pelled to  use  their  common  language 
in  settling  it..  If  the  Washingtou 
Treaty  had  been  composed  in  abo-  - 
riginsJ  American, '  understanding ' 
would  have  been  out  of  the  questioo, 
andrhenee  fnisnuderstandings  woold 
have  beffii  impossible.  •  ./ 

.  As  the  Mescyotaynians  could  not 
understand  as  If  we  should  say  any- 
thing against  thraci,  we  •  never,  saj 
anyUdng.agaiiist  them.  It  would 
be  an  una^aili&g  ejcpendiiure  oC 
personal  disregard*  .  Who>  woaki 
waste  hie  caricatuxeaona  nation  of  ^ 
blind  people  <?  As  the  twa  oountries 
of  a  common  tongue  are  quite  snie 
of  being  understooid  when  they  tease 


1873]    Cimses  cf  Friction  hetivem  Hie  United  Stater  and  England.        801 


one  aBother,  ihery  tease  one  another 
with  the  keenest  satisfaction.  There 
is  no  more  comfortable  sensation 
than  that  of  feeling  that  the  object 
of  yonr  derision  nnderstands  every 
word  yon  say. 

To  siay  the  truth,  the    English 
are  the   most    irritating,  and  the 
Americans  the  most  irritable  people 
in  the  world — although  in  ability 
to  irritate,   it  is  difficult  to  excel 
American  newspapers.   Toward  our 
mother  country,  they  do  sometimes 
Bncoeed  in  making  ns  insufferably 
disagreeable.     Our  ^consequential' 
behaviour  in  the  recent  arbitration 
is  a  mortifying  case  in  point,  but  our 
people  were  no  more  represented 
than  consnlted  in  this  flagrant  viola- 
tion of  courtesy  and  candour.  While 
we    rejoice     in    the    privilege    of 
pronging  the  British  lion  whenever 
we  Imppen  to  feel  like  it,  we  shall 
never  forfeit  the  right  we  reserve  to 
ourselvesof  showing  the  ineradicable 
respect  we  bear  him.     We  believe 
in  him  and  glory  in  him — ^believe 
that  he  will  thrive,  and  be  always 
as  powerful  as  he  is  now,  and  glory 
in  the  fact.     Our  abuse  is  of  the 
mouth,  mouthy,  our  admiration  of 
the  heart,  hearty.  It  is,  however,  an 
inconsistency  to  be  regretted,  that 
if  we  have  not  the  disposition  of  the 
porcupine,  our  Press  should  so  often 
show  its  quills. 

It  has  to  be  confessed,  then,  that 
the  causes  of  our  antipathy  are  as 
deep  as  our  resemblances.  The 
points  at  which  we  come  together, 
are  the  points  which  create  the 
friction.  There  can  be  no  friction 
without  contact.  The  United  States 
and  England  touch  at  almost  every 
point — ancestry,  government,  lan- 
guage, literature,  law,  social  Hfe  and 
religion.  In  these  we  are  alike  and 
yet  unlike.  The  likeness  creates 
contact,  the  tmlikeness  rivalry ;  both 
together  repulsion.  We  shall  never 
fight,  but  we  shall  always  scratch. 

TheT«  is  no  friction  between  the 
United  States  and  Russia  as  nations. 
Why  ?     Because  they  are  similar  in 


no  respect,  dissimilar  in  every  re- 
spect— ^ancestry,  government,  lan- 
guage, literature,  law,  social  life  and 
religion.  There  is  no  friction  because 
there  is  no  contact,  there  is  no  con- 
tact, because  they  are  so  far  apart — t 
do  not  mean  geographically,  but  poli- 
tically, socially,  every  way.  There  is 
no  resemblanceorcomparison.  All  is 
contrast.  There  is  neither  animosity 
or  affection,  nothing  but  diplomatic 
courtesy.  There  is  no  familiar  inter- 
course, only  an  occasional  bow  and 
chat.  No  two  Governments  can 
shake  hands  with  more  impunity 
than  a  Despotism  and  a  Democracy. 
No  two  extremes  find  it  so  easy  to 
meet  and  greet.  Two  such  means 
as  two  free  Governments  find  it  far 
more  difficult,  for  obvious  reasons. 
It  is  easy  enough  to  live  at  peace 
with  those  you  seldom  see  or  hear 
of ;  it  is  difficult  to  escape  a  row 
with  those  you  confer  with  con- 
stantly. Distant  politeness  facili- 
tates intercourse,  intimacy  en- 
dangers it.  Russia  and  America  are 
distant  acquaintances,  rivals  in 
nothing,  at  antipodes  in  everything, 
and  have  only  to  be  civil.  England 
and  America  are  contrasts  in  no- 
thing :  natural  friends,  members  of 
the  same  family,  each  set  up  for 
himself,  each  a  *  shop  over  the  way' 
with  which  the  other  has  '  no  con- 
nection,' and  both  obliged  to  be 
friendly,  or  to  try  to  be,  which  is 
just  as  difficult  and  hazardous. 

The  reception  of  the  Prince  of 
Wales  was  the  expression  of  that 
downright  friendliness  and  admira- 
tion  which,  whatever  they  may 
sometimes  say  or  do  to  the  contrary, 
the  Americans  feel  towards  the 
English,  and  which  jumps  at  an 
excuse  for  making  itself  visible  and 
audible.  The  Russian  Royal  Duke 
was  received  with  that  spontaneity 
of  hospitality  which  is  natural  to  our 
people,  but  which  was  as  aimless  ai^ 
it  was  facile.  It  was  the  case  of  the 
stranger,  not  the  friend.  There  was 
no  risk  ;  there  could  be  np  mis- 
construction.    The  parties  under- 


302        Causes  of  Fnctwn  bekveen,  iJie  United  States  and  England.  [Marcb 


stood  oiie  another  perfectly.  The 
Autocracy  and  the  Democracy  both 
enjoyed  the  hob-nob.  This  has  been 
regarded  as  inexplicable  in  England, 
but  there  is  nothing  nnintelligible 
abont  it,  because  there  was  no 
duplicity  about  it.  If  the  Russian, 
or  indeed  if  either  royal  guest,  had 
put  a  political  construction  on  the 
popular  hospitality,  the  emotions  of 
the  occasion  would  have  rapidly 
given  place  to  those  of  a  much  less 
amiable  description. 

As  an  illustration  of  the  fact  that 
while  nationally  we  are  frictionary 
one  toward  the  other,  individually 
we  are  the  best  of  friends,  observe 
how  the  inhabitants  of  our  two 
countries  fraternise  when  they  meet 
in  foreign  lands.  We  come  together 
by  sheer  force  of  *  natural  selec- 
tion,' when  we  find  ourselves  in 
company  on  the  banks  of  the  Rhine 
or  the  waterahed  of  Africa — under 
the  shadow  of  Mont  Blanc  or  the 
dome  of  St.  Peter's.  Now  it  is 
that  *  our  common  language/  with 
which  we  so  often  contrive  to  con- 
ceal the  intentions  and  reveal  the 
ambiguity  of  our  Treaties,  ministers 
to  our  amity  and  amiability. 

It  makes  us  feel  our  oneness, 
especially  with  reference  to  one  of 
our  'objects  in  life.'  We  are  re- 
minded that,  whatever  other  con- 
siderations may  divide  us,  we  are 
one  in  our  *  common'  object  of 
supplanting  all  other  languages  by 
our  own,  although  we  may  be 
obliged  to  bayonet  our  tongue  down 
the  throats  of  our  non-Eoglish- 
speaking  fellow-creatures.  There 
OS  nothing  like  this  '  common  lan- 
guage '  party-spirit,  which  expands 
the  breasts  of  the  inhabitants  of 
our  two  countries,  for  bringing 
them  into  alliance  under  remote 
skies  and  on  distant  bottoms.  Their 
frigates  alternate  in  banging  away 
at  the  door  of  the  ancient  East,  or 
in  punishing  the  people  of  China 
for  refusing  our  invitation  to  their 
hospitalities.  The  Indian  chief  tells 
our  President,  and  the  Commander 


of  the  Chinese  forts  tells  our  Ad- 
miral that  he  is  not  enamoured  of 
our  civilisation,  does  not  covet  our 
religion,  and  will  even  forego  oar 
'fire-water'  and  tobacco  for  the 
sake  of  retaining  possession  of  his 
real  estate ;  but  where  duty  leads, 
the  English-speaking  regimentals 
must  follow,  even  at  the  risk  of 
feeling  it  their  duty  to  occupy  and 
cultivate  the  land  of  the  subjugated 
race,  and  to  open  a  shop  in  tbcir 
midst.  We  may  seem  to  profit  by 
the  transaction,  but  we  are  never- 
theless the  missionaries  of  a  gram- 
mar— the  vanguard  of  a  vernacular. 
We  deplore  the  necessity,  and.hope 
it  may  all  be  for  the  best  as  regards 
*  our  fnend  the  enemy,'  and  are 
always  ready  to  repine  over  his 
extinction,  repudiate  his  treatment, 
and  subscribe  for  his  relief. 

But  the  Two  Countries  may  have 
another  'common'  mission.  What 
may  they  not  do  for  the  rescne  of 
our  fellows  all  over  the  world  from 
oppression  and  injustice?  A  striking 
incident  is  at  hand  for  illustration. 
In  Santiago  de  Cuba  an  American 
seaman,  the  son  of  English  parents, 
is  about  to  be  shot  for  alleged  com- 
plicity in  a  fillibustering  expedition, 
notwithstanding  the  utmost  exer- 
tions of  the  English  and  American 
Vice- Consuls,  who  are  perfectly 
satisfied  of  the  man's  innocence. 
The  two  Consuls  follow  the  firirg- 
party  and  their  victim  to  the  place 
of  execution,  where  and  when  the 
English  Vice-Consul  steps  forward, 
reads  a  protest,  demands  the  release 
of  the  accused,  and  declares  that 
the  authorities  will  be  called  to  ac- 
count for  his  death  by  the  Govern- 
ments of  England  and  the  United 
States.  The  excitement  is  intense. 
The  prisoner  reels  with  faintness ; 
the  Spanish  soldiers  show  im- 
patience towards  the  meddling 
foreigners ;  there  is  a  panse  and  a 
consultation;  the  Consols  are  in- 
formed that  the  sentence  must  be 
carried  into  effect ;  the  order  *  Pre- 
sent '  is  given ! 


187$]    Causes  of  F/iction  between  the  United  States  and  England,        303 


At  ibis  moment  tbe  two  Consals, 
carrying  their  respective  flags, 
bound  ont  between  tbe  levelled 
mnskets  snd  tbe  doomed  man,  wbo 
in  an  instant  ia  covered  with  tbe 
English  oolonrs.  Tbe  American 
Consnl  wraps  himself  in  bis  flag, 
and  stands  bj  the  side  of  bis  fellow 
hero,  wbo  exclaims — '  Hold !  hold  ! 
As  the  representative  of  her  Bri- 
tannic Majesty,  I  protest  against 
this  mnrder.  It  is  our  duty  to 
protect  this  man's  life.  If  yon 
take  it,  yon  take  onrs,  and  that  at 
yonrpenl!* 

The  wretched'  man  leans  help- 
lessly  against  his  defenders.  The 
mnskets    are     lowered.      Another 


awfnl  pause,  another  consultation, 
and  the  prisoner  is  conducted  back 
to  his  cell,  supported  on  either  side 
by  the  two  Consuls,  amid  the  cheers 
of  the  soldiers,  who,  forgetting  their 
animosity,  are  electrified  by  this 
splendid  spectacle  of  heroic  auda- 
city. In  a  few  hours  the  seaman 
is  released,  and  in  a  few  more  has 
embarked  in  safety,  under  the  two* 
flags  of  the  two  countries. 

I  believe  this  incident  fairly  illus- 
trates the  deepest  feeling  that  the 
two  nations  have  one  towards  the 
other,  and  the  highest  mission  they 
share — ^the  championship  of  justice, 
and  the  rescue  of  the  oppressed — 
throughout  the  world. 


304 


[MaTc\i 


A  PEW  WORDS  ON  PHILOLOGY. 


WE  scarcely  know  whei^er  to 
borrow  the  obuekle  of  Demo- 
critas  or  the  tears  of  Heraclitus  in 
facing  some  of  the  aspects  6f  onr 
philology.  It  isjnst  one  of  the  things 
one  would  almost  prefer  not  td  look 
at  as  a  whole,  «fter  so  often  finding 
this  or  that  part  of  it  tnm  ont  a  dis- 
solving View,  The  snapioion  creeps 
over  US,  that,  if  Aristophanes  were 
alive,  he  wonld  be  tempted  to  get  np 
his  NubM  at  the  shivering  ex** 
pense  of  a  Socrates  m  philology 
rather  than  in  philosophy.  .  Yet  if 
his  dialogue  was  about  roots  bilitoral 
and  roots  triliteral,  about  roots  with 
and  roots  without  any  meaning  at- 
tached to  them — ^the  demon  of 
weariment  might  soon  discomfit  the 
genius  of  merriment,  and  empty  the 
benches.  Still,  serio-comic  or  pa- 
thetic as  we  may  think  the  state  of 
things,  philology  is  too  generally  im- 
portant to  allow  of  our  being  indif- 
ferent to  it,  and  it  may  need  no  apo- 
logy if  we  turn  the  attention  of  our 
rctfiders  to  some  of  its  salient  points. 
We  are  better  situated  than  others 
before  us  for  seeing  how  daintily  the 
romance  of  letters  takes  up  its  pa- 
rable just  where  the  tomes  of  *  literae 
humaniores  '  leave  it.  We  are  not 
prepared  to  say  whether  a  papyrus 
or  tissue  with  a  repetition  of  some 
old  *  Bitualof  thedead'is  technically 
a  *  codex  '  or  not.  This  we  know, 
that  many  a  twinge  of  mental  g^ut 
supervenes  on  free  resort  to  the 
stimulant  of  '  codices,'  as  a  natural 
result  of  what  is  owing  to  that  arch- 
enemy of  students,  the  copyist. 
The  manuscript,  done  in  a  comer, 
with  all  its  affectations  and  its  reck- 
less innovations,  stands  to  us  in  a 
different  relation  from  that  of  the 
inscription.  Here  we  seem  pro- 
tected from  falsification  by  some 
dignitary  of  Bel  or  Ormuzd,  stand- 
ing by  with  a  heavy  mace  to  en- 
courage the  artist,  or  by  some 
leopard-skin  guiding  the  graver  of 


the  workman.    It  is  wdl  for  old 
'  monumenta '  to  look  at  us,  and  for 
us  to  carry  away  a  fitting  imi^e  of     , 
them.     But  the  image  is  quiescent 
if  not  evanescent,  and  cannot  travel 
from  msan  to  man,  nor  can  descrip- 
tion  of  it  raise  more  than  a  fading 
mirage  before  the  listener.      Bat 
when  they  speak  to  us  in  their  own 
words,  words  like  what  we  know  of 
elsewhere,   then  persons    of    men 
and  not  conventional  figures  appear 
before  us,  fellowship  takes  the  place 
of  separation,  we  are  busy  and  thej 
are  usefhl.     The  romance  of  the  dis- 
tant past  helps  with  its   gigantic 
looming  forms  to  check  the  Utopia 
of  the  future.     It  gradually  raises  a 
pyramid  of  *  Visible  Speech,'  more 
interesting  than  those   at  Ghizeh, 
more  solid  than  even  the  lucubra- 
tions of  Mr.  Bell.      A    shattered 
stele  in  Moab,  a  cracked  tablet  from 
Marseilles,     a     plain    sarcophagus 
from   Sidon,  a  heap  of  sepulchral 
relics  from  various  quarters — these 
do  something  to  fill  the  eye,  bat 
are  weirdly  potent  to  fill  the  mind. 
So  think  some  of  us.     But  a  rich 
and  unsentimental  country  leaves 
its  own  Heliopolitan  obelisk  in  the 
dust,  £or  dii*ty  little  Alexandrians  to 
play  see-saw  over,  instead  of  erect- 
ing it  before  the  treasures  of  its  own 
museum.      It  may  be  that  the  com- 
mercial value  of  a  few  discussions 
on  the  '  stone  '  period  of  letters  is 
the    chief    safeguard    against  the 
study  of  it  lying  prostrate  like  the 
obelisk. 

But  it  is  not  to  Semitic  or  Hami- 
tic  monuments  our  modem  Quinti- 
lians  send  us,  in  quest  of  the  prim- 
ordial tongue  to  which  our  own  may 
be  traced,  up.  There  is  nothing 
picturesque  or  sensational  about  the 
accredited  source  of  what  wo  call 
Indo-European.  Dark  and  gloomy 
as  the  caves  of  Elephanta  and  EUoi-a 
is  the  inner  phase  of  the  lan^age 
to  which  the  wand  of  a  Bopp  or  a 


1879] 


A  Few  W&rdf  en  FhUology. 


305 


Grimm  direete  oat  ebief  attoiiti<m. 
We  ask  it  for  meat  and  it  giTesinr 
')!Oot6,'  which  reimnd  ns  of  that 
jj^mons  oiie  ^.  whidi  it  was  maid  ^at 
'nd  Taiiara  -  tendit/   *  'Umnonti-' 
menial  and  antraditional  is  the  lino 
of  Btadj  to  which  the   Sanskritist 
devotes  himself.     When  'we    nj' 
*  nnmonnmental/  w»  do  not  forget:^ 
Afloka  and  Kapnrdigiii,  <  but  4^ho8e 
names  suggest  nothing  to  alter  our  > 
opinion.    To  say  '  nntraditionai  '  is 
indeed  to  risk  a  visit  from  some* 
Familiar  of  the  profossoruilr  Inqni-' 
sition.  We  know  what  is  said  abont 
the  Aryan  directory  of  the  places  * 
Alexander's  army  reached  in  India. 
Nevertheless— hnt  we  will  not  be 
wih  about  the  Domesday-book  of 
Taxilas  or  Poras,  or  even  about  that 
qnamt '  ape  and  peacock '  argument, 
wiiich  almost   put  Solomon's  sea- 
captains  into  the  witness-box  in  the 
cause  o£  the  Rig^ Yeda.    Far  be  it 
&om  us  to  say  that  there  are  not 
clear  proofs,  erpHeit  and  implicit^  . 
of  M-blown  Sanskrit  long  before ' 
the  time  of  Alexander.     The  &ot  is 
tfaai  we  have  not  seen  them,  and 
that  a  delicate  paint  of  relationship 
has  always  seemed  to  na  to  need 
more  elucidation  than  it  has  yet  had. 
We  are  warned  against  considering 
Greek  to  be  a  doubter  of  the  gxeat 
hulian  mother,  and  tanghtr  that  all- 
^  right  under  a  sisterly  aspect  of 
the  two.    The  otiier  view  is  that  of 
here  and  ibeie  *  crotchety  genea- 
^gist^  who  wcmdersr  whether  the 
case  is  not'one  of  European  o£bpring 
in  Indiaafter  all.     Of  courise  we  are 
^Jotad  by  the    consensus    of  the 
Wned  to  feel,  that  whatever  the 
y^gkMende^    QrammaHk   saya  is 
And  must  needs  be  true.     It    is 
only  le&to  ns  to)  indulge  a  furtive 
but  fervent  hope  tiiai  it  ianot.    We . 
fihali  be  &r  from  sorry  when,  some . 
one  arises  toaoiapeoff  the  bttcnades 
of  Paniai^  and  enable  onr  knowledge  - 
tf  genuine  aniiqaity  to  get  along  a 
little  faster.     If  £!nncis  Bo^^  had 
oever  heard  ot  Sanskrit^  we  might 
stall  be  in  pooooflinon  of  our  lists  of 


affinities  in  modem  languages. 
And  we  miglit  have  been  •  saved 
mudi  weariness  of  soul  over  the 
irrepressible  ^  8(dai<  Myth,'  to  ea- 
cape  which  we  would  almost  live 
in  a  oellar,  offer  incense  at  the 
id&rine  ef  tibe  genial  •  Esmun,  or 
swear  by  the  mystic  Oafoiri.  Verily 
it  woidd;  be  anachievement  worthy 
oi  no  little  gbiy,  to  get  oar  philo« 
logy  into  a  lixie  that  should  secure  ' 
tl^*  deeper  study  of  monuments 
three  or  four  thousands  of  years 
earlier  than  ours^vesi^ 
•  But  there  are  doubtless  good  easy^ 
going  people,  who  Can  apportion  to 
winged  figures  from  Nineveh  the 
same  placid  stare  they  bestow  upon 
the  bones  of  a  megatherium.  Se-  : 
r^iely  apathetic  about  what  the 
stones  have  to  say  for  themselves, 
or  how  they  say  it,  they  may  be  wait- 
ing to  be  informed  that  human  ar» 
ticulation  came  in  with  the  inven- 
tion of  printing.  Yet  they  are 
blessed  by  a  too  bounteous  Provi- 
dence with  strings  of  sons  and  of 
daughters,  for  whom  they  fondly 
spieculate  on  a  profusion  of  rewards 
for  linguistic  proficiency.  The 
natural  wish  is,  to  get  the  tiros 
over  .  the  mysteries  of  reading  • 
with  as  little  drudgery  to  memory 
as  possible,  and  as  many  sound  rules 
of  speech  as  will  be  serviceable  in 
after  times.  Alas !  vain  the  hope 
of  escaping  that  prolonged  ap- 
prenticeship to  the  parrot^  which 
is  wont  to  precede  a  rendering  of 
words  with  intelligence.  .  The  first  > 
requisite  for  such  an  improved  sys- 
tem of  education  must  needs  be  a 
really  good  spelling<»book,  classifying 
what  is  tolerably  constant,  and 
bringing  out  into  a  handy  sort 
of  prominence  what  is  abnonnal. 
But  that  belongs  to  a  future  we. 
know  not  how  remote.  One 
difficulty  in  the  way  of  utilising .  a  -. 
better  maamal  lies  in  the  necessity 
of  teaching  those  who  themselvea 
have  to  teach.  First  principles  lire 
not  the  easiest  things  in  the  world 
to  handle  with  a  safe  bearing  on 


306 


A  Few  Words  on  PhUdlogy, 


[Mardi 


subsequent  progress.  Again  and 
again  have  we  enquired  of  the  teach- 
era  in  national  schools,  what  was 
the  system  best  adapted  in  their 
eyes  for  inculcating  the  mdimenta 
of  reading.  Always  the  same  look 
in  return  of  injured  innocence,  the 
same  implied  shrug  of  the  shoulders, 
the  same  sort  of  account  of  the  first 
steps  in  learning  that  Topsy  gave 
of,her  early  personal  history.  Sure- 
ly a  secularly  sponsorial  Government 
might  do  worse  than  stimulate  the 
production  of  a  spelling-book  more 
suitable  for  those  whom  it  compels 
to  enjoy  the  benefits  of  its  pet  crea- 
tion, the  Board.  It  is  reported 
that  a  very  eminent  publisher  found 
a  book  on  cookery  about  his  best 
commercial  success.  We  should 
augur  the  same  result  for  that  for- 
tunate member  of  his  guild  who 
shall  issue  a  scientific  spelling-book, 
adapted  td  the  wants  of  all  classes. 
As  it  is,  how  many  writers,  even  of 
the  advanced  sort,  can  be  trusted 
to. divide  their  words  into  syllables 
upon  intelligent  principle,  or,  in 
complicated  cases,  upon  any  princi- 
ple at  all  ?  Or  how  many  of  us 
could  give  a  clear  and  succinct  ac- 
count of  the  varying  quality  of  our 
familiar  vowels,  or  suggest  reasons 
for  their  more  exceptional  use  ?  In- 
deed, how  many  of  those  who  can 
spell  to  perfection  would  like  to  be 
examined  about  what  spelling  is,  as 
distinct  from  mere  enumeration  of 
letters  P  Yet  these  things  are  but 
elementary.  .  If  Bacon  were  still 
amongst  us,  he  might  be  driven 
again  to  affirm  of  them  '  that  this 
part  of  learning  is  wanting  to  my 
judgment  standeth  plainly  con- 
fessed.' 

We  need  not  complain  of  any 
lack  of  efforts  to  alter  the  ortho- 
graphy of  our  vernacular.  First  of 
all,  there  is  the  great  chorus  of 
gprumblers  and  crosiers,  ready  for  a 
philological  adaptation  of  the  Banm 
of  Aristophanes.  Their  persistent 
outcry  betokens  somethmg  very 
Tartiu^an  about  its  origin  or  sub* 


ject,  and  must  be  credited'  with 
some  share  in  moulding  the  opinioBs 
of  those  who  get  tired  of  hearing  it. 
Then  there  are  writers  and  writers, 
nibbling    writers    and     voracious 
writers,  from  archbishops  down  to 
garret-critics,  all  engaged  in  the 
amiable  task  of  showing  that  the 
meanings  of  our  words  are  not  what 
they  ought  to  be,  their    spelling 
atrocious,  their  letters  ingeniously 
delusive,  and  so  forth.     Then  there 
is  the  Philological  Society.   Doubt- 
less each  of  its  members  is  indivi- 
dually equal  or  superior  to  what 
might  be  expected  under  the  cir- 
cumstances.    But  we  take  down 
from  our  shelves  the  more  general 
part  of  their  published  Transactioiif 
for  the  year   1870,  and  we  muse 
thereon.        We    wonder    whether 
gravity  is  so  inherent  in  the  Society 
that    they    repressed    a    burst   of 
Olympian  laughter  over  the  appear- 
ance of  the  aforesaid  Transactiom, 
as  representing  what  they    think 
*  desirable  and  practicable'  in  the 
amendment    of   our   orthography. 
We  find  the  book  begins   with  a 
paper  of  which  the   conclusion  is 
characteristic  enough.       Speaking 
of  his  subject,  the  writer  parts  with 
it,  saying,  '  We  learn  the  origin  of 
ea  out  of  au  in   its  original  obsca- 
rity.'  Next  comes  a  welcome  paper 
by  Mr.  0.  P.  Cayley,  about  which 
the  only  wonder  is  that  it  should 
need  to  be  written  at  all  in  the 
latter  half  of  the  nineteenth  century. 
Paper  No.  5  aspires  to  impressive- 
ness  within  the  short  compass  of  a 
dozen  lines.  The  name  of  *  Shi&all' 
had  become  'Shifnal'    under  the 
concentrated  influence  of  the  Post- 
master-General, the  inhabitants  of 
Shiffnall,  and  the  Justices  in  Petty 
and  Quarter  Sessions.      This  was 
enough  of  itself  to  raise  the  }yro- 
spects  of  philology,  and  it  is  xnade 
known  to  the  world  in  the  exulting 
words,     'This    announcement    on 
behalf  of  the  Post-Oflioe  affords  an 
instance  of  an  alteration  in  spelling 
made  by  public  authority.'  Having 


1878] 


A  Few  Words  on  Philology 0 


807 


oarselyes  duly  caught  the  infeciaon 
ot  pj  over  Uie  good  time  ooming, 
we  torn  our  eyes  buojanily  to  the 
oezt  page.     Bnt,  by  the  clab  of 
Hercolee,    what   have    we    here? 
Uolata  ra  Oifp/o  ;  haye  we  lighted 
npon  flome  Maori  yersion  of  the 
English  tongue,  bound  up  by  mis- 
take with  solemn  records  in  philo- 
logy?   No !  it  is  soon  ascertained, 
tluit  what  we  have  before  us  is  no 
error  of  the  binder,  but  a  serious 
appeal  to  oar  approval    'on  the 
improvement    of    English    ortho- 
graphy.'     Then  we  subside  into 
roelkncholy.     We  think  of  the  time 
when  we  were  plodding  through 
the  marshes  of  Bavenna  on  a  road, 
once  perhaps  a  fashionable  street, 
frequented  by  the  blue-jackets  of 
Pompeyand  Augustus.     Clearly  a 
change  had  come  o'er  the  spirit  of 
the  scene.      As  we  advanced,  what 
we  saw  was   alive  with   uncanny 
leptilei,  crawling  and  wriggling  in 
the  dast  of  the  highway,  gliding 
and  writhing  in  the  stagnant  vrator. 
Strange  that  the  improver  of  ortho- 
graphy, '  widh  dhose  chanjes,'  and 
his  'fnrdher    chanjes,'    should  be 
found    supporting    his    proposals 
from  a  Report  of  the  Committee  of 
Conncil  on  Education,  and  receive 
printizig  honours  from  the  Philolo- 
gical £>ciety  !     The  £Eict  is  patent 
from  the  Transactions  of  1870,  that 
in  quarters  from  which  the  confiding 
world  would  expect  help  in    their 
difficulties,  all   but   16. out  of  118 
pages  are  put  at  the  service  of  bare 
undisguised  *  fonetic' 

Of  course  there  must  be  some- 
thing in  this  '  fonetic '  to  attract  to 
itself  the  prolonged  laboars  of  the 
sort  of  men  it  reckons  amongst  its 
adherents.  It  would  be  wrong  to 
ignore  the  encouragement  they  have 
received  from  recent  compilers  of 
Latin  grammars,  and  from  the 
deference  of  learned  professors.  We 
are  not  likely  to  speak  of  the  meet- 
ing of  extremes  as  anything  wonder- 
fal.  If  the  votary  of  Priscian  and 
Nigidius  Figolas  hobnobs  with  the 


initiated  of  Pitman,  it  is  but  as  the 
Vatican  sometimes  finds  itself  close 
to  Tottenham  Court  Road,  and 
PaU  Mall  to  Trafalgar  Square.  It 
is  not  the  only  thing  that  argrues  a 
remnant  of  chaos  in  philology.  Our 
own  view  of  the  case  is  not  far  to 
seek.  Our  national  utterance  has 
come  down  to  us  associated  with, 
and  in  its  way  moulding,  certain 
forms  in  writing.  Change  the 
letters,  and  the  sounds  will  be 
endangered.  The  first  generation 
that  uses  a  novel  spelling  may  keep 
within  traces,  by  dmt  of  remember- 
ing  what  has  been  superseded. 
The  next  generation  may  easily  be 
found  kicking  over  said  traces,  and 
upsetting  the  coach.  Putting  aside 
the  value  of  visible  etymology,  there 
is  rashness  in  neutralising  the 
experience  of  ages,  which  have 
formed  for  us  our  words  as  we  have 
them,  and  must  not  have  their 
method  of  formation  arrested.  It 
is  possible  to  look  on  the  spelling  of 
a  country  as  something  like  the 
shingle  on  its  sea-shore.  Such  as  it 
is,  it  has  a  relation  to  the  rough 
usage  of  oral  intercourse  and  to 
local  circumstances.  The  shape 
and  position  it  assnmes  in  the 
course  of  time  is  just  that  which 
gives  full  but  g^oarded  play  to  the 
vocal  element,  and  in  the  form 
of  literature,  gains  upon  it.  If, 
instead  of  homely  limestone,  marl, 
or  flint,  our  friends  bid  us  try  their 
sterling  gold  or  silver, wood,  hay,  or 
stubble,  when  we  think  of  the 
dangers  of  a  sea  of  ignorant  pro* 
nunciation,  we  decline  the  advice. 

In  presence  of '  fonetic,'  it  strikes 
one  tlutt  something  must  still  re- 
main unsettled  in  fiie  relations  be- 
tween speaking  and  writing  on  the 
one  hand,  or  between  writing  and 
reading  on  the  other.  Certainly 
there  can  be  no  more  reason  in  the 
eternal  fitness  of  things  why  our 
symbols  of  what  is  labial,  dental,  or 
guttural,  should  appear  on  paper  as 
Qiey  do,  than  why  brick-clay  should 
assume  the  form  which  burdens  the 


A  Few  Words  <m  PhUdk^j. 


{;Uai^ 


'sbouidem  of  Ibe  todt:ian;  "*Syin- 
(bols  ftte  Versatile  ^entogb,  andmay 
assume  6dd:  forms;  according  as 
ihej  are  nded  bj  the  signAl  lieuten- 
ant on  board  ship, 'or tixe  dumb  man 
witk  •  his '  fingers,  -or  tiie  telep-aph- 
<man^th  his  needle,  or  the  diplo- 
mAtist  with  his  ciphei',  or  the 
eomposikor  with  hisr  type.  From 
hieroglyphs  and  ideograjidis  down 
to  algebra,'  anything  is  useful 
enough  if  it  does  but  answer 
its  purpose.  There  is  no  difficulty 
worth  speaking  of  in  making  a 
record  of  what  'we  make*  up  our 
minds  to  say:  we  may  do  it  in 
pictorial  fashion  or  otherwise.  We 
may  call  in  as  much  or  as  little  as 
we  like  of  Onoinatopoeia,  that  too 
benignant  godded  of  the  ^t3rmd- 
logist.  We  t&n  be  as  fitntastic  or 
arbitrary  as  we  like,  provided  only 
we  are  conyentional.  The  rp^ 
*  labor*  and  *opus'  sets  in  when 
we  have  to  turn  the  Hf^less  symbols 
into  living  utterance ;  in  other 
words,  when  we  have  to  read  a  bit 
of  writing.  We  might  turn  a  sound 
into  a  word  without' induction,  or 
.anything  intellectual  beyond  wiiat 
is  incidental  to  substitution.  But 
we  cannot  read  the  word  when  we 
have  written  it  without  a  de^ 
ductite  process,  which  involves  the 
real'  though  unobserved  use  of  a 
distinct  middle  term,  it  is  just 
this-middle  term  which  baffles  chiU 
dren  and  those  who  can  make  no 
fmffioient  induction  for  themselves 
In  foreign  laMgui^e8,the'majofpre* 
missiHaptto  be;espeoially  tnthe  qua* 
lity  of  vowels,  entirely  different  £ram 
our  own,  and  the  inaignant  Briton, 
when  he  finds  himscdf  abroad,  is 
ofben  seen  pointing  to  his  phrase* 
boo'k,  and  fuming  over  what  h^ 
calls  its  uselessness.  Much  in  the 
same  way  our  juniors  make  shots  at 
words  that  look  a  little  like  what 
they  have  picked  up  before,  and 
find  out  with  a  wry  face  or  aching 
knuckles  that  they  have  liit  the 
wrong  sound.  It  is  hard  upon 
them,  that  nobody  should  ever  teach 


thsem  the'main  i^dsttits  ofdassifying 
and  ^KCepting  ike  i^llablBS  they 
have  to  deal  with:  -No  wonder 
that  the  practice  dr  value  of  in- 
dnctiott  in'=  spelling  isscapes  the 
range  of'  their  unphilosophical 
*iiie^tie8,and  that  they  blunder  on 
till,  body  and  mind,  pkc^niur. 

We  suppose  that,  after  thenumber 
of  times  the  description  haa^  been 
dinned  into  our  ears,  we  are  in  duty 
bound  to  speak  of  ours  as  a  nanghty, 
*  anomdous;'  axrtiphilological  sort  of 
-language,  fit  only  to  he  whipped 
into  conformity  with  a  higher  stan- 
dard than  its  own.  Well!  naughty 
it  may  be,  and  "*  anomaions,*  but 
not '  therefore  naughty  because 
^anomalous/  ^We'  have  a  &mt 
idea  that  the  first  man  occupied 
Tather  an  '^ anomalous^  position 
amongst  the  animals  of  his  time  of 
day,'  but  we  do  not  r^ad  that  it  was 
thought  tobeu  naughty  one  merely 
on  that  account.  And  if  the  great 
majority  of  their  neighbours  think 
saintly  men  rather  * 'anomalous*  in 
their  breed  and  characteristics,  this 
does  not  prove  that  it  is  nibUghty  to 
be  saintly.  If  *  anomcalous  '  thmgs 
are  so  very  pemtcious^  how  is  it 
that  ^ple  fiiil  to  acquaint  ns 
with  the  virtues  of  what  they  call 
■*  omalons '  ones  ?  And  if  in  polite 
circles  it  is  so  heavy  a  charge  to 
bring  against  a  man  that  he  is  'odd/ 
it  seems  unihiir  not  to  complete  the 
Bnalogioal  contrast  by  telling  ns 
what  it  is  to  be  an  ^even '  man  of 
the'  world  ?  It  is  not  so  many 
years  since  a  well-knOwn  writer  on 
Development  laid  it  down  as  & 
glory  of  his  adopted'  Church,  that 
&e  had  assimilated  so  many  items 
from  external  souroes,  some  even 
fx^m  the  domain  of'  heresy  and 
heathenism.  We  are  not  concerned 
to  show  whether  ^r  not  all  the 
things  that  Church  has  absorbed 
have  seemed  in  the  event  to  agree 
with  her,  or  whether  our  own 
Church  has  thriven  to  perfection  on 
tiie  opposite  plan  of  a  simpler,  if 
more  wholesome,  diet.      However 


.1873} 


A  Few  Words  on  PJiUohgt^ 


S09 


this  mftj  be^  W6  jather  congrahdate 
oBTselvea  than  otherwise,  that  our 
langoage  has  been  left  ta  cater  for 
itself  ia  its  own  way.      It .  is  not 
onsaiisfiustory   to  reflect  that   an 
SngUshman's  tongue  ia  vexj  mneh 
Jike  the  E?ig^^«^"iikii  himsel^his  *  glo^ 
noDS  Constitation,'   and  his  more 
preteatioos  edifices^  all  rather  com- 
posiie  in  order,  bnt  not.  so  bad  or 
inoonirenient    after    alL       It    has 
grown   with    the   growth   of   onr 
nation's  greatness;  and  while  the 
most    prejudiced    foreigner  «  will 
hardly  deny  that  it  is  a  good  one.  of 
its  sort,  we  noed  not  fear  his  prov- 
ing; 80  easily  as  the  man  did  of  his 
wife,  that  •  the  sort  isn't  good.'     It 
has  a  mysterious,  almost  ludicrous 
resembhmce  fco  some  details  in  that 
of  the  best   sailors    in  the  olden 
time,  ao  much,  so  as  to  point  sundry 
remarks  in  Dr.  Schroder's  valuable 
grammar  of  Phenician.     The  Eng» 
hshmaa  might  not  be  what  he  is  if 
he  spoke  in  the  way  that  may  be 
orerheanl  ia  the  streets  of  Paris  or 
of  Rome.     Some    say  it.  requires 
worse  meat  than  we  have  to  im^ 
prove  our  cookery,  and  it  might  be 
necessary  for    us   to    face    worse 
literary  materials  than  we  possess 
to  make  our  spelling  more  luminous 
and  more  effective. 

It  need  not  be  denied  that  there 

as  much  tribulation,  of  spirit  and 

despair  of  the  faint-hearted  over  the 

difficulty  of  mastering  this  terrible 

apelUng  of  oars.    But  so  we  suppose 

there    is,    in    reaching  the  nobler 

heights  of  architecture,  jpainting, 

music,  logiCy   or  mathematics.     Be 

who  would  get  beyond  the  rule  of 

thumb  must  expect  a  few  puzzling 

problems  about  i^e  centre  of  gravity* 

Artists  do  not  imitate  Bapnael  at 

the  cost  of  a  penny  paint-bcnc    The 

mast  paident  home  instructions  will 

not    guarantee    a   Mozart  in  the 

family,    nor     will   every    studious 

undergradnate  come  to  rank  with 

Aristotle    or   Newton,    K  we  feel 

injured  because  we  have  to  take 

trouble  about  such  common  things 


aaouT.words^.  it  is  not  in  "the  spirit 
of   the    anl^^omolo^t    who  ttfaankp 
muoh  of  life  well  bestowed  on  the 
vphysiology  .of  a  fly,    op   of  the 
enthusiast  who  rose  te  fame  on  the 
'Scrapings    of   one    string   of     his 
^dle.     If  tVB  grant  that  anomalies 
are  troublesome^  this  is  not  to  allow 
that  uniformity iri  a  testof excellence, 
or  may  not  even  be  its  grave.     It  is 
all  very  well  to  pick  out  some  of  the 
rougher  items  of  modem  English, 
tmd  contrast   them  with  the  soft 
sweet     seqaenoe    of    syllables    in 
Sanskrit  or  Italian.     So  far  as  we 
know,    the    softest   and    sweetest 
things  to  look  at   i^  long  strings 
of   syllables    belong  to    tribes  in 
Polynesia  and  Central  Africa  not 
otherwise  thought  very  worthy  of 
imitation.     Perhaps  there  may  be 
some  little  mistake  in  the  theory 
of  the  case.     It  does  not  appear  to 
be  the  only  or  main  object  of  the 
writer  to'insure  a  certain  sound  from 
the  reader.     This  may  be  ever  so 
desirable,  but  not  always  possible. 
If  a  language  starts  with  eaay  sounds 
for  convenient  syllables,  it  will  get 
on  very  well  so  long  as  it  does  not 
add  to  its  old  stock  of  words.     It 
may  take  any  Hberties  it  Kfces  with 
foreign  words.     The    trial    comes 
when  the  old  words  have  to  be 
altered  to  suit  new  meanings,  and 
the  alterations  call  forth  new  sounds, 
or  at  least  such  as  have  not  been 
attached  to  the  same  words  before. 
This  must  be  done  more  on  literary 
or    grammatical,    than    on    vocal 
principle.    And  as    political    laws 
press    unequally     upon    difierent 
classes,  so  anything  like  a  rule  of 
flexion  formation  or  transformation 
of  old  words  into  new  ones,  must 
needs    aflect    some   of  them  with 
special  awkwardness  to  the  reader. 
It  is  the  price  we  pay  for  the  con- 
servative element  in  writing,  with- 
out   which   it  could  hardly  itself 
exist,  or  afibrd  us  much  more  edifi- 
cation than  a  pocket-book.     The 
learned  reduce  the  whole  of  modem 
as  well  as  classical  languages  to  a 


810 


A  Few  Words  on  PkUolog^ 


[March 


mere  handful  of  what  thej  call 
Boots,  but  which  look  surprifiinglj 
like  visible  forms  of  nothing  in 
particular.  .  This  suggests  that 
Darwinism  might  have  had  its 
primary  idea  in  the  theory  of  the 
evolution  of  all  language  from  some 
very  prehistoric  monadic  letter. 
But,  supposing  people  not  to  be 
allowed  to  reduce  all  words  so  near- 
ly to  annihilation,  there  remains  a 
vast  amount  of  credit  due  to  writers 
of  successive  ages.  With  bu^ 
awkward  materials  at  command, 
and  very  scant  powers  of  invention, 
they  have  contrived,  by  dint  of 
economising,  squeezing  and  dilating, 
borrowing  and  stealing,  to  furnish 
us  with  a  supply  of  literature  which 
looks  fresh  and  inexhaustible,  how- 
ever old  or  intrinsically  limited  it 
may  be.  This  could  not  have  been 
done,  unless  the  mind  and  the  voice, 
being  less  fettered  than  the  art  of 
the  scribe,  had  by  a  little  extra 
work  balanced  the  difficulty. 

We  may  thus  try  to  palliate  the 
charges  of '  anomaly '  and  difficulty 
against  our  spelling,  but  we  have 
no  hope  of  gaining  for  it  more  than 
a  ticket-of-leave.  If  we  spoke  with 
more  authority,  it  would  be  to  many 
who  would  only  scream  at  us  the 
louder.  Be  it  so.  'Populus  nos 
sibilat,'  this  need  not  debar  us  from 
enjoying  apart  the  fruits  of  more 
edSfying  contemplation.  We  say. 
Here  is  a  goodly  language,  which,  if 
it  bears  some  thorns  on  its  stem, 
bears  also  a  full-blown  rose  at  the 
top.  We  have  in  it  the  relics  of  a 
hoary  Semitic'antiquity,  surrounded 
by  words  which,  after  flonrishiDg 
two  thousand  years  ago,  submitted 
to  alteration,  that  they  might  still 
live  and  be  at  our  service.  We 
respect  this  language  as  well  for  the 
things  it  has  not  done,  as  for  what 
it  has  done.  It  laid  a  firm  hold  on 
our  country  in  face  of  no  insignificant 
rivalry,  and  lived  in  the  mouths  of 
a  population  which,  if  it  loved 
fighting  a  trifle  too  much,  loved  the 
Christianity  of  its  day  not  a  little. 


Indifferent  to  permeaiionis  from  Uie 
Gelt  and  Boman,  it  yielded  no 
slavish  homage  to  the  political 
supremacy  of  the  Dane.  With 
patriotic  determination,  it  kept  the 
mfluence  of  what  was  Frendi  in  the 
victorious  Norman,  nearly  within 
the  bounds  of  the  names  of  a  few 
marketable  commodities.  Assured 
of  its  own  permanent  independence, 
it  enriched  itself  from  our  oft- 
defeated  enemies  on  the  Continent. 
Overtaken  by  a  little  uncongenial 
pedantry  in  &he  Stuart  period,  it 
has  survived  the  battle  and  the 
breeze  to  be  what  it  is.  Compressed 
in  all  directions — comprehensive 
of  elements  from  rather  incongraons 
sources — it  may  indeed  here  and 
there  show  a  few  symptoms  of  con- 
gestion, but  they  only  require 
judicious  treatment,  and  cannot 
deserve  wholesale  amputation.  This 
is  the  sort  of  language  at  which  its 
possessors  think  it  clever  to  be 
rodent  and  maledictory.  And  why  ? 
Probably  just  because  those  who 
undertake  to  teach  it  take  no 
trouble  to  find  out  a  proper  method 
of  setting  it  forth.  And  those  who 
leamit  set  down  the  want  of  method 
in  the  teachers  to  the  score  of 
imperfections  in  the  language  itself. 
Let  us  leave  now  the  murkiness 
of  those  mistaken  opinions  about 
English,  which  pervert  the  useful- 
ness of  the  Philological  Society  and 
the  Phonetic  Institute.  Let  us 
climb  the  Delphic  heights  them- 
selves, and  hear  what  the  cliief 
priests  of  the  philological  Pythia 
nave  to  tell  us.  The  oracle,  not 
unlike  some  things  in  the  old  Greek 
ones,  except  in  their  poetry,  comes 
to  us  in  the  form  of  a  '  Sylli^ns  of 
Latin  Pronunciation.'  The  word 
'Syllabus'  certainly  has  its  asso- 
ciations with  infallibility,  but  other- 
wise hardly  appears  to  be  a  happy 
one.  If  there  were  a  party  opposed 
to  its  teaching,  they  would  need  no 
other  rallying-cry  than  '  Syllaba; 
if  we  are  right  about  the  weakness 
in    the    professors'    views,    whei-e 


187B] 


A  Few  Words  on  FUlology. 


311 


tbe7  h&ye  neglected  the  doctrine  of 
'sf/Zables.'    We  are  aware  that  ihe 
h^d-masters  of  schools  hare,  in 
solemn  Amphictyonio   Council  as« 
sembled   at  Birmingham,    carried 
nnammonsly  a  vote  of  thanks  to  the 
professors  for  the  Syllabus.    We  do 
not  see  how  they  could  have  done 
less  nnder  the  circumstances.    It  is 
no  object  with  us  to  wantonly  dis- 
turb nnanimity,  which,  even  if  it  is 
a  M\&  dull,  is  always  so  'nice,* 
espedallj  when  young    eyes  and 
ears  are  on  the  alert  to  catch  signs 
of  discord.    The  question  with  us 
is,  whether  the  unanimity  of  the 
iiead-masters  can  have  much  more 
than  the  one  principle  of  expediency 
at  the  bottom  of  it.    We  cordially 
endorse  the  opinion,  that  it  is  ex- 
pedient  to    conform    our   way  of 
reading  Latin  to  continental  usage. 
Snch  a  consummation  must  make 
the  old  words  more  intelligible  by 
and  from  scholars  on  both  sides  of 
the  Channel,  and  perhaps  bring  out 
manj  a   latent  etymology  on  our 
side  of  it.    We  may  concede  what 
IB  not  equally  evident,  that  young 
people  will  derive  much  benefit  from 
the  new  way  of  reading  Latin,  in 
applying    themselves     to    modern 
langoages.  Having  said  thus  much, 
we  are  constrained  to  add  that,  if 
we  had  been  bead-masters  at  Bir- 
nuQgham,  the  rest  of  our  unanimity 
would  have  been  of  the  galled  and 
sore-backed    sort.       As    obedient 
animals  we  are  quite  ready  to  go  in 
the  proper  direction ;  but  this  new 
saddle,  the  Syllabus,  does  not  seem 
as  yet  to  fit  us,  and  we  cannot  help 
wincing  a  little.     It  is  just  as  well 
to  know  whether  this  is  our  &ult, 
or  the  fault  of  tlie  saddler.  In  other 
words,  it  is  very  important  to  as- 
certain how  much  of  the  Syllabus  is 
sound  philology  or  not. 

To  begin  with,  the  selection  of 
Italian  as  fomiabing  the  best  norma 
loquendi  in  reading  Latin,  is  just 
the  one  we  sliould  not  ourselves 
have  made.  We  have  got  into  the 
way  of  thinking,  that  it  is  a  lan- 

TOL.  Vn. HO.  XXXIX.    HEW  SEBIBS. 


^uage  which  has  not  only  softened 
its  gutturals  and  dentals,  but 
macerated  what  should  be  its  sub- 
stance nearly  into  pulpiness.  It 
gets  rid  of  the  old  consonants  by 
wholesale  as  in  'Istruzione,'  *oscuro,* 
'  specchio,'  and  in  '  oggetto '  we  see 
it  conspicuously  removing  inherited 
groups  of  consonants,  to  make 
geminations  of  them  in  the  way 
that  turns  up  everywhere,  and 
makes  sad  havoc  in  grammatical 
etymology.  It  strikes  one  that  the 
language  is  e£feminate,.  one  that, 
loves  to  lie  on  the  sofa  with  its 
pretty  vowels,  but  eschews  whole- 
some exercise  with  anything  else. 
We  have  nothing  to  complain  of  in 
those  vowels,  but  when  we  see  how 
it  discards  the  initial  aspirate,  and 
how  it  treats  what  were  Latin  con- 
sonants, we  think  of  it  as  a  sort  of 
molluscous  deposit,  where  a  few 
hard  shells  are  sometimes  found  as 
initials,  but  where  in  a  general  way 
nothing  hard  or  sharp  seems  to 
have  any  business  to  remain.  And 
yet  things  both  hard  and  sharp  are 
recommended  to  us  by  the  Syllabus. 
The  professors  and  Amphictyons 
can  hardly  have  been  thinking 
of  the  euphonious  supremacy  of 
Italian  in  music.  The  nation  that 
speaks  it  has  done  nothing  Roman 
since  the  old  Boman  times,  and  the 
tongue  seems  to  have  been  dream- 
ing like  the  people,  perhaps  be- 
lieving itself  old  Itoman  in  pro- 
nunciation, because  old  Bomans 
were  Italian  in  blood.  It  is  hard  to 
see  why  it  should  have  been  pre- 
ferred even  to  Spanish,  which  has 
added  so  many  of  its  gutturals  to 
the  aspirates,  and  reverts  in  many 
cases  to  the  pre-classical  stage  of 
Latin.  These  things  strike  us 
about  Italian  as  a  vernacular,  and . 
we  should  be  of  the  same  mind  if 
the  Syllabus  had  said,  what  it  does 
not,  that  it  was  thinking  of  the 
special  rendering  of  old  Latin  words 
in  Italy.  Those  words  are  perhaps  . 
as  strange  in  sound  to  the  modem 
Italian  as  to  anybody  else.    Stoutly 


^12 


A  Fm  W&rds  en  FhOdogy. 


[MaiQb 


^d  uidig9an%  dp  scbolarB  from 
the  North  of  Eijrope  deny  that  the 
Italian  has,  or  at  least  utilises,  the 
best  tradition  of  sonnd  from  the 
tiz^e  of  Horace  and  Yirgil.  The 
two  Bomes  did  not  help  each  other 
m  language  more  than  in  fortunes., 
^ttis,  Lombards,  .and  Vandals  had 
no  yeiy  conservative  influence  on 
olassicsJ  enunciation,  and  a  country 
^f  mountains  is  full  apt  to  be  a 
country  of  dialects.  On  the  con- 
trary, the  wonderful  borrowed  dic- 
tion of  Ulfilas  spread  mysteri- 
ously in  or  as  the  High  and  Low 
German,  which  waa  often  within 
hail  of  the  Boman  colonies  in 
Poland  and  the  valley  of  the 
Danube.  Somehow  or  other,  it 
tunis  out  that  over  a  largo  part  of 
Europe  the  pronunciation  of  Latin 
by  the  Icelander  would  at  the 
preisent  day  be  preferred  to  that  by 
the  Italian.  Iteferring  to  what 
Haflam  says,  we  see  how  Latin  may 
h&ve  suffered  firom  the  preponder- 
ance given  to  degenerate  Greek 
sounds  in  and  after  the  days  of 
Chrysoloras.  And  the  percolations 
of  monkish  Ijatin  may  be  added  to 
what  appears  from  the  same  au- 
fbority  to  have  been  the  neglect  of 
the  study  of  Latin,  at  certain 
periods  of  Italian  history,  when 
that  study  was  flourishing  else- 
where. 

Diving  now  into  some  of  the  de- 
tails of  the  Syllabus,  we  are  certainly 
relieved  to  find  that  we  have  not  to 
&ce  the  dicta  of  Priscian,  Nonius 
Marcellus,  or  Nigidius  Figulus, 
which  from  certain  indications  we 
might  have  expected  to  find  in- 
flicted upon  us.  We  have  never 
thought  that  descriptions  of  sounds 
were  apt  to  be  specially  ii^telligible 
to  remote  generations  of  men.  We 
do  not  at  all  mind  being  talked  to 
about  Quintilian,  because  on  the 
whole  we  think  him  a  very  sensible 
kind  of  monitor.  Only  we  need  to 
be  told  what  he  actually  did  say, 
ttnd  not  to  be  led  to  infer,  from 
views  ascribed  to  him,  what    we 


ourselves  ought  to  say.    l?ow  these 
are  two  points  in  the  Syllabus  which 
seem  to  be  based  on  the  remarks  of 
Quintilian,  although  only  one.  for- 
tifies itself  with  his  name  outiight. 
It  is  more  than  possible  that,  if  he 
had  not  said  something  about  *  ob- « 
tinuit,'  we  should  never  have  been 
told  to  •  sound  and  generally  write ' 
supter  ioT  subier.    And  if  he  bad  not 
said  of  ab  in  abduUt  that  '  corram- 
pit  oratip,'  we  might  have  been  left 
alone  with  ghsens  instead  of  trying 
apsens.   That  is,  so  far  as  subter  and 
ahsens  offend  against  any  laws  of 
accommodation  or  ^sndhi  in  San- 
skrit or  elsewhere,  we  might  indeed 
have  heard  of  them,  but  hardly,  till 
matters  are  more  advanced,  in  a 
Syllabus  of  Latin  pronunciation.  It 
seems  as  if  some  collateral  motiye 
were  needed  to  account  for  the  fiu:!, 
that   the  professors  do    not,  like 
Quintilian,   make  'obtinuit'  their 
typical  word.     Had  they  done  so, 
they  must  have  gone  on  to  say,  that 
he    speaks  of   'obtinuit'  as  that 
which  'ratio  poscit,'    and  of  *op- 
tinuit '  as  only  that  which  *  anres 
magis  audiunt.'     He  was  &miliar 
enough  with  inscriptional  use,  and 
wished  to  see  everything  written 
*  quomodo  sonat.'     Thus  what  he 
knew  of  reading  would  have  justi- 
fied him,  if  anybody,  in  trying  his 
hand  at  a  slight  change  in  spelling. 
But,  impressed  by  the   'ratio'  of 
the  case,  he  proposes  no  alteration. 
If  our  Syllabus  does  require  one,  it 
seems  hardly  too  much  to  say  that 
it  does  so  in  defiance  of  the  *  ratio ' 
of  Quintilian.     Whatever  liberties 
he  may  have   heard    the    Boman 
tongue  taking  with  '  obtinuit^'  that 
particular  grouping  of  sonant  with 
surd  need  not  have  been  much  more 
dreadful  in  Latin  than  it  is  fonnJ 
to  be  in  English  and  German.  Yenlj 
we  hope  there  is  life  in  the  old 
word  suiter  yet,  and  that  nothing 
from  the  comparative  grammars  ^ 
be  the  death  of  it.    We  think  that 
'absens'   deserves  to  survive   the 
SyllaWs  as  much  as  '  subter;*    Yi^e 


WTS] 


A  Few  Words  <m  PhUohgy. 


SIS 


graai  that  iihe  sibilant  haa  not.hese 
exactfy  the  same  title  to  the  name 
of  '  spirant  80fnant '  that  it  has  in 
absque  and  dbstuliL  Bat  its  ore- 
dentiils  are  amply  good  enough 
to  allov  of  its  bemg  joined  for  once 
with  the  labial  sonant.  The  origi- 
nal fiibilation  of  the  preposition 
ai^es  sotne  kind  of  '  aocommoda- 
tion,'  Indian  or  not.  Qnintiliaa 
seems  to  have  thonght  it  rather 
iiard  on  the  poor  syllable  to  be  so 
treated.  Bnt  he  does  not  make  it 
a  case  for  practical  redress,  ^md  we 
rather  think  he  waa  rights 

Of  course  -we  are  bound  to  do  as 
we  are  bidden,  and  ^  aed  QuintOian 
I.  7.  20.'    :Ebkving,  as  the  French- 
man  says^  made  our  duty  in  that 
direction,  we  must  profess  that  we 
are  unable  to  see  anything  there  to 
tiie  purpose  of  what  the  SyUabns 
wants  to  tell  us  about  a  slubrp  or 
£at  sibilant,  bat  a  x^onfirmaiion  of 
the  Tery  opposite.     Its  words  are 
here  not  a  little  obscure.    But  we 
sappose,  that  the  combination  of  a 
long  Towel  with  a  geminated  sibi- 
lant is  held  to  be  the  most  correct 
thing  possible,  that  Cicero  and  Virgil 
were  quite  right  in  their  spelling  of 
'cau8a^^'  'cassos,'  divissio,'  Ac.,  and 
that  they  might  as  well  be  followed 
hj   oonselves.        Now     Qnintiliaa 
speaks  in  one  sentence  of  the  time 
of  Cicero  having  been  that  of  the 
fashion  (fere)  of  writing  the  gemi- 
nation in  ^cassos,'  and  in  the  oezt 
flenteooe  o£  his  own  time  as  that 
of  the  usage  of  *  jussi,'   '  quod  nos 
gemina  S  dicimas '  instead    of  the 
earfy  *  jousi.'     So  the  old  twin  coa« 
sonant  after  the  long  vowel  vanished, 
and  the  new  twin  consonant  after 
what  we  must  caU  the  short  vowel 
became  established.    What  cap  this 
mean,  except  that  a  gemination  is 
no  more  in  place  than  a  grouping 
of  consonants  after  a  long  vowel, 
bat  that  a  gemination  is  as  much 
in  place  as  a  grouping  after  a  short 
one?    Bnt  we  are  farther  mysti- 
fied about  ^  a  lost  consonant  having, 
been  assimilated,  and  the  vowel  al- 


ways lengthened.':  Here  the  wordsgo 
&r  beyond  those  of  Qnintilian,  who 
.was  not  speaking  of  any  process  of 
lengthening  .vowels,  but  of  those 
that  Were  somehow  long  already. 
.  What  is  said  of  the  '  lost  consonant ' 
looks  as  wonderfdl  to  us  as  if  a,  pro- 
jectile were  to  hit  an  object  in  the 
air  and  on  the  groutid  at  the  same 
time.    We  can  just  get  over  the 
thought  of  the  assinulciion  of  a  con- 
.sonant^  though  our  idea  was  that 
:  assimUaUon  lay   properly  between 
the  vowels  of  consecutive  syllables. 
What  we  want  to  know  is,  whether 
,  the  lost  consonant  really  goes  into 
the  gemination,  as  in  anntiOy  or  whe- 
ther anything  else  is  proved    by 
.forms  like  andtto.    If  it  be  said  that 
the  defunct    consonant  is    ferried 
over  direct  to  the  vowel,  and  length- 
ens it,  we  cannot  forget  that  some 
writers,  like  M.  Baudry,  hold  there 
is  scarcely,  if  at  all,  any  such  change 
of  consonant  into  vowel  as  is  im- 
plied  in  ^compensation.'      Those 
who  do  not  see  the  direct  agency  of 
compensation  on  the  vowel,  would 
explain  the  result  of  lengthening 
by  the  indirect  action  of  the  gemi- 
nation.    Thusit  might  be  said  that 
ihB  consonant  in  ab^mitto  did  not  go 
at  once  into  amitto,  but  into  a  theore- 
tic am^mitiOy  from  which  the  change 
to  amt^^wasan  accepted  alternative, 
as  much  as  in  '  litus '  and  '  littus.' 
We  are  here  brought  to  consider 
the  extent  to  which  gemination  of 
consonant^  and  its  alternative  the 
long  vowel,  has  been  the  resource 
of  pronunciation  from  perhaps  the 
beginning.     It  is  significant  that^ 
wmle  there  is  so  much  of  it  in  Se- 
mitic, there  is  said  to  be  nothing  of 
it  in  Sanskrit.    We  see  it  working^ 
independently  of  written  forms  in  old 
Latin  inscriptions,  and  turning  up 
everywhere  amongst  us.    Applying 
its  theory  to   *  casus'  and  *visus,^ 
where  the  vowel  is  long,  we  do  not 
at  once  say  that  the  dental  has  gone 
bodily  iato  it.    We  trust  our  ears 
that  '  cassum '  and  *  sessum '  havel 
the  lost  letter  safe  in  their  gemina- 

Z2 


_^ 


314 


A  Few  Words  on  Philology. 


[March 


tioB.  Tlien  we  come  to  think  that 
'  oasiiB '  and  '  visne '  get  their  length 
proximately  from  relieving  guard 
with  the  gemination.  But  those 
who  lean  to  '  compensation '  will  fly 
to  the  old  ablatiTe8|>rau2a(2,  sencUvd, 
Ac.,  for  proof  in  favour  of  it.  They 
may  as  well  remember  that  Bopp 
himself  detected  bat  few  traces  of 
the  nsage  in  Sanskrit,  and  was  only 
more  snccessfol  when  he  followed 
it  into  Zend.  They  onght  to  ex- 
plain why  so  little  of  it  is  fonnd  in 
Latin  consonant-nonns.  These 
dentalised  ablatives  belong  to  the 
period  of  abbreviated  nominatives, 
and  have  probably  some  reference 
to  them,  if  some  of  them  do  not  re- 
main in  the  language  as  nominatives. 
Adverbs  and  prepositions,  like  '  £s^ 
cilnmed,  '  snprad,'  ^  entrad,'  may 
have  had  something  to  do  with  long 
Greek  finals.  On  the  whole,  we 
are  loth  to  acknowledge  that  a 
dropped  consonant  directiy  length- 
ens a  vowel,  though  it  may  fairly  be 
held  that  it  conduces  to  the  result. 
Formoruus  heoameformoeua,  but  per- 
haps in  theoiy  formosms  first,  and 
odiontsus  may  have  passed  the  turn- 
stile odioemu  to  reacn  odumu. 

Having  admitted  that,  as  ancient 
ladies  say  of  certain  preachers,  we 
cannot  'feed' much  on  the  professors' 
views  of  geminated  consonants,  we 
ought  to  try  whether  we  can  get  on 
any  better  with  their  notion  of 
geminated  vowels.  And  an  oppor- 
tunity occurs  of  testing  this  in  what 
the  Syllabus  says  of  *  Marcus '  and 
^pastor.'  These  are  clearly  the 
'  Maarcus  '  and  '  paastor '  of  the  in- 
scriptions, and  it  must  be  the  twin- 
ship  of  the  vowels  on  which  the 
statement  is  founded,  in  connection 
with  them,  that '  the  ancients  ob- 
served the  natural  length  of  vowels, 
when  the  syllable  was  also  long  by 
position.'  Now  what  does  this 
mean  about  the  ^syllable'  being 
long  by  position  P  Has  anybody 
ever  proved,  that  when  a  vowel  gets 
into  position  with  consonants  in  or 
outside  of  its  own    syllable,  any 


change  takes  place  in  the  consonant 
which  precedes  it  ?     If  not,  care  in 
phraseology  would  lead  ns  to  re- 
strict the  efiect  of  position  to  the 
vowel,  and  not  extend  it   to  the 
whole  syllable.   We  know  the  point 
is  of  no  consequence,  only  it  is  a 
sample  of  the  sort  of  confusion  we 
often  have  to  notice  about  *  syllables,' 
in  which  everything  is  apt  to  be 
disregarded  except  the  vowel,  the 
most  unstable  part  of  it.     Thinking 
of  what  Cicero  said,  it  might  be  as 
well  to  distinguish  clearly  between 
a  long  syllable  in  metre,  and  a  vowel 
long  by  position.     But  to  return  to 
'  Maarcus '  and  *  paastor,'  and  the 
inference  that  the  twinship  proves 
length  of  vowel.   Here  we  most  not 
run  away  with  the  analogy,  that  all 
things  are  like  those  numbers  that 
can  be  added  into  some  single  larger 
one.     It  would  not  help  us  to  es- 
tablish the  fact,  that  a  pair  of  horses 
can  always  be  added  into  one  animal 
of  dimensions  equal  to  both  of  theuL 
We  allow  that,  in  the  words  men- 
.  tioned  by  Corssen  and  some  others, 
the  twin  vowels  are  used  where  the 
syllable  is  long  and  unclosed,  as  in 

*  Albaana,"  leeffe,'  *  seedes.'  What 
we  doubt  is,  whether  the  first  syl- 
lables of  '  Maarcus '  and  ^  paastor ' 
were  read  differently  from  the  same 
in  '  parc83 '  and  'Eastor,'  themselves 
of  early  appearance  in  the  inscrip- 
tions. These  are  certainly  held  to 
have  furnished  the  short  ^diidro/ 
even  if  what  look  like  corresponding 
forms  elsewhere  prove  to  be  twin 
marks  rather  than  twin  vowels.  If 
Accius  and  Lucilius  could  not  cer- 
tainly make  out  the  meaning  of  the 
twinship,  we  may  be  excused  for 
making  a  guess  at  it.  It  is  not 
then  a  very  wild  surmise,  that  it  was 
in  *  Maarcus  '  and  '  paastor '  a  sign 
of  quality,  not  of  quandty,  in  the 
vowel,  especially  as  the  peculiar 
quality  turns  up  amongst  ourselves 
also,  as  in  '  mark'   and    '  pastor/ 

*  park  *  and  *  past,'  Ac.  There  ap- 
pear to  be  reasons  for  thinking  it 
an  Oscanismy  and  the  aa  may  have 


1873] 


A  Few  Words  on  Philology. 


315 


nothing  inore  to  do  with  length  in 
pnre  Latin  than  it  has  in  Scandina- 
vian. In  Danish  and  Swedish  the 
corresponding  forms  aa  and  a  are 
either  long  or  short,  as  in  Worsaae 
or  Kaagy  Oas  or  Pask,  In  eaoh  the 
long  has  the  au  qoality  of  the 
short. 

As  regards  the  description   in 
general  of  the  vowels  in  the  Sylla- 
bus, we  are  half  in  the  hnmonr  of 
the  dull  cathedral- warden  of  Parma, 
who,  in  looking  np  at  Correggio's 
angels  on  the  dome,  felt  reminded 
of  a  'gnazzetto  di  rane.'     The  only 
English  sounds  allowed  to  be  more 
than '  nearly '  connected  with  Latin 
come  from  *  father  *  and  *  rule,'  both 
of  which  happen  to  be  exceptional 
with  ns.    If  so,  without  an  intimate 
knowledge  of  other  languages,  our 
Latin  reading  must  be  a  mockery. 
We  can  hardly    believe    this,   or 
imagine  that  the  use  of  the  tongue 
in  countries   so  close  and  closely 
connected  as  England  and  Italy,  is, 
or  ever  has  been,  so  different  that 
the  same  sounds  might  not  be  found ' 
in  each,  if  they  were  properly  ran- 
sacked.   It  is  all  very  well  to  talk 
about  the  want  of '  single  sounds  to 
give  an  adequate  representation  of 
an  old  Latin  sound,'  but  who  is  to 
judge  whether  it  is  adequate  or  not  ? 
We  thought  it  was  understood  that 
sll  the  '  long  *  vowels  may  be  illus- 
trated from  English  alone,  and  per- 
haps  in  the  short  ones  there  is  no 
divergence  worth  mentioning.    As 
the  Syllabus  puts  it,  we  get  fairly 
estranged    from    our    old    Latin 
friends,  when   we  are  told    they 
are  to  be  'as  the  accentuated  Italian,' 
'as  the  unaccentuated  Italian,'  *  as 
the  Itahan  dosed,'  '  as  the  Italian 
open,'  'as  the  Italian  open  short- 
ened.'   We  feel  inclined  to  give  &  a 
heartj  cheer  for  discomfitmg  the 
professors.     AAer  successfully  find- 
ing it  out '  as  the  first  and  last  a  of 
amaiOj'  they  pass  under  the  Caudine 
Forks  of  confessing,  '  It  is  not  easy 
to  represent  this  sound  in  English : 
we  Imow  nothing  better  than  the 


first    a  in  away,  apart,  ahay    and 
this  happens  to  be  no  vowel  at  all, 
but  a  sort  of  grunt,  of  which  more 
anon.     This  is  not  the  only  case 
showing  that  the  professors   seem 
to  think  a  vowel  is  something  like 
an  insect,  wtth   a  long  head,  an 
evanescent  tail,  and  nothing  of  im- 
portance to  join  the  two.     We  put 
ourselves  tacitly  on  the  side  of  that 
unhappy '  English  and  English-Latin 
0,*  which  is  so  'very  peculiar,  in 
most  instances  hardly  an  o  at  all.' 
If  not,  what  in  the  whole  domain 
of  literature  is  it  like  ?     We  shall 
be  told,  perhaps,  that  it  is  borrowed 
from  au.    Well !  then  we  must  be 
told  further  what  is  the  sound  of  att, 
for  we  find  it  properly  is  '  nearly  as 
cfw  in  English  power,  and  we  can- 
not find  anything  like  ow  in  English 
'  com '  or  German  *  gold. '     So  fer  it 
turns  out  that  instead  of  o  borrow- 
ing   from    au,  a  perverse  arguer 
might  say  that  au  itself  got  into 
difficulties  and  became  indebted  to 
0.     The  fact  is  that  in  o  the  pro- 
fessors seem  '  hoised  with  their  own 
petard  '  in  Italian,  and  to  have  feMen 
amongst  the  other  vowels  without 
lighting  on  their  lees.     It  so  hap- 
pens that  there  is  m  Italian  a  long 
quantity  of  o  in  '  gloria,'  which  has 
much  the  same  au  quality  as  the 
short  quantity,  say  in  rosa.     But 
this  is  exceptional,  and  does  not  ap- 
ply to  e  or  the  other  vowels,  which 
do  not  furnish   'the  same  sound 
shortened,'  that  belongs  to  them 
when  lon|^.     The  usage  in  Itahan 
is  only  like  what  we  spoke  of  in 
Scandinavian,  where  aa  and  a  take 
the  same  au  quality  of  our  o,  whe- 
ther they  are  themselves  long  or 
short.     It  will  no  more  do  to  apply 
the    terms  'long'    or  'short     to 
quality  of  sound  than  to  quality  of 
colour  or  savour.     It  tends  to  ob- 
scure the  important  fact,  that  the 
special  sound  of  a  vowel  is  only  in- 
eidontally  connected  with  its  length. 
Quantity  may    be  a  multiple    of 
quantity  as  representing  duration, 
but  quality  will  very  rarely  be  a 


316 


A  Few  Words  on  Philology. 


[Marck 


multiple  of  qoality  as  representing 
variety  of  sound.  Compared  with 
long  vowels,  short  ones  are  apt  to 
be  so  specific  as  to  deserve  being 
written  everywhere,  as  they  are  in 
some  languages,  by  a  peculiar  letter. 
The  Syllabus  would  lead  us  to 
infer,  that  a  bipartite  division  of 
vowels  is  sufficient;  in  fact,  one 
that  conies  round  to  the  regulation 

*  longs '  and  ^  shorts.'  Yet,  on 
looking  more  closely  into  the 
matter,  it  is  difficult  to  avoid 
seeing,  that  the  division,  to  be 
worth  anything,  must  be  at  least 
tripartite,  and,  to  be  complete,  must 
have  its  supplementary  divisions. 
The  first  division  naturally  consists 
of  those  with  long  quantity,  closed 
or  unclosed.  Tms  is  not  because 
they  are  the  most  original,  which  is 
more  than  doubtftd,  but  betouse 
they  are  the  only  ones  which  can 
be  sounded  distinctly  alone.  The 
long  closed  vowel,  which  is  a  special 
favourite  with  the  professors,  can 
never  have  been  rigidly  the  same  as 
when  unclosed,  but  must  have  de* 
served  to  be  classed  somewhat 
apart,  like  our  '  child '  and  *  kind ' 
as  compared  with  'children'    and 

*  kindred.'  Probably  all  languages 
h9,ve  had  something  of  this  sort  in 
them,  connected  more  or  less  with 
some  peculiarity  in  the  liquids. 
The  second  division  of  vowels  takes 
in  those  that  are  closed  with  a  con- 
sonant, but  not  long  in  quantity. 
For  want  of  terms  to  express  varia- 
tion in  quality,  we '  must  leave 
these  to  be  typified  by  the  words 
*bad,'  *bed,'  *bid,'  *body,'  and  *bud.' 
The  third  main  division  of  vowels 
is  about  as  extensive  as  the  other 
two  put  together,  that  is,  in  poly- 
syllables. Banging  from  the  mere 
'  vincular  *  up  to  quasi-closure, 
they  are  not  even  *  short,'  but  *  short- 
est,' and  take  after  *  long '  or  *  short ' 
only  according  to  circumstances. 
A  large  part  of  the  work  is  taken 
off  their  shoulders  by  what  we 
called  a  *  grunt '  in  the  words 
*apart,'  *away,'  'aha,'  butwhichreally 


is  the  nondescript,  inarticulate  sort 
of  sound,  which  is  heard  in  the 
French  *le,'  or  our  unemphatic 
*the.'  Of  course  if  e  and  i  run 
into  one  another  elsewhere,  they 
will  do  so  more  freely  still  when  at 
their  *  shortest,'  though  always 
keeping  tolerably  clear  of  a,  o,  «. 
The  latter  before  c,  j?,  t,  f,  and 
sibilants  often  become  confused, 
while  before  the  sonants  and  equi- 
valents to  sonants  they  retain  dis- 
tinctiveness. These  nnacdented 
^shortest'  vowels  are  perhaps  the 
least  intrusive,  but  most  interesting 
of  vowels.  They  must  have  formed 
the  staple  of  pronunciation  amongst 
the  old  Phenicians,  who  wrote  no 
vowels  at  all,  and  astonish  us  hj 
the  difficulty  of  showing  when  it 
was  that  they  even  used  any  long 
ones. 

It  is   proposed   that   the    open 
Italian  e  should  be  sounded  as  an 
alternative  for  oe  as  well  as  for  ae. 
This  looks  a  little  too  sweeping  as 
regards  the  '  open  '  Italian  e,  bnt  is 
a  pleasant  compromise,  sufficiently 
endorsed  by  general  usage  in  neo- 
Latin  countries.     Only  we  confess 
that  we  are  a  little  jealous  of  any- 
thing that  can  be  made  to  harmon- 
ise, more   closely  than   hecessaij, 
with  the  Sanskrit  guna  and  vriddhi, 
as  applied  to  the  case  by  l^e  Pub- 
lic   School   LcUin    Qrammar.     We 
cannot  see  that  the  inference  from 
Latin  establishes  at  all  cleariy  that 
the  second  vowel  of  its  digraphs  mras 
the  chief  one,  as  seems  implied  on 
the  Indian  system.     It  may  not  be 
quite  safe  to  suppose  that  the  in- 
scriptions were  watched   over    by 
those  who  felt  any  very  keen  in- 
terest in  diphthongs,  or  were  pledged 
to  rigid  redes  in  writing  them.      In 
some  cases  a  single  letter  may  have 
preceded  the  diphthong,  in  others  the 
diphthong  itselif  may  have  led  to  the 
adoption  of  the  single  letter.     Snch 
words  as  ducere  BJid  judex  may  have 
had  a  different  early  history  from 
that  of  unu8  and  cura.   In  a  general 
way  it  may  be  thought  that  when  a 


1878J 


A  Feio  WardiM  an  Philology. 


317 


digmpH  is  oonmmted  into  one  of  it? 

two  Tow^te;*  the  temBahder'  repre- 

sento  idiat^wus  befot^  the   chief 

efementi  in  the  digraph.   Now  there 

are  many  digraphs  so  eommnted  in 

classical  times  mto  their  first  letter ' 

or  its  eqdvalent.     This  leaves  it 

open  ft)r  mt  to  forget  Sanskrit^  and 

(Mnk  that  their  -first  or  Specific  part ' 

onght  to  haver  precedence  over  tiieir 

second  or  more  generic  part,  how- 

€ter  little  we  may  he  able*to  secure 

ihis  in  onr  own  dkys.     KHiere  ever ' 

was  a  complete  theory  of  comMna- 

tion  in  Latin  diphthongs,  its  dis- 

covwy  would    amply  reward  our' 

stndi^  hut  is  hardly  to  be  expected. 

However  this  may'be,  we  think  that 

Kir.  Bohy,  whose  attention  was  not 

specially  directed  to  the  point*  we 

are  cousidering,  'sffbi^'  evidtoce< 

much  to  oar*  purpose.    He  shows* 

that  wMler  oommntationB  from  ei' 

are  ffuctuating*,  'diose  like  frnatra' 

are  hut  iftre,  those  like  *  Cecilius ' 

mlgar,  and  those  fike  'prefectus' 

^06t.cla88i(»I     The  many  instances 

giyen  by  him'  indicate  thai  the 

typical  form:  ioudos  is  moiie  than 

matched  hy  tiuMe  like  Ididos  as  the 

ettiy steteof  ludos.    This  seems  to 

gtre  uflT  ar  dispefnsatfon  finom  laying 

0Ter.mnch  stress  on  the  plausible 

ttse  made  out  for  the  second  vowel 

in  worcb   like*  plus    from  pious. 

Perhaps  digraphis  commute   more 

easily  into  what  they  do  not  express, 

than  into  their  second  vowel,  which 

has  the  look  of  standing  like  the 

»ta  subscript  in  Greek,  and  to  be 

about  as  distinctive  as  it  is  in  the 

French  hi  and  roi.    Latin  has  its 

au  subsiding  into  o  in  lotus^  ae  into 

i  in  requtroj  and  oe  into  u  in  punio 

Mnch  in  the  same  way,  our  Englisc, 

^er  decomposing  the  Latin  cura 

and  lux  into  cearu  and  hoht^  gave  us 

;  d«5rling,'  ♦  sedc,' '  fedr  and '  le6ht ' 

itself,  for  us  to  make  into  *  darling,* 

*8ick/  »fite,'  and  'light.'  If  Mr.Eoby 

had  been  writing  a  Greek  instead 

of  a  Latin  grammar,  he  might,  if 

80  minded,   have    shown  many  a 

Greek  digraph  passing  into  liitin 


by  its'first  letter,  as  in  'Hades,*' '  cra« 
ptila,'-*poeta,*  *levis,*  Ac.,  and  many 
an  eliimnation  of  th^  second  iii  Greek 
itself.  As  it  is,  if  in  Fourio  we 
suppose  the  u  as  near  in  value  to 
0  as  6  to  {  in  omneiSy  the  verdict 
wiH  not  be  dfecisively  in  favour  of  a 
guna  or  vriddhi  in  the  case.'  If 
pltirals  like  servei  be  thought  to  tell 
for  the  Indian  side,  We  have  only  to 
remember  the  inscriptional  *ploi- 
rume,'  'Maurte,*  *matre,' '  Junone,^  to 
get  a  notion  thkt  the  later  servimBj 
possibly  have  been  an  earlier  serve. 
I^'othing  of  this  kind  need  set  ua 
against  the  alternative '  or  com- 
promise for  the  diphthongs  proposed 
by  the  Syllabus.  They  are  aft^  all 
but  a  few  survivors  of  their  tribe, 
which  owe  their  prolonged  existence  * 
rather  to  the  inconveniencQ  the/ 
obviate, '  than  the  good  quiJities 
they  possess.  Greek  was  too  pro- 
fuse* in  digraphs,  and  Latin  did  well 
to  thin  them  out.  Our  own  long 
vowels,  which  lire  so  clearly  di- 
gvaphic  '  breakinffs,'  ottet  theil*  mite 
Of  help  to  theur  Latin  fi^bws. 
Sound  the  last  letter  of  ai  or  oa, 
and  yon  'simply  alter  the  whole  of 
a  or  0  as  an  equivalent. 

We  must  not  pass  over  what  the 
Syllabus  says  about  the  *  tyranny  of 
accent  oVer  quantity,'  because  it 
almost  amounts  to  defamation  of 
character,'  and  brings  us  face  to 
fkce  with  something  curious.  -We 
half  fancy  we  have  prosody  made  a 
register  of  accent,  because  Quinti- 
Han  said  that  accenius  and  prosodda 
were  the  same.  This  would  disturb 
om*  notion  of  things.  Ab  we  have 
said  that  we  consider  the  ratio  of 
quantity  to  be  to  the  vowel,  so  we 
hold  that  of  accent  to  be  to  the  syl- 
lable, as  that  of  emphasis  is  to  ^e 
word  in  the  sentence.  Hence  in 
our  view  it  would  not  be  right  to 
speak  of  J  the  *  tyranny  of  accent 
over  quantity,'  because  that  is  not 
its  department,  but  the  *  syllable.* 
Accent  does  not  regard  Mong*  or 
*  short '  vowels  as  such,  but  is  only 
concerned    about  there    being   no 


318 


A  Few  Words  oh  PhMogy, 


[MsrdL 


riyal  accent  in  the  next  callable,  in 
the  absence  of  which  it  will  nestle 
almost  anywhere.     It  is  owing  to 
the  *  syllable '  and  not  the  vowel, 
that  the  antepenults  of  '  hominis ' 
aiid  '  lateris '  admit  of  accent,  or  of 
such  definite  pronnnciation  as  they 
have.    Their  first  vowels  are  clearly 
not  the  same  as  in  'homuncnlos' 
and  '  latercolns.'    Putting  aside  the 
circumflex,  Greek  and  Latin  accents 
may  be  held  to  difier  from  one  an- 
other, and  from  ours,  in  that  the  one 
seems  to  avoid,  and  the  other  to 
prefer,  that  penult^  to  which  we  are 
indififerent.    Yet  they  both  virtually 
agree  in  throwing  the  tonic  accent 
back,  and  in  precluding  it  from 
consecutive  syUablos.    Here    they 
.fell  in  with  our  own,  which  is  in 
polysyllables  alternate,  and  so  far 
probably  resembles  that  of   many 
other  languages,  which  are  sure  to 
find  the  undulatory  theory  of  vocal 
matters  work  best  in  practice.     It 
sounds  strange  to  us  to  hear  of  the 
*  tyranny  of  accent  over  quantity,' 
or  of  accent  having  any  power  of 
changing  anything.     One  speaker 
may  call  quantity  *  natural,'  another 
may  call  it  *  structural ; '  but  both 
ought  to  agree   in   thinking  that 
it  is    more  a  question   in  metre 
than  in  accent.     Of  course  it  is  not 
meant  that  accent  &lls  indifierently 
npon  syllables,  but  that  there  is  a 
ready  way  of  preparing  any  syllable 
for  accent,   which  r^ly  obviates 
the  difficulty.    When  we  want,  on 
the  alternate  system,  to  accentuate 
a  very  short  vowel,    such    as  in 
'Italus,'    we  have  only    in  voice 
to  geminate  the  consonant,  as  in 
*Itfl(l)ian,'  OP  •pit(t)y,'  and  the 
thing  is  done.    The  contrivance  is 
BO  simple,  so  usefol,  and  so  elastic, 
that  we  may  well  suppose  all  spoken 
languages  to  have  used  it.    If  the 
eld  Roman  did  not  sometimes,  like 
ourselves,  turn  the  long  vowel  in 
'ca-ritas'    into  its  equivalent,  and 
say  car(r)itas,  we  do  not  see  how 
he  could  help  preceding  us  in  saying 
*fer(r)itas'  instead  of  *feritas,'  if 


he  wanted  any  certain  way  of  ma- 
naging the  fibrat  vowel  at  all.  Tha 
beautv  of  gemination  is,  that  it 
vanishes  as  eaaily  as  it  ocnnes  to  the 
rescue,  as  may  be  seen  in  our  *  com- 
em(m)orate.'  There  must  alwaya 
have  been  syllables  of  inconvenient 
value,  requiring  some  device  to  get 
over  them,  and  none  more  conve- 
nient than  the  one  we  are  consi- 
dering. The  attitude  of  the  Syllabus 
towards  accent  seems  to  have  been 
taken  up  without  considering  that 
vowels  are  independent  of  accent, 
but  syllables  and  accent  closely 
connected. 

Our  idea  about  the  consonants, 
mentioned  in  the  Syllabus  is  that,  if 
we  were  to  follow  its  unyielding  role 
of  '  hardness,'  we  should  not  only 
get  as  feir  as  continental  usage,  but 
go  clean  over  it,  and  be  out  in  the 
cold  as  before.  We  have  no  heart 
at  present  for  raking  up  the  mys- 
teries of  ffutturals  and  labio-denials. 
Those  who  go  feirly  into  the  ques- 
tion will  find  that  they  have  more 
to  say  about  it  than  has  yet  been 
said.  We  regret  that  those  pro- 
fessors who  came  forward  so  gal- 
lantly in  defence  of  the  softness  of 
the  maligned  c  and  v  did  not  more 
persistently  stand  to  their  guns. 
The  impatient  outcry  against  the 
softness  or  sibilation  of  consonants 
should  be  considered  in  connection 
with  a  remark  of  Dr.  Schroder's, 
d  fropoa  of  Phenician,  that  sibi- 
lation is  a  mark  of  culture  in  lan- 
guages. Our  own  impression  i^, 
that  the  causes  which  have  {ffo- 
duced  so  much  of  it  in  post-classical 
times  have  been  more  or  less  in 
operation  from  the  remotest  period. 
We  must  have  a  battue  some  day 
amongst  those  mutations  of  conso- 
nants which  accompany  the  progress 
of  words  from  one  set  of  speakers 
to  another.  It  may  have  a  certain 
bearing  upon  our  controveFsies,  if 
we  come  to  acknowledge  that,  in 
Semitic^  the  final  of  the  first  per- 
sonal pronoun  anohi  appears  as  the 
affix  of  the  first  person  of  the  verbal 


1873] 


A  Few  Words  on  Philology. 


319 


hiiaUi  Bat  we  must  not  be  tempted 
into  the  subject. 

One  word  more  about  the  Syllabns, 
and  we  may  leave   its   theory  of 
'reform.*     Onr  reflections  do  not 
sapply  any  key  to  the  bearing  it  has 
upon   the  pronunciation  of  Latin 
'before  the  time  of  Servius,'  that  we 
should  be  told  how  *  the  Italian  of 
literature  has  been  fixed  for  six  cen- 
tunes,  and  manifestly  approximates 
to  the  Latin  of  the  seventh  or  eighth 
ceutuij.'  It  only  seems  to  showUiat, 
if  'luudness'  of  consonant  is  the 
rightthing,  Italian  has  become  so  in- 
veterate in  its  softness  that  it  must  go 
to  school  to  '  harden '  itself  as  much 
as  any  other  language.   Further,  we 
can  only  regard  it  as  a  sop  to  the 
'fonetic '  philosophers,  when  it  is 
said  that  Hhe  writing  as  seen  in 
inscriptions  was  meant  to  represent 
exactly  the  sounding  of  words,  and 
that  a  difference  in  spelling  implied 
so  &r  a  difference  of  pronouncing.' 
It  is  hardly  probable  that  the  hum- 
blest stone-cutter  in  Rome  wished 
to  represent  words  more  inexactly 
ihan  the  cleverest  writers,  or  would 
forget  that  spelling  really  had  a 
good  deal  to  do  with  changes  in 
pronunciation.  It  occurs  to  us  that, 
aller  aU,  the  real  attractiveness  of 
Italian  in  the  eyes  of  the  professors 
may  have  lain  outside  itself,  and 
rather  in  the  direction  of  guna  and 
vriddhi.     It  was  something  to  find 
a  kngnage  which  seemed  to  decom- 
pose old  di^phs  into  that  second 
vowel,  which    a   reversal  of   the 
Sansloit  process  would  leave    as 
the  orimial  one.    If  Italian  is  thus 
set  to  Indianise  Latin,  it  is  some 
comfort  to  find  reason  to  think, 
from  the  (xmunutation  of  digraphs 
in  classical  times,  that  Latin  seems 
to  localise  itself. 

Our  readers  may  censure  us  for 
ingratitude  towards  those  who  have 
laboured  to  advance  *  the  improve- 
ment of  English  orthography' 
through  some  fresh  manipulation 
of  its  letters.  They  may  even 
charge  us  vrith  prying  too  curiously 


and  irreverently  for  spots  in  the 
philological  sun.  Let  them  suffer 
us  to  plead  in  extenuation,  that 
those  who  turn  such  telescopes  as 
they  have  upwards,  are  not  always 
supposed  to  be  oblivious  of  the 
genial  beams  of  the  great  luminary. 
The  spots  themselves  may  have 
some  wise  and  good  purpose,  which 
escapes  l^e  general  observer,  but 
works  in  a  chosen  sphere  of  its 
own.  The  rising  generation  of  phi- 
lologists natundly  wish  to  appro- 
priate the  labours  of  their  prede- 
cessors, with  the  view  of  adding  to 
them,  in  due  time,  something  of 
their  own.  We  fear  they  are 
doomed  to  many  a  gesture  of  be- 
wilderment before  they  settle  down 
on  the  path  to  lead  them  in&llibly 
onwards.  Such  a  path  ought  by 
this  time  to  be  cl^r  and  unmis* 
takable.  Everybody  is  resonant 
with  delight  over  the  great  pro- 
gress in  philology,  though  few, 
perhaps,  make  up  their  minds 
whether  the  progress  is  that  of  the 
circus  or  of  the  railway.  We  our- 
selves used  to  think  that  if  we  did 
not  take  our  literature  back  with 
us  to  pre  historic  India,  we  might 
settle  matters  with  Semitic  monu- 
ments. But  in  an  unlucky  moment 
we  found  ourselves  reading  some 
very  pretty  words  on  the  '  Stratifi- 
cation of  language.'  Our  eyes 
began  to  dilate,  when  most  of  the 
pages  seemed  to  imply  that  we 
might,  after  fdl,  have  to  go  far  be- 
yond the  Bactrian  Caucasus,  away 
to  the  Ching-a-ring-a-ring-ting  of 
the  Celestial  Empire.  The  exhibi- 
tion of  literary  elegance  in  books  on 
letters  is  rather  too  much  for  our 
taste,  and  makes  us  fear  for  its 
effect  on  our  budding  scholars.  We 
feel  they  are  in  no  danger  of  mis- 
placed affection  when  they  turn  to 
a  volume  like  March's  Aiiglo-Saaofi 
Orammar.  There  they  can  enter 
on  the  sensation  of  a  mixture  of 
Euclid,  algebra,  chemistry,  physio- 
logy, mnlaut  and  ablaut,  with  vsiy 
little  otherwise  tobias  their  emotions. 


320 


A  Few  Words  on  FhHology. 


[Maidi 


They  will  also  be  saffieiently  safe 
from  dangeTons  raptures  wiUi^  the 
English  Acddenee  of  Bn  Moi^ris, 
whose  cuderfy  aeitsaig&meat  of  in-' 
teresUng  details  is  indeed  beyond 
all  praise)  but  who  will  only  b&' 
faaoinatmg  when  dictionaries  be-*: 
come  the  staple  snpply  of  light 
literatore  in  lending  libnnies.  Pier-^ 
haps  something  might  be*  provided 
qnite  as  good,  bnt  a  little  less  arid* 
than   whsA   comes   from    Messrs. 
March  And  Morris,  also  a  ht<2le  less 
snccnlent  than  £a11s  from  some  Uni- 
versity pens;  It  would  be  a  welcome 
task  to  read  what  shonld  not  hide- 
the  sacred  grove  of  letters  by  the 
trees  of  eloquence,  but  jnet  give  its^ 
proper  charm  to  philology,  as  one 
of  ^e  most  absorbing  of  all  posmble  • 
studies.   Distractions  firom  analogy 
and  imagery  M^oold  haxdly  be  al- 
lowed, V  in   days<  when   glossology 
oallff  in  the^sealpdi  of  anatomy,  and 
when   igrammars  <4i.re    not  mere 
amoories  of  serviceable  mles,  bnt 
affect  to  ..compress  within  a  '&W 
pages  all  the    constructions   ihat> 
ever  ^escaped  erasnro,  and'  to  find' 
long  polysyllabies  for  mere  parts  of 
werd4ore<  than  ever  went  to  make* 
up  the  whole.  LezicoDS  hare  grown- 
fiEbt  and  unmeldy,  classical,  >«lnti- 
qnarian,  and  Biblical  dietioBariBB 
fin  up  whole  sheiveawith'  all  that 
can  be,  and  much  that  had  better' 
not  be  said,  and  from  those  who 
might  just  as  well  not  say  it.    We 
ne^  a  little  judicious  pioneering ; 
not  scratching  at  primitive  rocks 
with    a    pen-knife,   but   removing 
simpler     obstacles,    and    showing 
the  host  of  scholars  what  it  is  they 
may  fiairly  hope  to  reach. 

We  are  inclined  to  reserve  our 
heartiest  cheers  for  those  who  shall 
be  able  to  prove  honestly,  that  we 
are  not  bound  to  go  to  the  source 
of  the  Indus  for  the  earliest  known 
stage  of  the  language  in  our  com- 
mon books,  but  may  be  allowed  to 
rest  somewhere  in  the  direction  of 
Euphrates.  Of  course,  we  are  not 
wishing    to    put    the    philological 


dock  back  to  ^Hebrew roots.'  That 
would  be  funny  enough  in  many 
ways,  and  partiaJiy  so  in  face  of  the 
new  work  of  M.  Leyza  on  the  sub- 
ject.    Moreover^  we  have  said  no- 
thing to  imply  any  special  love  for 
Boots  at  all,  or  to  foreshadow  any 
regret,  if  they  were  sent  under- 
ground, and  there  bidden  to  hide 
their    misguiding   analogy.      The 
stones  from  Mesopotamia  as  gram- 
matidsed  even  by  M.  Oppert— the 
Moebite  Stone  in  the  hands  of  M. 
Ghemneau,  and  those  who  have  criti- 
cised him^ — the  sarcophagus  from 
Sidon  as  interpreted  by  Dietrich— 
the  Pheniciaa  items  so  ably  illus- 
tn^ed  by  Dn  Schroder — ^the  Me- 
langes of  Comte  de  Vogue— all 
this,  and  mnch  more  than  this,  sng- 
geets  such'  an  account  of  things 
ancient  in  literature,  that,  if  Bopp- 
ism     deserves   to    win    the  race 
against  it,  we  are  convinced  it  iriU 
only  be  by  a  neck  after  all  *  Movers 
has-  spoken  of>  the- earij  oonnectioD 
of  Greece^  with  th^  Levant  in  a  way 
that  needs  to  be  vmore  fully  under- 
Btood,'asid  the  interconrse of  Italy 
with- the  Carthaginian  coast  long 
before  the  Pumie  wars  has  to  he 
taken  into  the  aeoount.    Then  we 
noay  come  to   feel  leas  surprised 
ovex^ihe  fiMsttha^rFlautoa  evvr  wrote 
l^ePoennlpiifor  the  Roman  stage. 
And  we  may  ond  in  being  more  m* 
dined  to  trace  up  European  words 
to  the  same  Semitic   source,  from 
which  it  is  acknowledged  that  their 
written   characters  were  derived. 
As  for  the  Comparative  Grains 
mars,  we  may  well  hope  that  it  will 
not  be  the  worse  for  them  more 
than  for  some  sermons,  if  they  hare 
to  accept  a  Semitic  text  instead  of 
the  Aryan  one  they  havB  adopted. 
If  they  were  all  like  the  instalment 
with  which  M.   Baudry    has  far- 
nished  us,  we  might  soon  learn  to 
use  them  profitably,  without  preju- 
dice to  conclusions  which  do  not 
appear  broadly  on  their  pages.  His 
book  is  a  favourable  specimen  of  the 
application  of  patient   labour  and 


1S73] 


A  Few  Words  on  Philology. 


321 


lucid  ammgement  to  the  compara- 
tive sjstem,  and  perhaps  makes  the 
best  of  it.    The  marvel  is,  that  so 
observant  and  impartial  a  writer 
shoald  not  have  been  led  to  bus-, 
pect,  that  there  might    be    some 
better  kej  to  tiie  phenomena  he 
describes,  than  those  Sanskrit  roots, 
so  many  of  which  he  allows  to  be 
purely  imaginary.      He    lays    no 
stress  on  phonetic  laws  as  more 
than  the  '  oonstatisation  gen6ralis6e 
des  fails,'  or  anything  beyond  the 
mere  quotient    of   general  nsage. 
His    restrictions    of    the    fiamous 
'  Grimm's  Law  *  might  almost  in- 
duce unprejudiced  legislators  to  re- 
peal it  altogether.    He  would  not 
We  written  about  vowels  in  posi- 
tion in  the  terms  of  the  Syllabus, 
or  have  thought  of  taxing  the  vary- 
ing incidence  of  accent  in  different 
languages  with    anything    like    a 
'tjronny  over  quantity '  in  any.  We 
have  been  speaking  of  the  import- 
ance of  the  geminated  consonant, 
and  he  shows  that  it  has  no  place 
in  Sanskrit.    His  instances  reveal 
that  most  Qreek.  and  Latin  letters 
hare  their  marks,  of  independence 
about  them.  .  We  claim  him,  there- 
fore, as  a  friend  of  something  Com- 
parative, which  may  not  altogether 
correspond     vnth    the    theory,  of 
language    he    himself  represents. 
A  book  is  promised  on  Etruscan  in- 


scriptions, which  may  be  full  of  in- 
.  teresty  and  it  may  turn  out  that  we 
are  getting  into  a  very  fruitftil 
course  of  enquiry  about  old  Celtic. 
..The  prospect  vOf  wh^it  we  should 
welcome  does  not  now  seem  very 
remote;  and  if  Semitic  remains  came 
to  be  regarded  apart  from  their  reli- 
gious purport,  we  should  at  once 
expect  more  philology  out  of  them.^ 
When  the  philologist  of  the  day 
comes  to  feel  a  museujn  as  congenial 
a  place  of  labour  as  his  own  fire* 
side,  he  will  deserve  congratulation 
on  many  accounts.  He  will  have 
really  enlai^ed  his  mind,  instead  of 
merely  multiplying  his  note-books. 
If  he  must  stiU  deal  with  mistakes, 
they  will  be  such  as  can,  if  at  all, 
be  easily  detected,  whereas  the  mis- 
takes, pud  worse,  of  copyists  fpr  the 
first  thousand  years  after  our  era, 
may  often  m^ke  him  doubt  whether, 
he  is  reading  an  author,  or  a  sort 
of  imago  of  a  book  aftjsr  an  author. 
He  will  feel  himself  strong  in  'read- 
ing '  instead  of  helpless  in  the  pre- 
sence of  '  readings,'  rich  in  associa- 
tions if  not  successful  in  competi- 
tipn.  We  have  seemed  perhaps  to 
speak  of  our  philology  as  a  sort  of 
Prometheus  Vinctus,  and  will  be 
consistent  enough  to  conclude  with 
the  lay  of  the  sad  but  hopefttl 
Oceanid,  mXtyov^  oiXtrov  tliri,  ro  S* 

IV  riKCLTt^,  M.  T. 


322 


[Marc\i 


THE  COMING  TRANSIT  OP  VENUS, 
AND  BRITISH  PREPARATIONS  FOR  OBSERVING  IT. 

By  Richard  A.  Pbogtor,  B.A.  (Cambridge), 

BosrOBABT  SbCRKTABT  of  THB  BoTAL  AsTBOMOiaCAL  SoasTT. 


BY  far  the  most  important  of 
all  the  phenomena  which 
astronomers  are  now  expecting,  is 
the  transit  of  Venns,  which  will 
take  place  on  December  8th,  1874. 
Even  the  eclipses  of  the  last  few 
years,  though  they  have  attracted 
so  much  attention,  and  have  been 
observed  so  carefally,  have  in  reality 
been  regarded*  as  altogether  less 
important  than  the  next  transit  of 
Venns.  Eclipses  are  almost  every- 
year  phenomena,  but  transits  of 
Venns  occur  only  at  average 
intervals  of  more  than  half  acentnry. 
The  last  took  place  in  1 769,  and  after 
the  transit  of  1882  none  will  occur 
till  2004.  Apart  from  this  circum- 
stance, a  transit  of  Venus  is  of 
extreme  importance  in  the  science 
of  astronomy.  It  admittedly  affords 
the  most  satisfactory  means  of 
determining  the  distance  of  the  sun ; 
in  other  words,  the  dimensions  of 


the  solar  system  itself.  And  such 
determination  of  the  scale  on  which 
our  system  is  constructed  affords 
the  only  means  we  possess  of 
measuring  the  vast  spaces  which 
separate  us  from  the  fixed  stars. 
So  that  the  observations  which  are 
to  be  made  in  December,  1874,  and 
renewed  (but  under  somewhat 
different  conditions)  in  December, 
1882,  bear  directly  on  the  fonda- 
mental  problem  of  astronomy,  so  far 
as  astronomy  relates  to  the  deter- 
mination  of  the  distances  and 
magnitude  of  the  celestial  bodies.^ 

I  propose,  here,  after  enquiring 
briefly  into  the  general  question  of 
the  determination  of  the  sun's  dis- 
tance,  to  describe  the  nature  of  the 
opportunities  which  will  be  afforded 
during  the  transit  of  1874,  ^°^  ^^ 
discuss  the  preparations  which  are 
being  made  by  this  country  to  take 
her  part  in  the  work  of  observation. 


>  I  Tenture  to  quote  here  the  appeal  made  by  Halley  (when  Astronomer  'Rojal)  forty' 
five  years  before  the  transit  of  1 761,  the  earlier  of  the  pair  of  transita  then  looked 
forward  to.  It  will  show  that  in  dealing  with  a  transit  21  months  before  the  date  of 
its  occurrence,  I  am  not  looking  forward  so  inordinately  as  might  be  supposed  by  thow 
unfamiliar  with  the  nature  of  these  enquiries.  I  should  remark,  howerer,  that  sioee 
Halley*s  day  other  methods  for  determining  the  sun's  distance  hare  been  devised  An<l 
employed.  Six  methods  are  described  in  my  treatise  on  the  *  Sun,'  and  a  seventh  h«s 
wi&in  the  last  few  months,  been  suggested  by  the  ereat  French  astronomer  Leverrier. 
Thus,  then,  wrote  Halley  in  1716: — 'I  could  wiui,  indeed,  that  observations  of  the 
transit  should  be  undertaken  by  many  persons  in  different  places :  first,  because  of  the 
greater  confidence  which  could  be  placed  in  well-acoording  observations ;  and  secondlj, 
lest  a  single  observer  should,  by  the  intervention  of  clouds,  be  deprived  of  that  specttf  le 
which,  so  far  as  I  know,  will  not  be  visible  again  to  the  men  of  this  and  the  nfxt 
century,  and  on  which  depends  the  certain  and  sufficient  solution  of  a  moet  ooble  a»i 
otherwise  intractable  problem.  I  therefore  again  and  again  urge  npon  those  enqairine 
observers  of  the  celestial  bodies,  who,  when  I  have  departed  this  life,  will  be  rese^v^ 
to  observe  these  things,  that^  mindful  of  my  counsel,  they  should  devote  thcmseltt^ 
strenuously  and  with  all  their  eneigies  to  conduct  the  observation  ;  I  desire  and  pray  that 
they  may  be  favoured  in  eveiy  way,  and  especially  that  they  may  not  be  deprived  of 
that  most  desirable  spectacle  by  the  inopportune  dLarkness  of  a  clouded  sky ;  and  tliat 
finally  the  magnitudes  of  the  celestial  bodies,  forced  into  narrower  limits  (of  ezactnfss), 
may,  as  it  were,  make  submission — to  the  glory  and  eternal  fame  of  those  observers.* 

These  hopes  were  not  fulfilled,  so  far  as  the  transit  of  1 761  was  concerned ;  but  tbe 
tiansit  of  1769  was  observed  with  great  care  at  no  less  than  seventy-four  stations,  fifty 
of  which«  however,  were  in  Burope. 


1873] 


The  Coining  Transit  of  Vemis, 


323 


It  will  be  seen,  as  I  proceed,  that 
this  discnssioQ  of  the  subject  does 
not  labour  under  the  fault  of  being 
premature.     On  the  contrary,  the 
time  is  now  at  hand  when  a  final 
decision  must  be  made  as  to  the 
coarse  which    this  country    is   to 
pursue ;  and  inasmuch  as  my  pur- 
pose is  not  solely  to  describe  what 
is  being  done,  but  to  point  out  what 
(in  my  opinion)  should  be  done,  the 
present  is  the  proper  time  to  speak. 
A  surveyor  who  wishes  to  deter- 
mine  the  diistance  of  an  inaccessible 
object,  measures  a  convenient  base- 
IiDe  and  observes  the  direction  of 
the  object  as  seen  from  either  end  of 
the  line.    He  thus  has  the  base  and 
the  two  base-angles  of  a  triangle ; 
and  the  simplest  geometrical  con- 
siderations teach  that  the  other  two 
sides  of  the  triangle  can  thence  be 
determined.      These  sides  are,   of 
coarse,  the   distances  of  the  inac- 
cessible object  from  the  two  ends  of 
the  base-line.      Now  this    is    the 
fnndamental  method  employed  by 
astronomers  to  determine  the  dis- 
tances of  the  celestial  bodies.     It  is 
apph'ed  directly  to  the  moon.     An 
observer  at  Greenwich  (let  us  say), 
notes  the  direction  of  the  moon  when 
at  her  highest  or  due  south  ;  another 
at  Cape  Town  (let  us  say),  does  the 
like ;  then  a  line  joining  Greenwich 
and  Cape  Town  is  a    base-line  of 
knownlength,  and  the  two  directions 
give  the  base-angles.     The  triangle 
is  a  very  long  one,  its  vertical  angle 
(that  is  the  angle  opposite  the  base) 
being  one  of  about  a  degree  and  a 
half,   or  about    the    angle    swept 
oat  by  the  hand  of  aclockorwatcn, 
daring  a  quarter  of  a  minute  ;  but 
«ach  a  triangle  is  quite  within  the 
methods  of  treatment  available  to 
astronomers. 

In  applying  this  method  to  the 
sun,  a  serious  difficulty  comes  in. 
He  is  so  far  off  that,  instead  of  a 


triangle  with  a  respectable  vertical 
angle,  there  is  a  triangle  having  a 
vertical  angle  of  about  the  240th 
part  of  a  degree  (under  the  most 
favourable  conditions  which  can  be 
conveniently  obtained).  To  know 
how  small  such  an  angle  is,  let  the 
reader  note  the  minute  hand  of  a 
clock  or  watch,  and  observe  how 
little  it  shifts  around  its  centre  in  a 
single  second  of  time;  yet  this 
angular  shift  is  twenty-four  times 
as  gpreat  as  that  we  have  mentioned. 

It  must  not  be  forgotten  that,  in 
all  such  cases,  the  question  is  not 
whether  the  astronomer  can  re- 
cognise such  and  such  an  effect, 
but  whether  he  can  measure  it 
It  is  not  the  whole  quantity 
about  which  astronomers  are 
troubled.  Unquestionably  the  ob- 
server at  Greenwich  can  re- 
cognise the  depression  of  the  mid- 
day sun,*  due  to  the  fact  that 
Greenwich  lies  above  (or  north  of) 
the  earth's  centre.  For  this  depres- 
sion is  an  element  which  he  has  to 
take  into  account  in  his  observa- 
tions. The  corresponding  depres- 
sion, even  in  the  case  of  bodies  far 
more  distant  than  the  sun,  as  the 
planets  Jupiter  and  Saturn,  is  an- 
nounced systematically  in  our 
national  astronomical  almanac. 
But  the  direct  measurement  of  the 
depression  is  altogether  out  of  the 
question. 

If  the  stars  which  really  bestrew 
the  heavens  beyond  the  sun  could  be 
seen,  the  case  would  be  different,  for 
they  would  serve  as  index  points,  by 
means  of  which  to  estimate  the  sun's 
displacement.  But  although  stars 
not  lymgnear  the  sun's  place  on  the 
heavens  can  be  seen  by  day^with 
powerful  telescopes,  those  close 
around  him  are  quite  invisible.  This 
method  failing,  the  astronomer  has 
to  look  for  other  means  of  solving 
the  problem.     The  planet  Venus, 


-  Only  ob««rvatioii8  of  the  midday  sun  would  avail,  because  the  only  instruments 
luTing  the  requisite  delicacy  of  ac()ustnient  are  meridional.  There  is  an  instrument 
sQitable  ior  ol>i*er¥ing  the  moon  when  she  is  not  on  the  meridian  ;  but  it  is  quite  unfit 
ior  the  yarpoae  we  are  considering. 


324 


The  Gaming  Transit  of  Venus, 


[Much 


^bich  comes  at  times  mticli  xie&i'eir 
to  the  earth  than  the  snn  is,  andinfact 
nearer  than  any  celestial  body  except 
the  moon,  natimiUy  claims  attention 
as  a  suitable  object  for  the  JELstro- 
noiner's  purpose.  For  it  is  to  be 
remembered  that  the  proportions  of 
the  solar  system  have  long  been 
accurately  determined  ;  so  Uiat  as 
soon  as  the  distance  of  any  one 
planet  is  ascertained,  the  scale  of  the 
"whole  solar  system  becomes  also 
known. 

Venus,  however,  when  at  her 
nearest,  is  lost  in  the  sun's  light, 
and,  though  discemibte  in  powerful 
telescopes,  is  quite  unsuitably  placed 
for  the  delicate  observations  which 
would  alone  avail  to  determine  her 
distance. 

This  brings  us  at  once  to  the 
recognition  of  the  importance  of  a 
transit  of  Venus.  When  Venus 
passes  between  the  sun  and  earth, 
in  such  a  way  as  not  to  cross  the 
sun's  face, — ^that  is,  when  she 
passes  above  or  below  the  long  and 
almost  linear  portion  of  space  lying 
actually  between  the  earth  and 
sun, — she  cannot  be  well  observed ; 
but  when,  in  making  the  passage, 
she  comes  so  close  to  the  line  iom- 
ing  the  earth  and  sun  as  actually  to 
be  seen  on  the  sun's  face,  she  can 
be  observed  to  great  advantage. 
For  she  is  then  seen  as  a  round 
black  spot  on  the  sun's  face  ;  this 
face  is  thus  as  a  sort  of  dial-plate 
bn  which  the  black  disc  of  Venus 
is  as  an  index.  The  sharply-de- 
fined edge  of  this  black  disc  pre- 
sents the  same  advantage  which  a 
neatly  cut  index  possesses,  enabling 
the  observer  to  measure  satisfiEtc- 
torily  the  place  of  the  planet.  All 
the  circumstances  are  &vourable, 
except  two : — first,  the  index, — that 
is,  the  black  disc, — is  not  even  for 
an  instant  at  rest;  and  secondly, 
the  index-plate, — that  is,  the  sun's 
disc, — is  itself  displaced  by  any 
difference  in  the  position  of  the 
terrestrial  observers. 
Nothing  can  be  done  to  remedy 


^he  latter  circizmstance.  Its  effects 
are  easily  seen.  Suppose  an  ob- 
server  at  some  northern  station  sees 
Venus  in  reality  depressed  by  a 
third  of  a  minute  of  arc,  whicn  is 
about  the  hundredth  part  of  the 
'sun's  apparent  diameter.  Then 
the  sun  being  farther  away  in  the 
proportion  of  about  lo  to  3,  is 
depressed  by  about  the  tenth  of  a 
minute.  Accordingly,  Venus  only 
seems  to  be  depressed  by  the  d(f. 
ference  of  these  amounts,  or  by  Kttle 
more  than  a  quarter  of  a  minute. 
Nevertheless  it  is  fiur  easier  to 
measure  this  reduced  displacement 
on  the  sun's  £ace,  than  to  measore 
the  larger  displacement  without 
his  face  as  an  index-plate. 

The  other  circumstance  has  been 
dealt  with  in  two  ways. 

First,  in  accordance  with  a  sug- 
gestion of  Halley's,  instead  of 
attempting  to  measure  the  position 
of  Venus  on  the  sun's  face,  the 
astronomer  m%y  simply  time  her  as 
she  crosses  that  &ce,  and  so  iudge 
how  long  the  chord  is  whicn  she 
has  traversed.  This  shows  how 
nearly  the  chord  approaches  the 
sun's  centre,  and  thus  gives  a  de- 
termination as  satisfactory  as  an 
actual  measurement.  Of  course, 
there  are  many  details  to  be  taken 
into  account :  for  instance,  the  ap- 
parent path  of  Venus  is  not  a 
straight  line  in  reality,  because  the 
observer's  station  is  not  at  rest, 
but  carried  round  the  axis  of  the 
rotating  earth.  But  the  mathe- 
matician finds  no  difficulty  in 
taking  such  considerations  follj 
into  account. 

Secondly,  Delisle  proposed  that 
astronomers  should  note  the  actnal 
moment  (of  absolute,  not  local  time) 
when  Venus  seems  ti)  enter  or  leave 
the  sun's  face,  fks  seen  from  different 
stations  on  the  earth.  It  will  he 
manifest,  on  a  moment's  considera- 
tion of  the  actual  circnmstances  of 
the  case«  that  the  transit  will  not 
seem  to  begin  or  end  at  the  same 
instant,  as  seen  from  diflRnent  parts 


187B] 


The  Coming  Transit  of  Venus, 


825 


of  the  earOL  '  There  is  the  great 
globe  of  tbe  sun  at  one  side^  and 
the  smaller  globe  of  the  eartii  on 
the  oihsr;  and  Yenns  passes  be- 
tweem     Now,   in  order  to   show 
more  clearly  what  must  happen,  let 
08  take  an  illustrative  case  drawn 
firom  an  event   which   in  a  few: 
weeks  from  the  present  time  will 
iaterast  a  IaiKB  proportion  of  our 
population.     Suppose  that  on  one 
side  of  the  river  Thames  there  is  a 
long  building  whose  extremities  we 
call  A  and  B,     Suppose  that  just 
op|X)6fte  there  is   a  barge  whose 
corresponding  extremities  we   call 
a  and  b,    Now  suppose  the  winning 
boat  to  be  coming  along  so  as  to 
pass  between  the  house    and    the 
barge  (conun^  first   between  the 
ends  A,  a).    And  for  simplicity  of 
descriptdon  let  us  confine  our  re- 
marks to  the  little  flag  carried  at 
the  bow  of  the  boat.    It  is  manifest 
that  an  observer  at  a  will  see  the 
little  flag  cross  his  line  of  vision 
towards  A  before  an  obsei^ver  at  h 
sees  the  like.     And  the  oWrver  at 
a  will  in  like  manner  see  the  light 
blae  flag  (I  beg  pardon,  I  should 
say  the  blue  flag  simply)  crossing 
his  line  of  vision  towards  B  before 
an  observOT  at  h  sees  the  like.    The 
flag  will  traverse  the  range  A  B  as 
seen  both  from,  a  and  from  &,  but 
both  its  ingress  on  thi9  range  and 
its  egress  ^m  it  will  be  earHer  as 
seoi  from  a  than  as  seen  from  &. 
Now  our  earth  may  be  compared  to 
the  barge ;  the  sun  to  iJie  bnilding 
A  B ;    and    Venus   to  the    boat. 
There  is  one    spot  on  the  earth 
at  which  Yenns  will  seem  to  enter 
earliest  on  the  sun's  face,  and  an- 
other spot  (on  the  opposite  side, 
jostas  b  is  farthest  away  from  a) 
where  Yenns  will  seem  to    enter 
latest ;  and  in  like  manner  there  is 
one  spot  at  which  Yenus  will  seem 
to  leave  the  snn's  face  earliest^  and 
another  (on  the  opposite  side)  at 
which  Yenns  will  seem  to  leave  the. 
son's  face  latest. 
And  as  our  illustrative  case  ex- 


plains the  nature  of  DeHsle's  me- 
thod, so  also  it  iliustratos  the  ro- 
iionaJe  of  the  method.  Of  course^ 
the  two  cases  are  not  exactly  simi- 
lar ;  but  they  are  sufficiently  so  to 
make  the  illustration  instructive. 
Suppose  that  the  length  of  the 
barge  a  &  is  known  (as  the  dimen- 
sions of  tbe  earth  are  known) ;  thus 
say  that  it  is  24  yards  in  leingth. 
Now  suppose  that  tixe  course  of 
the  boat  is  known  to  be  in  mid- 
stream, or  exactly  midway  between 
the  house  and  the  bai^e.  Then  a 
moment's  consideration  will  show 
that  the  boat  traverses  12  yards 
between  the  moments  when  the 
spectators  at,  a  and  h  severally  see 
it  towards  A.  Now  suppose  that 
the  observer  at  a  indicates  by  a  call 
or  other  signal  the  moment  when 
the  flag  is  thus  seen  by  him,  and 
that  the  observer  at  &,  provided 
with  a  stop-watch,  notes  that  two 
seconds  elapse  before  he  sees  the 
flag  towards  A.  This,  then,  is  the 
time  occupied  by  the  boat  in  tra- 
versing 12  yards;  so  that  she  is 
moving  at  the  rate  of  sis  yards  per 
second.  Similar  remat'ks  apply  to 
the  apparent  transit  of  the  flag  past 
B  as  seen  from  a  and  6.  In  like 
manner,  the  astronomer  can  gather 
from  observations  by  Delisle's  me- 
thod the  rate  at  which  Yenus  is 
moving  in  her  orbit, — that  is,  the 
exact  number  of  miles  over  which 
she  moves  per  minute.  So  that, 
since  he  knows  exactly  how  long 
she  is  in  completing  the  circuit  of 
her  orbit,  he  learns,  in  fact,  the 
exact  circumference  of  her  orbit  in 
milesy  whence  its  radius  (or  her 
distance  from  tbe  sun)  follows  at 
once. 

It  is  manifest  that  Delisle's  me- 
thod can  be  applied  with  equal  ad- 
vantage either  to  the  ingress  or  to. 
tbe  egress  of  Yenus.  The  com- 
parison of  two  observations — in  one 
of  which  her  ingress  happens  as 
early  as  possible,  while  in  the  other 
it  happens  as  late  as  possible— is 
quite  sufficient  to  determine  the 


82& 


ThB  Coming  Transit  of  Venus. 


[M&ieli 


enn's  distance.  So  also  tbe  com- 
parison of  two  observations  of 
egress  (most  accelerated  and  most 
retarded)  is  separately  sufficient  to 
determine  the  sun's  distance.  This 
is  an  important  advantage  of  the 
method.  Because  while,  as  in 
Hallej's  method,  two  stations  are 
absolutely  necessary,  there  is  but  a 
single  observation  to  be  made  at 
each,  whereas  in  EEalley's  the  be- 
ginning and  end  of  the  transit 
must  be  observed  at  both  stations. 
This  introduces  a  double  difficulty. 
For  first,  there  is  the  necessity  for 
a  longer  continuance  of  clear  sky, 
since  the  transit  may  last  several 
hours ;  and,  secondlv,  there  is  the 
difficulty  of  securing  a  station 
where  the  sun  is  well  placed  on  the 
sky,  both  at  the  beginning  and  end 
of  the  transit.  It  will  not  suffice, 
in  applying  Halley's  method,  to 
have  the  sun  well  above  the  horizon 
at  the  moment  of  ingress  if  he  is 
low  down  at  the  moment  of  egress, 
or  to  have  the  sun  high  at  egress 
if  he  is  low  at  ingress.  Accord- 
ingly, the  condition  has  to  be 
secured  that  at  stations  where  the 
day  is  short  (that  is.  in  December, 
at  northerly  stations)  the  middle 
of  the  transit  shall  occur  nearly 
at  mid-day.  This  limits  the  choice 
for  northern  stations  considerably. 

On  the  other  hand,  Delisle's 
method  has  this  disadvantage,  that 
the  exact  moment  at  which  ingress 
or  egress  occurs  must  be  known. 
A  mistake,  even  of  a  second  or  two, 
would  be  of  serious  moment.  So 
that  the  clocks  made  use  of  at  each 
station  where  this  method  is  ap- 
plied, must  not  only  have  good 
ratesy  but  must  show  absolutely  true 
time  at  the  moment  of  the  observed 
phenomenon.  Moreover,  the  lati- 
tude and  longitude  of  the  place  of 
observation  must  be  known, — the 
latter  (the  only  difficult  point)  with 
especial  accuracy,  since  on  its  de- 
termination depends  the  change  of 
local  time  into  (say)  Greenwich 
time;    and  this  change    must   be 


accurately  effected  before  two  ob- 
servations made  in  different  longi. 
tudes  can  be  compai'ed  as  respects 
the  absolute  time  of  their  occur- 
rence. On  the  contrary,  Halley's 
method,  while  only  requiring  a  rela- 
tively rough  determination  of  the 
longitude,  can  be  satis&ctorily  ap- 
plied when  the  clocks  employed  are 
simply  well  rated ;  for  it  depends 
only  on  the  duration  of  the  transit 
as  seen  at  different  stations.  A 
clock  must  be  badly  rated  indeed— 
utterly  unfit,  in  fact,  for  any  as- 
tronomical use  whatever^whicli 
should  lose  a  single  second  in  four 
or  five  hours. 

But  the  most  important  point  to 
be  noticed  is,  that  both  methods 
ought  to  be  employed,  if  possible, 
apart  from  all  nice  considerations  of 
their  relative  value.  It  is  certain 
that  astronomers  will  place  mnch 
more  confidence  in  closely  concor- 
dant results  obtained  by  the  appli- 
cation of  these  two  methods,  differing 
wholly  as  they  do  in  principle,  than 
in  as  many  and  equally  concordant 
resalts  all  obtained  by  one  method. 
A  third  method  is  indeed  to  be  ap- 
plied,—viz.,  a  method  based  on  the 
ingenious  use  of  photography.  But 
as  yet  too  little  is  known  respecting 
the  chances  of  success  by  this  me- 
thod to  warrant  too  implicit  reli- 
ance upon  it. 

Let  us  enquire  what  preparations 
are  being  made  by  astronomers, 
and  especially  by  the  astronomers 
of  England,  to  make  adequate  use 
of  the  opportunities  presented  by 
the  coming  transit. 

It  has  first,  unfortunately,  to  be 
noted,  that,  so  fieir  as  this  country  is 
concerned,  no provisiontchcUeverlas 
been  hitherto  made  for  the  employ- 
ment of  Halley's  method.  If  this 
resulted  from  the  simple  preferencd 
of  Delisle's  method,  there  would 
be  little  to  say.  Most  assuredly, 
speaking  for  myself,  I  should  be 
very  loth  to  urge  the  advantages 
of  Halley's  method,  if  I  found 
againfit  such  a  view  the  practical 


187«3 


The  OonUng  Trandi  of  Ventu. 


327 


experience  of  those  astronomers 
wbo  are  oontinaalfy  testing  the 
valne  of  varions  methods  of  obser- 
tation.  But  the  rejection  of  Bailey's 
method  for  the  transit  of  1874  was 
not  originally^  and  is  not  now,  based 
on  any  objection  to  the  principle  of 
the  method,  bat  on  certain  mathe- 
matical considerations,  which  ap- 
peared to  prove  that  the  method 
coald  not  be  advantageonsly  applied 
in  1874,  while  it  could  be  applied 
snccessfally  in  1882.  It  was  ac- 
oordingiy  reserved  for  the  latter 
transit,  and  all  the  stations  for  ob- 
senring  the  transit  of  1874  were 
selected  with  special  reference  to 
the  method  of  Delisle. 

Now  it  happened  that  early  in 
1869  I  was  attracted  to  the  ezami. 
nation  of  the  subject  of  the  coming 
trazisits,  by  the  circumstance  that 
the  investigation    applied    to    the 
matter  by  the  Astronomer  Boyal 
had  struck    me    as  imperfect    in 
method.     I  was  interested,  viewing 
the   matter    merely  as  a  mathe- 
matical problem,  to  enquire  what 
corrections  might  occur  if  all  the 
niceties  of  research  of  which  the 
question     admitted    were    applied 
throaghont  the  investigation.  Work- 
ing with  this  sole  ol^'ect  in  view, 
I  analysed  the  whole  matter  in  two 
independent  ways,  viz.,  first  as  a 
problem  of  calculation,  and  secondly 
as  a  geometrical  problem.    The  re- 
sults, perfectly  accordant,  differed 
so  remarkably  from  those  published 
by  the  Astronomer  Boyal,   that  I 
was  constrained  (in  mere  fealty  to 
the  cause    of   science)   to  submit 
them   to    the  examination  of  the 
scientific  world. 

To  beKin  with:  Halley's method, 
of  whicm  in  1856,  and  agiftin  in 
1864,  and  yet  again  in  1868,  the 
Astronomer  Boyal  had  said  that  it 
is  totally  inapplicable  in  1874, 
was  fonnd  to  be  applicable  under 


circumstances  altogether  more  fa- 
vourable than  those  which  will 
exist  in  1882.  It  was  found  not 
only  to  be  applicable  with  advan- 
tage, but  even  more  advantageonsly 
than  Delisle's. 

On  this  point  all  dpubts  should 
have  been  very  quickly  removed. 
For,  almost  simultaneously  with 
the  announcement  of  my  result, 
the  news  arrived  that  the  French 
astronomer  Puiseux  had  obtained 
almost  exactly  the  same  conclusion. 
The  sole  difference  between  his  re- 
sult and  mine  was,  that  he  simply 
announced  that  Halley's  methoa 
was  advantageously  applicable, 
whereas  I  showed  that  it  was  more 
advantageously  applicable  than  De- 
lisle's. ^ven  this  difference,  how- 
ever, is  readily  accounted  for,  since, 
in  Puiseux*s  investigation,  several 
of  the  niceties  to  which  I  had  at- 
tended had  been  neglected  as  unim- 
portant.' 

To  show  how  completely  the  ap- 
plication of  Halley's  method  has 
been  neglected  in  the  choice  of 
stations  for  English  observing  par- 
ties, let  the  following  considerations 
be  noticed : — 

At  northern  stations  Venus  will 
be  seen  lower  down  than  at  south- 
em  stations,  so  that  as  she  transits 
the  upper  part  of  the  sun*s  disc, 
her  chord  of  transit  is  necessarily 
longer  at  northern  than  at  southern 
stations.  Now  Russia  occupies  the 
best  northern  stations,  as  is  her 
due,  since  they  fall  in  Russian 
territory.  At  Nertchinsk,  near 
Lake  Baikal,  Russia  will  have  an 
observing  party,  and  here  the  tran- 
sit will  last  longer  than  as  supposed 
to  be  seen  from  the  earth's  centre,  by 
fully  15^  minutes.  For  at  this 
place  the  transit  will  begin  nearly 
6  minutes  early,  and  end  nearly 
10  minutes  late.  Now,  if  we  had 
only  a  southern  station  where  the 


s  For  aauQopl«i  Paisetix  left  ont  of  consideratioii  the  dimensions  of  Venns's  disc, 
fcaiding  her  txaosit  as  that  of  her  centre.  He  omitted  also,  as  unimportant,  the  faot 
hat  mean  time  and  apparent  time  are  not  coincident  on  December  8.  The  correction 
ine  to  thia  canae  is  considerable. 

VOL.  ni*    va  XXXIX. — kbw  sebies.  a  a 


328 


The  Otmiing  Trandt  of  Venu9, 


[MttoK 


trancdt  began  several  minutes  late^ 
and  ended  several  minutes  earlif, 
Yre  should  liave  a  transit  lasting 
for  a  shorter  time  than  as  seen 
from     the     earth's    centre:     and 
then,    comparing    what    was    ob- 
served   at    such    a   station    with 
what  was  observed  at  Nertchinsk, 
we  should  have  Hallej's  method 
applied  under  effective  and  favour^ 
able  conditions.     But  the  southern 
stations  to  which  England  sends 
observing   parties    are  Rodriguez 
and  Chatham  Island  ;^  and  at  the 
former  station  the  transit  begins 
late  and  ends  late,  while  at  the 
latter  it  begins  early  and  ends  early; 
so  that  at  neither  is  there  the  conL- 
bination  of  a  late  beginning  and  an 
early  ending,  required  for  the  effec^ 
tive  application  of  Halley's  method^ 
Now  there  is  a  station — a  station 
which  this  country  ought  unques- 
tionably   to     occupy — where     the 
transit  would  be  even  more  short- 
ened   than    it    is    lengthened    at 
Kertehinsk«     This    station    is  an 
Antarctic  island  on  which  Sir  James 
Boss  landed  «  party  in  1846,  and 
to  which  he  gave  the  name  of  Pos- 
session Island.     It  lies  due  south  of 
the  sonthemmost  extremity  of  New 
Zealand,  close  by  the  rugged  shore- 
line of  Victoria  Land,  and  within 
18  degrees  of  the  south  pole.    At 
this  station  the  transit  will  begin 
6  minutes  late  and  end  1 1^  minntes 
early  f  or  be  shortened  altogether  no 
less  than  7  7^  minutes.    Adding  to 
this  the  lengthening  of  the  transit 
by  is^minntesatNertchinsk,  we  ob- 
tain a  difference  of  duration  of  fully 
33  minutes.  Nothing  like  this  differ- 
ence was  available  in  the  transit  of 
1769  ;  nothing  like  it  will  be  avail- 
able in  1882.     I  do  not  know  the 
circumstances    of   the  transits   of 
2004  and  2012,  but  it  is  altogether 
unlikely  that   the  opportunity  of 
applying  Halley's  metiiod  will  bp 


so  favourable  during  either  of  ibese 
transits  as  in  1874.  Be  thatasit 
may,  however,  it  is  absolutdy  oe^ 
tain  that  no  opportuniiy  egnal  to 
that  which  will  be  afforded  dimng 
the  transit  of  1874  will  recur  for 
one  hundred  and  thirty^two  years, 
nor  has  such  an  opportumty 
been  ever  before  offered  to  as- 
tronomers.  Absolutely  the  best 
opportunity  of  applying  Hallej'g 
ingenious  method  which  has  ever 
been  afforded,  or  will  be  afforded 
for  more  than  a  centurj  and  a 
Quarter,  is  available  to  askonomerB 
during  the  approaching  transit  The 
duty  of  seizing  this  opporhuuty 
belongs  assuredly  to  our  conntiy, 
which  alone  has  colonial  posses- 
sions close  to  the  station  in  ques- 
tion, and  which  alone  also  liiu 
seamen  still  living  who  have  aoto&ilj 
set  their  foot  on  Possession  Island. 

I  must  confess  that  when,  four 
years  ago,  I  indicated  thi^  oppor- 
tunity, I  thought  that  it  would 
have  been  seized  at  once.  I  thought 
that  reconnoitring  expeditions 
would  quickly  have  been  prepared^ 
and  that  by  the  present  tune  com- 
plete arrangements  would  have  been 
made  &r  landing  an  obseryiug 
party  on  Possession  Island  in  due 
season  for  the  required  observations. 
It  would  have  been  a  matter  of 
complete  indifference  to  me  whether 
this  had  been  done  with  or  without 
acknowledgment  of  the  source 
whence  the  suggestion  had  come. 
But  assuredly  I  hoped  that  some 
steps  would  be  taken  without  del&j  | 
to  seize  an  opportunity  so  impor-  ,: 
taut,  the  loss  of  which  could  no.' 
but  reflect  some  degree  of  discredit 
upon  the  science  of  this  countiy. 

For  up  to.  that  very  time— tk 
spring  of  1869 — the  importance  ot' 
an  Antarcticexpedition  forobservii^ 
the  transit  of  1882  by  Halley's 
method  had   been     insisted    u^ 


*  There  has  been  a  chdnge  as  to  the  station  selected  near  New  Zealand,  from  Anc^ 
land,  if  I  remember  rightly,  to  Chatham  Island.  The  change  is  in  accordance  irith  mj 
own  suggestions,  so  far  as  the  application  of  Delisle's  method  is  concerned. 


1878] 


£%6  doming  Tramit  of  Venu^. 


OTdt  and '  orer  agam  by  leading 
sstrowmotd  and  geographical  an- 
thmties.    Kay,  i&a  Very  station, 
Posseflsion  Islaiid,  iiad  been  selected 
'  asthe  most  stiitabla.  The  f<^ibility 
of  reaching  it  and  hading  on  it  had 
been  insisted  upon.     The  superior 
meteorolt^cal  chances  presented  by 
the  statioD,  as  compart  with  other 
southern  stations,  had  been  dwelt 
on  strongly.    Everything  promised 
thsit  before  lon^  an  Antarctic  recon- 
noitiing  expedition  wonld  set  forth 
to  prepare  the  way.    It  was  in'  the 
M  height  of  these   anticipatory 
enquiries  that  I  pointed  ont  the  in- 
expediency of  any  attempts  to  apply 
Halley's  method  at  an  Antarctic 
station  in  1882,  dwelling  eariiestly 
on  the  fact  that  when  the  transit 
began  at  Possesaioh  Island,  in  1882, 
tilt  Bun  would  be  barely  five  degrees 
above  the  horizon,    an    elevation 
ntierlj  nnfil  for  exact  observations. 
Upon  this  all  the  plans  for  an  Ant- 
arctic expedition  in  1882  were  aban- 
doned.   Bnt  althottgh  this  was  as 
it  should  be  (for  the  lives  of  our 
seamen  are  not  to  be  endangered 
without  the  prospect  of  valuable 
results),  there  was  no  necessity  for 
abandoning  all   ideas  of  an  Ant- 
arctic expedition.    The  schemes  set 
ifoot  for  observing  the  transit  of 
I  $82  should  simply  have  been  trans- 
Rerred  to  the  transit  of  1874.    Not 
I  single  argonient  which  had  been 
irged  in  their  favour  was  wanting 
n  the  case  of  the  latter  transit. 
I^he  main  argmnent  was  greatly 
trengtiieitod ;  for  the  difference  of 
uration  in    1882  would  only  be 
wentj.fonr  minntes,  if  Possession 
sland  were  the  selected  station; 
hereas  we  have  seen  that  in  1874, 
)e  corresponding  difference  will  be 
lUj   thirty-three  minutes.      And 
ie   fatal  objection  to  Possession 
land  as  a  station  in  1882,  has  no 
dstence  in  the  case  of  the  transit  of 
^74.   Instead  of  the  utterly  insuffi* 
But  solar  elevation  of  five  degrees 
st  mentioned,   there  will  be,  in 
74,  a  solar  elevation  of   thirty- 


dght  and  a  half  degrees  when  tite 
traxisit'  begins,  and  of  twenty-five 
degrees  when  the  transit  ends. 
And  necessarily  all  the  considera- 
tions which  had  been  urged  as  to 
the  importance  of  Antarctic  expedi- 
tions, per  aoy  and  especially  of  the 
interest  which  would  attach  to  the 
experiences  of  a  wintering  party 
near  the  south  pole  of  the  earth, 
remain  unchanged. 

While  there  is  still  a  possibility 
of  retrieving  matters,  I  would 
earnestly  appeal  to  all  who  can 
assist  in  bringing  about  such  a  result 
to  spare  no  pains  in  the  endeavour. 
I  believe  the  scientific  credit  of  this 
country  to  be  seriously  imperilled. 
Herea^r  the  very  arguments  used 
in  favour  of  the  now  abandoned 
scheme  for  observing  the  transit  of 
1882  from  Possession  Island,  will 
be  urged^— even  as  now  (for  a  better 
purpose)  I  am  urging  them,-^to 
show  that  the  importance  of  such  ob- 
servations (if  feasible)  had  not  been 
overlooked.  It  has  been  showit^ 
and  is  now  admitted,  that  they  are 
feasible  in  1874.  What,  then,  I 
ask,  win  be  thought  of  this  country 
if  the  task  which  is  her  duty  shall 
be  neglected  ?  It  was  sufficiently 
unfortunate  that  the  opportunity 
had  been  so  long  overlooked.  But 
it  will  be  nothing  less  than  a  na- 
tionalcalamity,if,havingbeen  recog- 
nised in  ample  tiihe  to  be  employed, 
that  opportunity  be  altogether 
neglected. 

Now^  after  four  years*  delay,  time 
runs  short  indeed.  It  is  essential 
that  any  party  intended  to  observe 
the  transit,  should  be  landed  before 
the  Antarctic  summer  of  1873-4 
draws  near  its  end— certainly  befbre 
the  middle  of  February  1874.  There 
may  not  be  time  for  sending  a  suit- 
ably provided  expedition  from  Eng- 
land. On  this  point  it  is  for  others 
to  speak.  I  should  say,  however, 
that  unquestionably  there  is  time 
for  sending  an  expedition  from  Tas- 
mania or  New  Zealand.  It  vras  ixi 
fact  proposed  in  1868  by  Captain 
A  A  2 


The  Coming  TraniU  of  VenUt. 


[Ibrii 


BichardB  (Hydrographer  to  the 
Admiralty)  that  New  Zealand 
should  be  made  the  head-qoarters 
of  the  expedition  then  being  planned 
for  obeexTing  the  transit  of  18S2 
irom  Possession  Island.  One  can 
see  no  reason  why  this  plan  should 
not  now  be  resamed  for  secnring 
the  more  valuable  obserrations 
whidi  can  be  made  during  the 
transit  of  1874. 

If  we  enquire  what  has  been  done 
towards  preparing  for  observations 
by  Delisle's  method,  we  shall  see  that 
by  a  very  slight  modification  of  the 
Government  arrangements,  Posses- 
sion  Island  might  be  taken  as  a 
station  without  anygreat  additional 
eipense. 

The  transit  begins  earliest  at  a 
place  in  north  latitude  39^  45', 
and  west  longitude,  143^  23'.  Wo* 
ahoo  has  been  selected  as  a  suit- 
able station  near  this  spot ;  and  in 
fact  the  transit  begins  more  than 
1 1  minutes  early  at  Woahoo,  while 
the  sun  has  an  elevation  at  the 
time  of  about  20  degrees.  Nothing 
(»uld  be  more  suitable  than  the 
station  selected  by  England  in  this 
neighbourhood.  France  takes  the 
Marquesas,  while  Russia  has  a  sta- 
tion near  the  mouth  of  the  Amoor 
River. 

The  transit  begins  latest  at  a  place 
in  44°  27'  south  latitude,  and  26^  27' 
east  longitude.  The  best  station 
hereabouts  is  Crozet  Island,  so  far 
as  astronomical  conditions  are  con- 
cerned; but  bad  weather  very  com- 
monly prevails  here.  Gtermany  will 
send  an  observing  party  to  Eer- 
guelen's  Land.  England  will  oc- 
cupy the  Mauritius  and  Bodri- 
guez  Island,  which  are  not  so 
well  placed;  since  the  transit  be- 
gins 12^  minutes  late  at  Crozet, 
I  li  minutes  late  at  Kerguelen,  only 
io|  minutes  late  at  Mauritius,  and 
only  10  minutes  late  at  Bodriguez. 
The  party  at  Mauritius  will  be  that 
which  Lord  Lindsay  is  preparing  at 
his  own  expense;  and  it  will  be 
amply  provided  with  all    that  is 


required  for  the  purposes  of  exact 
observation.  Why  should  not  tte 
Government  expedition  to  Bodri- 
guez  be  given  up  ?  Its  cost  w2) 
certainly  not  be  well  repaid,  sinoe 
the  circumstances  of  the  tran- 
sit at  Mauritius  and  Bodrignes 
are  almost  identical ;  and  if  ihnf 
money  thus  saved  were  devoted 
to  an  expedition  to  Possession  Is- 
land, a  good  step  would  have  been 
made  towards  providing  for  the  coat 
of  such  an  expedition. 

The  transit  will  end  earliest  at  a 
place  in  south  latitude  64^  47',  and 
west  longitude  114''  37'.  The  best 
station  in  this  neighbourhood  i& 
that  very  place,  Possession  Island, 
which  affords  the  most  favonrable 
opportunity  for  applying  Halley» 
method.  For  at  possession  Isliuid 
the  transit  will  end  11^  muiQ.tes 
early.  Next  in  value  come  several 
islands  between  New  Zealand  and 
Victoria  Land.  It  was  originallj 
proposed  to  have  an  English  ob- 
serving party  at  Auckland  or  Wel- 
lington, New  Zealand;  but  I  believe 
the  station  at  present  selected  is 
Chatham  Island,  where  the  transit 
will  end  nearly  10  minutes  early.  In 
any  case,  it  is,  in  my  opinion,  must 
unfortunate,  that  when  JPossession 
Island  affords  the  best  station  for 
the  application  of  Delisle's  method 
as  voeU  as  Halley's,  a  station  inferior 
in  both  respects  should  be  selected. 
Here  again  expense  might  be  saved 
which  would  go  fer  towards  the 
preparation  of  an  expedition  (from 
New  Zealand,  if  need  be)  to  winter 
in  Possession  Island. 

Lastly,  the  transit  will  end  Ide^ 
at  a  place  in  north  latitude  62°  S'. 
and  east  longitude  48''  22'.  Here 
the  Bussians  are  in  great  force,  as 
Orsk,  Omsk,  Tobolsk,  and  o^er 
Bussian  towns  are  very  snitablj 
placed.  The  selected  station  for  an 
£)nglish  observing  party  is  Alexan- 
dria, where  the  tabusit  begins  ]»Xb 
by  about  10  minutes.  The  sun  will 
only  be  about  14  degrees  high  at  the 
time,  and  a  greater  elevation  would 


f873J 


The  Coming  Traumi  of  Venui. 


381 


be  preferable.    Amongst  the  mis* 
tikes  pointed  out  by  me  in   1869 
was  the  complete  omission  of  all 
notice  of  stations  admirably  placed 
in  Nordiem  India  for  obserying  the 
retarded  end  of  the  transit     Thus 
at  Peshawar  the  transit  will  be^n 
10^  minutes  late,  the  sun  haying 
an  elevation  of  31^  degrees;     n 
Peshawnr  be  not  conyeniently  ac- 
cessible, then  Delhi  and  the  oonntiT 
aroimd  would  serye  nearly  as  well 
astronomically.    I  snpposed,  until 
quite  recently,  that  this  suggestion, 
like  the  more  important  one  relating 
to  Possession  Island,  would  receiye 
no  attention.    But  I  was  gratified 
a  few  weeks  ago,  by  hearing  from 
the  Astronomer  Royal  that  my  dis- 
CQssion  of  the  subject  had  induced 
liim  to  urge  that  a  station  should  be 
selected  *  somewhere  in  the  north 
of  India.'    I  may  be  permitted  to 
add  (since  I  do  so  from  no  feeling 
of  personal  gratification,  but  to  giye 
a  weight  to  my  present  arjpoments, 
which  otherwise  they  might  not 
possess)  that  in  the  same  letter  the 


Astronomer  Boyal  described  my 
researches  on  the  transit  of  Venus 
as  '  probably  the  best '  of  all  '  con- 
tributions from  Englishmen  and 
foreigners.'  Apart  therefore  from 
the  circumstance  that  though  many 
haye  discussed  my  researches  not 
one  astronomer  has  questioned  the 
accuracy  of  my  chief  conclusions,  I 
haye  now  the  recognition — ^tardy 
indeed,  but  not  the  less  sufficient — 
of  the  astronomer  whose  work  I 
criticised.  If  I  use  this  as  a 
leyer  to  adyance  my  present  argu- 
ment, it  is  because  I  feel  that  the 
scientific  credit  of  this  countnr  is 
likely  to  be  affected  if  England  does 
not  discharge  her  duty  in  this 
matter.  I  am  satisfied,  moreoyer, 
that  whereas  the  reputation  of  the 
eminent  man  of  science  who  stands 
at  the  head  of  the  astronomy  of 
this  country  will  in  no  degree  b^ 
affected  if  the  proposed  e^dition 
be  undertaken  somewhat  later  than 
was  desirable,  it  will  suffer  seriously 
hereafter  if  tiiat  expedition  should 
not  be  undertaken  at  all. 


[Hanh 


OUR   SEAMEN. 


-ira.  SAMUEL  PLIMSOLL,  M.P. 
JUL  for  Derby,  has  produced  a 
very  remarkable  book  under  this 
title.  It  is  not  remarkable  as  a 
literary  production,  having  no  graces 
of  style  or  arrangement,  and  being 
indeed,  at  first  look,  somewhat  nn- 
oonth.  Bat  the  reader  (if  he  can  get 
through  it,  whichirom  the  disjointed 
manner  of  presentment  is  perhaps 
not  an  easy  task)  finds  himself 
gradually  put  in  possession  of  a 
number  of  facts  so  interesting,  so 
important^  and  many  of  them  so 
pathetic,  that  he  will  most  likely 
forget  the  form  for  sake  of  the  sub- 
stance of  this  appeal.  The  form,  too, 
odd  as  it  is  in  some  particulars,  tends 
at  last  to  deepen  the  general  impres- 
sion of  trustworthiness.  Mr.  Plim- 
soll  modestly  tells  us  ho  does  not 
know  how  to  write  a  book  and  could 
not  succeed  if  he  tried,  and  he  takes 
the  method  of  supposing  himself  to 
be  addressing  an  individual  sitting 
by  his  side,  and  saving  all  he 
can  think  of  to  induce  his  hearer  to 
aid  in  remedying  a  great  evil.  *  If 
he  were  so  sitting,  there  are  sundry 
papers  I  should  like  to  show  him 
in  confirmation  of  my  statements  and 
opinions,  so  that  he  might  know 
for  himself  how  absolutely  true 
they  are ; '  and  so  Mr.  Plimsoll  has 
put  these  papers  in  evidence  by 
having  them  not  printed  but  photo- 
graphed, and  stitched  into  his 
volume,  which  may  be  described  as 
a  sort  of  private  Blue-book.  He 
gives  you  facsimiles  in  heliotype  of 
a  couple  of  pa^s  of  Lloyd's  List 
of  Shipping,  of  part  of  an  under- 
writer's engagement-book,  of  po- 
licies of  marine  insurance,  and 
various  other  documents  referred 
to.  Believing  his  cause  to  be  en- 
tirely right  and  just^  we  shall  try 
to  summarise  his  statements  in  a 
succinct  and  accurate  manner,  so  as 
to  enable  readers  to  grasp  them 
without  trouble. 


The  object  of  this  book  is  to  show 
that  of  the  thousands  of  liyes  lost 
annually  by  shipwreck  (we  have 
not  succeeded  in  finding  any  official 
statement  of  the  total  number)^  the 
far  greater  part  are  lost  from  caofies 
which  are  easily  preventible  caoses, 
causes  that  would  not  exist  if 
the  same  care  were  taken  of  our  sail- 
ors by  the  law  as  is  taken  of  tlie  rest 
of  our  fellow-subjects.  A  great  niim- 
ber  of  ships  are  regularly  sent  to 
sea  in  such  rotten  and  otherwise  ill- 
provided  state  that  they  can  onlj 
reach  their  destination  in  fine  wea- 
ther, and  a  large  number  are  iso 
overloaded  that  for  them  also  it  is 
nearly  impossible  to  reach  their  des- 
tination if  the  voyage  is  at  all  roagk 
From  these  two  causes  alone,  Mr. 
Plimsoll  assures  us,  more  th&n  a 
full  half  of  our  losses  arise. 

The  number  of  English  vessels 
wrecked  or  damaged  within  ten 
miles  of  the  shores  of  the  United 
Kingdom  alone  is  about  2,000 
annually,  and  of  these  abom  1 
one  half  are  colliers.  Many  or 
most  of  these  are  sent  on  their 
voyages  notoriously  ill-found  and 
unrepaired,  and  even  in  a  moderate 
gale  it  becomes  a  certainty  that 
numbers  of  them  will  be  destroyed. 
There  is  at  present  no  power  iu 
.existence  to  prevent  a  man  from 
sending  to  sea  any  ship  (not  can7' 
ing  passengers),  however  old,  how- 
ever  out  of  repair,  however  ill-foimd, 
under-manned,  or  over-loaded.  He 
can,  if  he  pleases,  have  his  ship 
examined  by  Lloyd's  surveyor,  with 
a  view  to  its  being  ^  classed ;'  bnt 
precisely  in  the  case  of  the  wofi^ 
and  oldest  ships  this  is  not  donv 
and  they  remain  '  unclassed,'  and 
entirely  unchecked. 

Now  comes  in  the  question  of 
Insurance,  on  account  of  whkh 
Lloyd's  classification  is  made. 

*  Perhaps  you  may  say  (as  many 
besides  have  said),  ''But  are  noc 


imj 


Our  Seamen. 


888 


nearly  ftQ  these  sliips  and  their 
cargoes  too,  insured  ?  and  is  it  to 
be  sapposed   that  the   Insurance 
CompanieaJ'    (if  yon    lived  in  a 
seaport,  you  would  probably  say 
"underwriters,"   but  the   general 
notion  is  as  you  put  it) — "  is  it  to 
be  supposed   that    the  Insurance 
people  would  not  see  to  it,  if  they 
were  thus  plundered ;  and  may  we 
not  safely  rely  upon  their  self-in- 
terest to  rectify  any  wrong-doing 
in  this  respect  ?" 

*  Nor  would  you  be  alone  in  think- 
ing something  like  this,  for  a  gentle- 
man high  in  office  and  in  influence 
at  the  Board  of  Trade  is  reported, 
in  the  Journal  of  the  Society  of  Arts, 
to  hare  said  in  one  of  their  meet- 
ings, "Let  ships  be  lost,  and  let 
cargoes  be  lost,  so  long  as  under- 
writers are  too  sordid  or  too  lazy 
to  refuse  paynaent  of  doubtful  and 
fraudulent  cases." 

*  Now  as  this  gentleman,  had  he 

been  better  informed,  could  long 

ago  have  inflnenced  his  cbiefs  to 

hare  legislated  eflfectively  in  remedy 

of  the  existing  state  of  things,  and 

as  there  is  too  much  reason  to  fear 

that  a  similar  feeling  has  possessed 

the  public,  with  the  effect  of  stifling 

any  reviving  sense  of  duty  in  the 

matter,  you  will  s^ree  with  me  that 

it  is  of  the  utmost  consequence  to 

spare  no  pains  (if  it  is  a  mistake) 

to  show  how  it  is  so.     The  idea  is, 

that  if  a  ship  has  been  culpably 

and  shamefnlly  overloaded,  or  if  a 

ship  utterly  unfit  to  go  to  sea  has 

been  sent  out  to  sea  insured  for  as 

much  money  as  would  build  a  new 

one,  and  so  bring  a  positive  gain  to 

her  owner  by   her  being  wrecked, 

that  the  Insurance  people  ought  to 

prove  this,    and,   if  they  did  not 

bring  the  gTiilty  to  punishment,  at 

least  prevent  them  from  making  a 

profit  by  their  wrong-doing.' 

But  this  idea  is  utterly  erro- 
neous. 

The  underwriters  cannot  move  in 
the  matter — first,  because  the  loss  to 
tach  indivtdual  underwriter  is  too 


small  to  make  it  worth  his  ivme  and 
trouble.  The  popular  inland  idea  of 
insurance  is,  that  of  an  individual 
insuring  hiniself  against  loss  by  in- 
suring his  house,  warehouse,  or 
factory  firom  fire  wiih  an  insurance 
company :  in  the  event  ol  the  pro- 
perty being  destroyed  by  fire,  the 
company  have  to  pay  to  him  the 
amount  insured  by  them.  They 
are  strong  enough  to  protect  them- 
selves, if  the  insurer  has  violated 
the  terms  of  his  policy  by  carelessly 
exposing  the  property  to  uniGBdr  risk 
of  fire,  or  in  the  rare  case  of  his 
having  purposely  fired  it ;  but  the 
circumstances  are  entirely  diflerent 
in  insuring  a  ship  or  a  cargo.  In 
the  latter  case,  the  owner  of  a  ship 
or  freight  who  wishes  to  insure 
applies  to  an  insurance  broker, 
who  has  himself,  first  or  last,  no 
interest  in  the  details  of  the  trans- 
action, with  whom  terms  are  ar- 
ranged, but  only  provisionally.  The 
broker  informs  him  on  what  terms 
of  premium  the  underwriters  are 
likely  to  take  the  risk.  If  they 
agree  as  to  what  terms  will  be  ac- 
cepted by  the  owner  or  freighter,  in 
the  event  of  the  broker  succeeding 
in  placing  the  risk  on  those  terms, 
the  broker  then  writes  out  a  slip 
and  sends  a  clerk  with  it  into 
Lloyd's  underwriters'  department. 
This  is  a  large  suite  of  rooms,  down 
each  of  which  run  four  rows  of  tables 
like  those  in  an  old-fashioned  hotel 
cofiee-room, — one  row  against  each 
wall,  and  a  double  row  down  the 
middle ;  thus  two  side  aisles  give 
access,  right  and  left,  to  two  rows 
of  tables.  Each  table  is  fenced  ofi* 
from  its  neighbour  by  a  partition 
about  five  feet  high,  so  as  to  secure 
a  certain  degree  of  privacy,  and 
each  table  accommodates  four  gen- 
tlemen. To  enable  a  gentleman  or 
firm  to  engage  in  the  business  of  an 
underwriter,  he  must  satisfy  the 
committee  which  manages  the  room 
(usually  by  a  considerable  deposit, 
formerly  io,oooL,  now,  I  beHeve, 
5,oooZ.)  that  he  is  a  person  of  ade- 


384 


Our  Seamen^ 


\}bsAk 


qaate  means  to  incnr  the  riska  of 
the  basiness. 

Let  us  say  that  the  person  apply- 
ing to  the  broker  wishes  to  insure 
the  steam  ship  Sunahme  for  5,5ooZ. 
for  avoyage  from  the  Clydeto  Hong- 
Kong,  ana  he  and  the  finn  of  brokers 
consider  that  yof.periooZ.  is  an  ade- 
quate premium  for  the  risk.  These 
particulars,  with  date  of  the  trans- 
action and  name  of  the  firm,  are 
noted  on  a  slip  of  paper,  which  is  ta- 
ken into  the  room  as  aforesaid,  by  one 
of  his  clerks.  The  clerk  goes  from 
table  to  table,  and  submits  his  slip 
to  first  one,  then  another ;  some  de- 
cline it,  others  append  their  initials 
as  accepting,  and  write  also,  or  the 
clerk  does,  the  amounts  which  they 
are  willing  to  insure*  The  broker 
himself  insures  nothing,  his  profit 
consists  in  deducting  from  the 
premium  which  he  receives  from 
the  ship-owner  or  freighter,  to  hand 
over  in  their  several  proportions  to 
the  underwriters,  a  certain  com- 
mission. The  particulars  of  the  slip 
are  then  formally  set  forth  in  a 
policy  of  insurance,  and  each,  of  the 
persons  who  have  agreed  to  insure 
then  formally  subscribes  or  under* 
writes  the  body  of  the  policy 
(hence  the  term  'underwriters'), 
and  receives  from  the  broker  ii 
per  cent,  on  the  amount  he  had 
thus  guaranteed  to  the  owners  of 
the  ship  in  the  event  of  her  being 
lost. 

In  case  of  loss,  the  broker 
applies  to  each  of  the  gentlemen 
who  have  signed  the  policy  for 
the  respective  sums  they  have 
guaranteed,  and  the  transaction  is 
completed,  or  the  transaction  is 
also  completed  by  the  safe  arrival 
at  Hong-Kong  of  the  ship. 

When  we  consider  that  the  maxi- 
mum loss  to  each  person  in  this 
case  is  only  150Z.,  and  consider  the 
expense  and  worry  of  an  investi- 
gation and  trial  in  case  of  fraudu- 
lent carelessness,  we  will  see  that 
it  is  vain  to  expect  any  one  of  them 
lo  move  alone,  and  a  considera- 


tion of  ^he  difficulties  in  the  ^iray  of 
combined  action  even  anumgst  nil- 
way  or  bank  shareholders  to  investT- 
gate  and  |>unish  wrong-doing  by 
directors  snows  that  liUle  is  to  be 
expected  from  combined  action. 

*  But  you  may  say,  so  far  as  \m. 
seaworthiness  at  least  is  concerned, 
enquiry  previous  to  the  insuring 
would  reveal  that :  why  don't  tbe 
underwriters  make  this  enquiry  ?-- 
also,  why  don't  they  investigate  the 
character  of  the  proposed  insurer? 
The  answer  is,  the  risk  must  be 
accepted  or  declined  on  the  instant ; 
and  even  if  this  were  not  so,  the 
number  of  risks  dealt  with  daily  by 
each  individual  underwriter  pre- 
cludes this. ,  To  convince  you  of 
this,  I  now  show  you  the  book  in 
which  an  underwriter  enters  bis 
engagements  (it  has  been  kindly 
sent  to  me  bv  the  owner). 

'  You  see  m  this  that  the  number 
dealt  with  by  him  in  one  day  is  more 
than  twenty ;  the  average  in  the 
book  per  day  is  twenty-i£ree ;  and  I 
am  sure  he  will  excuse  me  for  saying 
that  there  are  very  many  who  deal 
with  fox  greater  numbers.  Now 
this  is  exclusive  of  all  those  (even 
more  numerous)  risks  offered  to  him 
dailywhich  he  did  not  accept. 

'  What  chance  was  there  that  be 
should  make  enquiry  into  all  these 
cases,  even  if  there  was  time  ?  He 
could  not  do  it.  All  he  could  do  be 
did, — i.e.  he  referred  to  Lloyd's  list, 
or  the  list  of  the  Committee  of 
Liverpool,  and  saw  how  tiie  vessel 
was  classed.* 

To  dispute  a  claim  is,  on  the  part 
of  an  underwriter,  an  extreme 
measure,  which  he  well  knows  has 
a  tendency  to  ruin  bis  future 
chances,  of  doinff  business  ;  and  as 
a  SEiatter  of  met,  almost  all 
claims,  even  those  fimnded  in 
fraud,  ai^  paid,  and  it  is  the  rarest 
thing  in  the  world  (it  does  not  oc- 
cur once  in  50,000  cases)  that  a 
claim  is  disputed. 

Even  a  manifest  error  in  the  claim 
can  hardly  ever  be  positively  proved, 


1878] 


Our  Seamen. 


935 


and  is  therefore  seldom  made  a 
sahjeet  of  inveatigatiozi.  In  a  great 
namber  of  cases  the  proofs  and  the 
witnesses  he  at  the  bottom  of  the 
sea ;  and  when  a  ship  with  all  hands 
is  *  never  heard  of,*  no  investigation 
o£  my  sort  follows.     In  shorty  un- 
derwriters do  not,  and  cannot,  look 
narrowly  after  the  practices  of  the 
owners  and  freighters  of  ships,  and 
these  practices  often  lead  to  disaster. 
Overloadingisone  frequent  source 
of  shipwreck.  '  Suppose  a  ship  will 
take  900  tons  of  cargo  with  safety, 
leaving  her  side  one  third  as  hi^h 
ontof  water  as  it  is  deep  below  it, 
and  suppose,  further,  that  the  freight 
of  700  tons  is  absorbed  by  expenses 
—wages  of  seamen,  cost  of  fuel, 
wear  and  tear,  interest  of  capital, 
cost  of  insurance,  Ac. — leaving  the 
freight  on  the  remaining  200  tons 
as  profit  to  the  owner,  it  is  clear  that 
by  loading  an  additional  200  tons 
the  profits  are  doubled,  while  the 
load  is  only  increased  by  about  a 
qoarter  more.    And  this  addition 
will  not  load  her  so  deeply  as  to 
prevent  her  making  a  good  voyage 
ifthe  weather  is  favourable.  What 
wonder  is  there,  I  say,  that  needy 
or  nnscrupulous  men    adopt    the 
larger  load  ?     They  are  safe  in  any 
case.     If  the  vessel  makes  her  port, 
they  secure  a  very  great  profit.     If 
she  meets  with  rough  weather  and 
is  lost,  they  recover  her  value  (in 
too  many  instances  fiar  more  iheai 
her  value)  and  so  go  on  again.' 

And  over-insuring  is  well  known 
to  be  a  common  practice.    It  is  true 
that    certain     shipowners  become 
notorious    for    over-loading,  over- 
insuring,  and  for  terriblv  frequent 
wrecks,  so  that  after  paying  gradu- 
ally increasing  insuTances  at  various 
ports,  they  come  at  last  to  insure  in 
London  only,  and  finally  can  find 
no  one  to  take  their  risks  at  any 
price.       But  the  establishment  of 
such  a  character  takes  time,  pro- 
bably years,  and  in  the  meantime, 
ship  after  ship  goes  down,  and  with 
them  the  lives  cf  sailors,  men  mostly 


in  the  prime  of  manhood.  In  a  port, 
on  the  Tyne  some  years  ago,  there 
was  a  collier  fleet  well  known  by 
the  name  of  *  B — *s  coffins.'  When 
these  shipowners  fail  to  find  regular 
insurance,  they  have  still  the 
resource  of  joining  mutual  se- 
curity clubs;  and  even  without 
this,  they  often  find  it  pwys  to  go 
on  sending  out  very  old  and  infirm 
ships,  which  would  bring  nothing 
if  ofiered  for  sale. 

Aman  of  high  position  in  Sunder- 
land has  said  to  Mr.  Plimsoll, — 
*It  is  well  known  to  myself  and 
colleagues  that  there  are  some  hun- 
dreds of  ships  sailingfrom  the  north- 
east ports  which  are  utterly  unfit  to 
be  trusted  with  human  life.  .  ... 
There  has  been  no  instance  within 
mj  knowledge  of  a  ship  being 
broken  up  anywhere  for  many 
years.  They  insure  them  as  long 
as  they  can,  and  when  re-christen* 
ing  and  all  other  dodges  fail  even 
with  underwriters,  then  they  form 
mutual  insurance  clubs,  and  go  on 
xmtil  the  ships  fill  and  go  down  in 
some  breeze,  or  strike  and  go  to 
pieces.'  The  effect  of  a  Bill  enaot- 
mg  that  vessels  needing  repair  shall 
be  repaired,  would  result  in  great 
numbers  being  withdrawn  and 
broken  up,'  and  in  others  being 
immediately  taken  up  for  repair. 

According  to  the  official  state- 
ments of  the  Board  of  Trade,  it  aji- 
pears  that  more  than  half  our  losses 
for  nine  years  (six  years  before  1 868, 
and  three  since)  were  owing  to  un- 
seaworthy  and  overloaded  ships. 
Mr.  Plimsoll  refers  to  several  cases 
which  came  within  his  own  know- 
ledge.   One  is  as  follows  :— 

'I  must  premise '  (he  says)  'that 
no  prudent  ship-owner  will  despatch 
ships  to  the  ports  of  the  Baltic  later 
than  the  end  of  September.  The 
season  then  closes,  and  the  lights 
are  removed,  to  prevent  their  being 
carried  away  by  the  ice. 

*  "Mr.  James  Hall,  of  Newcastle- 
on-Tyne,  had  a  large  ship  (1500 
tons)  waiting  for   nreight  in  the 


Our  Beamen, 


[Maith 


Jarrow  Dook,  and  he  was  offered 
30^.  per  ton  to  carry  a  cargo  of 
railroad  iron  into  the  east  of  the 
Baltic.  It  was  the  middle  of  Sep- 
tember; the  rate  was  high;  the 
ship  was  empty.  It  was,  as  he  said, 
yery  tempting.  So  he  sent  for  the 
captain  of  the  ship,  and  asked  him 
if  he  durst  ventore  into  the  Baltic 
tiien.  The  captain  said  to  him, 
"  For  God's  sake  don't  send  ns  into 
the  Baltic  at  this  time  of  the  year, 
sir.  Yon  might  as  well  send  ns  all 
to  the  bottom  of  the  sea  at  once." 
Well,  Mr.  Hall  declined  the  offer; 
bnt  five  weeks  later  the  same  offer 
was  accepted  by  another  ship-owner, 
and  he  proceeded  to  load  one  of  his 
ships;..  Goodsof  which35feetweigh 
a  ton  are  called  dead- weight.  Now 
^  cnbio  feet  of  iron  wei^  a  ton,  so 
that  this  is  the  heaviest  dead-weight 
they  carry,  and,  fix)m  the  weight 
pressing  on  so  small  a  space,  it  is 
the  most  dangerous  cargo  a  ship  can 
carry.  The  ship  I  refer  to  was  872 
tons  register,  and  she  was  loaded 
with  1,591  tons! 

'  *0f  course  she  was  lost — 
foundered  about  eighteen  miles 
firom  the  English  coast  (east) ;  but 
fortunately  her  crew  were  saved  by 
a  fishing-boat. 

*  She  was  insured,  of  course,  and 
after  what  I  have  before  said,  you 
will  not  wonder  that  the  under- 
writers paid  the  claim,  no  one  of 
them  having  an  interest  large 
enough  to  make  it  worth  while  to 
engage  in  an  expensive  law-suit. 
And  this  ship-owner  had  the  hardi- 
hood to  say  to  me,  "The  under- 
writers have  paid,  and  is  not  that 
proofthatall^was  right?"  I  replied, 
"  You  know  what  that  argument  is 
worth." ' 

Mr.  Plimsoll  has  twice  brought 
forward  a  Bill  in  Parliament  of 
which  the  main  provisions  are 
briefly  these  : — ^That  it  shall  not  be 
lawful  to  insure  a  ship  for  more 
than  two-thirds  of  its  actual  value, — 
which  is  the  law  of  Holland :  and 
a  periodical  inspection,  say  annual, 


of  all  sailing  ships  and  steam  sMps 
not  otherwise  inspected ;  and  fur- 
ther, that  the  load-line,  showing  the 
maximum  permissible  immersion, 
shall  be  painted  outside  the  hull  of 
each.  A  small  fee  (much  less  than 
that  now  paid  to  Lloyd's  inspectors) 
would  cover  the  cost  of  inspection. 

Mr.  Plimsoll  brings  his  case 
home  very  forcibly  by  the  aid  of 
numerous  personal  experiences.  He 
has  for  years,  we  may  remark,  occa- 
pied  himself  with  gathering  infor- 
mation on  this  subject  of  merchant 
shipping,  and  he  is  prepared  to 
give  the  full  names  and  details  in 
each  case.  ^  On  occasion '  (he  says) 
'  of  one  of  my  visits  to  a  port  in  the 
north,  I  was  met  by  a  gentleman 
who  knew  what  my  errand  there 
was  likely  to  be,  and  he  said,  "  Oh, 
Mr.  Plimsoll,  you  should  have  been 
here  yesterday ;  a  vessel  went  down 
the  river  so  deeply  loaded,  that 
everybody  who  saw  her  expects  to 
hear  of  her  being  lost.  She  M'as 
loaded  under  the  personal  directions 
of  her  owner,  and  the  captain  him- 
self said  to  me,  *  Isn't  it  shame^l, 
sir,  to  send  men  with  families  to 
sea  in  a  vessel  loaded  like  that?'" 

^  The  captain  called  on  his  friend, 

Mr.  J H— — ,  who  said  he  (the 

captain)  was  greatly  depressed  in 
spirits.  He  told  him  (Mr.  H — — ) 
"  that  he"  (the  captain)  "  had  mea- 
sured her  side  loaded,  and  she  was 
only  20  inches  out  of  the  water." 
He  also  asked  his  fiiend  to  look 
after  his  (the  captain's)  wife. 

•J N and  C — ^,  two 

workmen,  said  to  each  other,  "  that 
they  would  not  go  in  that  ship  if 
the  owner  would  crive    them  the 


ship."     And  J- 


.r- 


another 


workman,  said  "  he'd  rather  go  to 
prison  than  go  in  that  ship  ;"  and 
htstly,  two  of  the  sailors'  wives 
hogged  the  owner  **  not  to  send  the 
vessel  to  sea  so  deep." 

*  She  was  sent.  The  men  were 
some  of  them  threatened,  and  one  at 
least  had  a  promise  of  los.  extra 
per  month  wages  to  indace  him  to 


187S] 


Our  Seamen. 


S87 


go.  As  she  steamed  away,  the 
police  boat  left  her ;  the  police  had 
been  on  board  to  overawe  the  men 
into  going.  As  the  police  boat  left 
her  fiwle,  two  of  the  men,  deciding 
at  the  last  moment  that  they  would 
rather  be  taken  to  prison,  hailed 
the  police,  and  begged  to  be  taken 
by  them.  The  police  said  *Hhey 
could  not  interfere, ."  and  the  ship 
sailed.  My  fiiend  was  in  great 
anxiety,  and  told  me  that  if  it  came 
on  to  blow  the  ship  eould  not  live. 
It  did  blow  a  good  half  gale  all  the 
daj  after,  Sunday — ^the  ship  sailed 
on  Saturday.  I  was  looking  sea- 
ward from  the  promontory  on  which 

the  niins  of  T Castle  stands, 

with  a  heavy  heart.    The  wind  was 

not  above  force  7 — ^nothing  to  hurt 

a  well-found  and  properly  loaded 

vessel.  I  had  often  been  out  in  much 

worse  weather,  but  then  this  vessel 

was  not  properly  loaded  (and  her 

owner  stood  to  gain  over  2,000?. 

clear  if  she  went  down,  by  over- 

insnrance]^  and  I  knew  that  there 

were  many  others  almost  as  unfit 

as  she  was  to    encounter   rough 

weather — ships   so  rotten,  that   if 

they  struck  th^  would  go  to  pieces 

at  once;  ships  so  overloaded,  that 

dvery  sea  would  make  a  clean  sweep 

over  them,  sending  tons  and  tons 

of  water  into  the  hold  every  time, 

nntii  the  end  came. 

*  On  Monday,  we  heard  of  a  ship 
in  distress  having  been  seen; 
rockets  had  been  sent  up  by  her; 
it  was  feared  she  was  lost.  On 
Tuesday^  a  name-board  of  a  boat 
was  picked  up,  and  this  was  all 
that  was  ever  heard  of  her.* 

Another  instance  :-^*  Mr.  B— — - 
and  his  brother  told  me  tliat  one 
day  they  saw  a  vessel  leaving 
dock;  she  was  so  deep,  that  hav« 
ing  a  list  uxion  her,  &e  scuppers 
on  the  low  side  were  half  in  the 
water  and  half  out.  (A  list  means 
she  was  bo  loaded  as  to  have  one 
side  rallier  deeper  down  than  ihe 
other ;  the  scuppers  are  the  holeq  in 
ihe  bulwarks  that  let  the  water  out 


which  comes  on  deck  from  rain, 
from  washing,  and  the  seas  breaking 
over  her.)  They  heard  a  slight  com- 
motion  on  board,  and  a  voice  said  to 
the  captain,  ^'  Larry's  not  on  board, 
sir."  He  had  run  for  it.  !N'othing 
could  be  done,  for  lack  of  time  to 
seek  him,  so  they  sailed  without 
him.  And  these  gentlemen  heard 
the  crew  say,  as  the  vessel  slowly 
moved  av^ay  from  the  dock  gate, 
"Thon  Larry's  the  only  man  of 
us  '11  be  alive  in  a  wedk."  That 
vessel  was  lost. 

•  The  L ,  a  large  ship,  was 

sailing  on  a  long  voyage  from  a  port 
in  Wales,  with  a  cargo  of  coal.  Mr. 

A called  a  friend's  attention  to 

her  state.  She  was  a  good  ship,  but 
terribly  deep  in  the  water.     Mr. 

B said,  "Now,  is  it  possible 

that  that  vessel  can  reach  her  des- 
tination unless  the  sea  is  as  smooth 
as  a  mill-pond  the  whole  way  P" 

'  The  sea  does  not  appear  to  have 
been  as  smooth  as  a  mill-pond,  for 
that  ship  was  never  heard  of  again, 
and  twenty-eight  of  our  poor, 
hard-working,  brave  fellow-sulgects 
never  more  returned  to  gladden 
their  poor  wives,  and  play  with 
their  children.' 

No  one  unacquainted  with  the 
can  have  any  idea  what  a 
total  change  would  ensue  at  once 
from  the  prevention  of  overloading, 
but  we  can  form  some  idea  of  it 
from  the  consideration  of  the  fol- 
lowing fact,  shovnng  how  safe  ships 
are  when  properly  found,  manned, 
and  loaded.  Mr.  George  Elliot, 
M.P.,  and  his  partners,  have  a  fleet 
of  steamers,  running  between  [the 
Tyne  andLondon  continuously — ^the 
Tanfield,  James  Joicey,  Orwell,  KeW' 
hum.  New  Pelton,  Trevithicky  Magna 
Cha/ria,  WtlMam  HwUer,  Berwick^ 
Ushwokk,  Carbon,  and  others.  These 
ships  put  into  London  from  fifty  to 
seventy  cargoes  of  coal  each  per 
annum — ^the-  TanfieUd  having  put 
sixty-eight,  sixfy-nine,  and  sixty- 
eight  in  three  successive  years. 
They  are  loaded  and  unloaded  by 


Our  Seamen, 


[Mmli 


machinery,  and  as  tbey  go  and 
come  more  than  once  in  each 
week,  ihefy  are  all  at  least  three* 
fourths  of  all  the  hours  from  year's 
end  to  yearns  end  on  the  sea.  The 
voyage  is  a  more  dangerous  one 
than  an  over-sea  voyage,  for  as 
soon  as  they  leave  the  Thames  the 
sands  and  shoals  and  channels 
amongst  which  they  pick  their 
way  begin.  All  these  ships  go 
and  come  in  such  absolute  safety 
that  daring  all  the  years  from  1859, 
when  the  Jarrow  Dock  was  first 
opened,  xmtil  now,  not  one  of  them 
has  been  lost,  nor  has  even  met  with 
a  casualty  worth  naming.  This  is 
the  case  also  with  the  fleets  of 
many  other  shipowners,  for  it  can- 
not be  said  too  often  that  nearly 
the  whole  of  our  loss  is  due  to  a 
comparatively  small  number  of 
shipowners,  most  of  whom  tolerably 
weU  known  in  the  trade.  The  large 
majority  do  take  reasonable  pre- 
cautions for  securing  the  safety  of 
their  servants'  lives. 

It  is  Mr.  PlimsoU's  conviction, 
gathered  from  a  long  study  of 
the  matter,  and  from  the  opinions 
of  many  practical  men,  thftt  not 
merely  one-half,  but  at  least  two- 
thirds  of  our  losses  at  sea  would  be 
avoided  by  attending  to  two  pre- 
cautions— that  ships  needing  re- 
pair should  be  repaired,  and  that 
ships  shall  not  be  overloaded.  But 
there  remain  other  things  that 
greatly  need  supervision,  for  ex- 
ample, the  practice,  which  seems  to 
be  lar;^ly  on  the  increase,  of  build- 
ing ships  with  cheap  mi^terials  and 
bad  workmanship.  In  many  ships 
*  devils'  are  used,  that  is,  sham- 
bolts,  of  various  kinds.  Some  of 
them  pretend  to  be  copper,  but  have 
only  tne  head  and  about  an  inch  of 
the  shaft  copper,  the  rest  being  iron, 
which  soon  corrodes,  especifuly  in 
vessels  empiloyed  in  the  sugar  trade. 
Other  *  devils '  are  merely  hoU^heads 
driven  in  without  anv  shaft  at  all, 
only  as  many  real  bolts  being  used 
as  barely  suffice  to  keep  the  timbers 


together.  Seventy-three  devils  wero 
found  in  one  ship  by  a  surveyor 
of  Lloyd's.  One  shipowner,  trading 
to  the  West  Indies  for  sugar,  bas, 
out  of  a  fleet  of  twenty-one  vessels, 
lost  no  less  than  ten  in  three  years ! 

*  Do  you  want '  (asks  Mr.  Plim- 
soll)  '  to  know  more  about  the  sort 
of  men  who  thus  are  cut  off  in 
their  full  manhood  ?  Do  you  want 
to  know  how  their  loss  is  felt? 
Come  with  me  a  few  minutes,  and 
I'll  show  you.  The  initials  are 
all  strictly  correct,  both  those  in- 
dicating names  and  also  those  giv- 
ing addresses,  and  I  can  produce 
all  the  people.     In  this  house,  No. 

9,  L 11  Street,  lives  Mrs.  A r 

B e.     Look  at  her ;  she  is  not 

more  than  two  or  three-and-twentj, 
and  those  two  little  ones  are  hers. 
She  has  a  mangle,  you  see.  It  was 
subscribed  for  by  her  poor  neigh- 
bours— ^the  poor  are  very  kind  to 
each  other.  That  poor  little  fellow 
has  hurt  his  foot,  and  looks  wonder- 
ii^gly  ^^  the  tearful  &ce  of  his 
young  mother.  She  liad  a  loving 
husbuid  but  very  lately ;  but  the 

owner  of  the  ship,  the  S »>  on 

which  he  served,  was  a  very  needy 
man,  who  had  insured  her  for  nearly 
3,oooZ.  more  than  she  had  cost  him; 
so,  if  fAie  sank,  he  would  cain  all 
this.  Well,  one  voya^  sue  was 
loaded  under  the  owner's  personal 
superintendence;  she  was  loaded  so 
deeply  that  the  dock  master  pointed 
her  out  to  a  friend  as  she  left  the 
dock,  and  said  emphatically,  ^'That 
ship  will  never  reach  her  destina- 
tion." She  never  did,  bat  was  lost 
with  all  hands,  twenty  men  and 
boys.  A  B  complained  to 
her  before  he  sailed,  that  the  ship 
was  '^  so  deep  loaded."  She  tridi 
to  get  to  the  sands  to  see  the  ship 

off    with    Mrs.     S ^r,     whose 

husband  also  was  on  board.  They 
never  saw  their  husbands  again. 

•  Mrs.  B        D,  14,  H ^n  Phee, 

told  me  her  young  brother  was  an 
orphan  with  hersebT.  She  and  her 
sister  had  brought  him  np  until  aha 


1873] 


Our  Seamm. 


was  marriecL  Then  her  husband 
was  kind  to  him,  and  apprenticed 
him  to  the  sea.  He  had  passed  as 
second  mate  in  a  sailing  ship ;  bnt 
(he  was  a  fine  jonng  feUow :  I  have 
his  portrait)  ne  was  ambitions  to 
^  pass  in  steam  "  also  ;  engaged  to 

serve  in  the   8 ship,  leaking 

hadly,  bntwas  assnred  on  signing 
that  ^e  was  to  be  repaired  before 
loading.  The  ship  was  not  repaired, 
and  was  loaded,  as  he  told  his  sister- 
mother,  "  like  a  sand-barge."  Was 
nrged  bv  his  sister,  and  also  her 
husband,  not  to  go.  His  sister 
again  nrged  him,  as  he  passed  her 
bedroom  door  in  the  morning,  not 
to  go.  He  promised  he  woiddn't, 
and  went  to  the  ship  to  get  the 
wages  dne  to  him.  Was  refused 
payment  nnless  he  went ;  was  over- 
persnaded,  and  threatened,  and 
called  a  coward,  which  greatly  ex- 
cited him.  He  went ;  and  two  days 
afterwards  the    ship    went  down. 

Her  hnsband,  Mr.  B s,  also  told 

me  that  he  and  his  wife  '*  had  a  bit 
crack,"  and  decided  to  do  all  they 
oonld  to  *'  persnade  Johnnie  not  to 
go."  The.yonng  man  was  abont 
twenty-two. 

« Mr.  J H 1  told  me  that 

the  captain  was  his  friend,  and  the 
captain  was  very  "down-hearted 
abont  the  way  she  was  loaded" 
(mind,  she  was  loaded  nnder  the 
owner's  personal  supervision).  The 

captain  asked  him  (Mr.  A )  to 

see  his  wife  off  by  train  after  the 
ship  had  sailed.  She,  poor  soul! 
had  travelled  to  that  port  to  see 
him  off.  Captain  said  to  him,  "  I 
doubt  I'll  never  see  her  more !"  and 
burst  out  crying.  Poor  fellow  !  he 
never  did  see  her  more. 

*  Now  come  with  me  to  36,  C 

Street,  and  see  Mrs.  J- s  R e. 

She  is  a  yonng  woman  of  superior 
intelligeiioe,and  has  a  trustable  &oe 
— very.  She  may  be  about  twenty- 
seven.  She  lost  her  husband  in  the 
same  ahip*  He  was  thirty  years  of 
age,  and,  to  nse  her  own  words, 
^'  such  a  happy  creature,  full  of  his 


jokes."  He  was  engaged  as  second 
engineer  at  4I.  io«.  and  board. 
*' After  his  ship  was  loaded  'hewas 
a  changed  man,'  he  'got  his  tea 
without  saying  a  word,'  and  then 
'  sat  looking  into  the  fire  in  a  deep 
study  like.'  I  asked  him  what  ailed 
him,  and  he  said,  more  to  himself 
than  me,  '  She's  such  a  beast !'  I 
thought  he  meant  the  men's  place 
was  dirty,  as  he  had  complained 
before  that  there  was  nowhere  for 
the  men  to  wash.  He  liked  to  be 
clean,  my  husband,  and  always  had 
a  good  wash  when  he  came  home 
from  the  workshop,  when  he  worked 
ashore.  So  I  said,  'Will  you  let 
me  come  aboard  to  clean  it  out  for 
ye  P'  and  he  said,  still  looking  at  the 
fire,  'It  isn't  that.'  Well,  he 
hadn't  signed,  only  agreed,  so  I 
said,  '  Don't  sign,  Jim ;'  and  he  said 
he  wouldn't,  and  went  and  told  the 
engineer  he  shouldn't  go.  The 
engineer  '  spoke  so  kindly  to  him,' 
and  offered  him  10s.  a  month  more. 
He'd  had  no  work  for  a  long  time» 
and  the  money  was  tempting,"  she 
said, ''  so  he  signed.  When  ne  told 
me,  I  said,  *0h!  Jim,  yon  won't 
go,  will  voup'  He  said,  *Why, 
hinnie,  hmnie,  they'll  put  me  in 
gaol  if  I  don't.'  I  said,  'Never 
mind,  ye  can  come  home  after  that.' 
'But,'  said  he,  'they'll  call  me  a 
coward,  and  ye  wouldn't  like  to 
hear  me  called  that' " 

•  The  poor  woman  was  crying  very 
bitterly,  so  I  said  gently,  "I  hope 
you  won't  think  I'm  asking  all 
these  questions  from  idle  curiosity ;" 
and  I  shall  never  forget  her  quick 
disclaimer,  for  she  saw  that  I  was 
troubled alon^ with  her — "Oh  no, 
sir,  I  am  glad  to  answer  you ;  for 
there's  many  homes  might  be  spared 
being  made  desolate  if  it  was  onl j 
looked  into."  ^^'^^^ 

'I  ascertained  that  she  is  now 
"  getting  a  bit  winning  for  a  liveli- 
hood," as  my  informant  phrased 
it  (of  course  I  was  not  so  rude  as 
to  ask  her  that)  by  sewin?  for  a 
ready-made    clothes    shopKeeper. 


340 


Our  Seamen* 


[H&idi 


She  was  in  a  small  garret  with  a 
alopiiig  roof  and  th^  meet  modest 
fbre-place  I  ever  saw— just  three 
bits  of  iron-  laid  from  side  to  Bide 
of  an  opening  in  the  brickwork,  and 
two  more  up  the  front ;  no  chimney- 
piece,  or  jambs,  or  stone  across 
the  top,  but  jnst  the  bricks  laid 
nearer  and  nearer  until  the  courses 
united.  So  I  don't  fancy  she  could 
be  earning  much.  But  with  the 
Terj  least  money  value  in  the  place, 
it  was  as  beautifully  clean  as  I  ever 
saw  a  room  in  my  life. 

*I  saw  also  Mrs.  W ks,  of 

78,  B d  Street,  who  had   lost 

her    son,    Henry   W ks.    aged 

twenty-two.  She  too  cried  bitterly 
as  she  spoke  -  with  sttch  love  -  and 
pride  of  her  son,  and  of  the  grief 
of  his  &ither,  who  was  sixty  years  of 
age.  Her  son  was  taken  on  as  sto- 
ker, and  worked  in  the  ship  some 
days  before  she  was  ready  for  sea. 
He  didn't  want  to  go  then,  when 
he  saw  how  she  was-  loaded ;  but 
thev  refused  to  pay  him  the  money 
he  had  earned  unless  he  went ;  and 
he  too  was  lost  with  all  the  others. 

'  Just  one  more  specimen  of  the 
good,  true,  and  brave  men  we  sa- 
crifice by  our  most  cruel  and  man- 
slaughtering  neglect,  and  then  I  will 
go  on  to  the  next  part  of  my  subject. 

•  This  time  I  went  to  17,  D— h 

Street,  and  called  upon  old  J n 

P ^r,  and  after  apologising  for 

intruding  upon  his  grief,  I  asked 
him  if  he  had  any  objection  to  telU 
ing  me  whether  his  son  had  had  any 
misgivings  about  the  ship  before  he 
went.  He  said,  "  Yes.  I  went  to 
see  the  ship  myself,  and  I  was  horri- 
fied to  see  the  way  she  was  loaded* 
She .  looked  like  a  floating  wreck ; 
and  I  tried  all  I  could  to  persuade 
him  not  to  go  ;  but  he'd  been  doing 
nothing  for  a  long  time,  and  he 
didn't  like  being  a  burthen  on  me. 
He'd  a  fine  *  sperrit,'  sir,  had  my 
son,"  said  the  poor  old  man. 

*  Here  a  young  woman  I  had  not 
observed  (she  was  in  a  comer,  with 
her  face  to  the  wall)  broke  out  into 


loud  sobs,  and  said,  **  He  was  the 
best  of  us  all,  sir-Mhe  best  in  the 
whole  family.  He  was  as  fair  as  ii 
flower,  and  vah-y  canny-looking." 

*  Oh  !  my  God !  my  God !  what 
can  I  say,  what  can  I  write,  to 
make  the  people  take  thought  tm 
this  terrible  wrong  ?  '  We  trust 
our  readers  will  feel  that  this  out- 
burst of  feeling  is  not  out  of  place. 

And  now  we  come  to  a  veiy 
noticeable  and  important  part  of 
Mr.  PlimsoU's  statement^  namely, 
that  his  Bill  intended  to  remedj 
this  cruel  state  of  things,  and  ap- 

C^ed  by  many  of  the  <mief  Cham- 
of  Commerce,  has  been  put 
aside  in  two  successive  sessions  <^ 
Parliament  mainly  by  the  influence 
of  three  members  of  Parliament^  great 
ship-owners,  and  themselves  (Mr. 
Plimsoll  declares)  implicated  in 
many  suspicious  cases  of  shipwreck 

'  These  men  being  all  ship-owners, 
have  of  course  great  weight  with  the 
House,  and  I  was  obliged  to  withdraw 
my  Bill,  taking  as  compensation  only 
the  Bill  subsequently  brought  in  by 
the  Board  of  Trade,  which  is  worth 
nothing.  It  gives  the  seamen  the 
right  to  ask  for  a  survey,  but  they 
must  pay  all  the  expenses  of  it  if  the 
surveyors  certify  that  the  ship  is 
not  unseaworthy.' 
'  The  notion  of  giving  seamen,  per- 
haps going  on  board  within  an  hour 
or  two  of  sailing,  the  privilege  of 
lodging  an  appeal  like  this,  and  de* 
taininff  the  vessel  till  it  shouhl  be 
investigated,  is  too  absurd  on  the 
&ce  of  it  for  any  man  who  has  the 
least  knowledge  of  mercantile  afiairs 
or  of  seafaring  life  and  habits. 

In  fine,  we  heartily  wish  Mr. 
Plimsoll  full  success  in  his  admir- 
able efforts.  The  present  state-  of 
things  is  shameful  and  intolerable ; 
and  the  great  majority  of  English 
ship-owners  and  shippers  want  it  to 
end  without  delay.  They  would  be 
relieved  from  the  competition  of  an 
unscrupulous  minority ;  and  English 
commerce  cleansed  of  a  deadly  in- 
justice and  foul  disgrace. 


187S} 


341 


THE  TEKING  GAZETTE. 
Bt  Sib  Ruthebfobd  Alcogk,  K.CB. 


Pabt  n. 


rthe  last  Biiml)6r  of  Eraser ,  I 
endeavouiecL  to  give  the  reader 
some  general  idea  of  the  Peking 
(hzeiie  and  its  contents,  as  well  as 
the  conditions  under  which  it  ap- 
pears from  day  to  day.    Without 
more  extracts,  however,  than  conld 
find  place  in  the  first  paper,  a  yery 
imperfect  notion  would  be  formed 
of  the  real  value  of  the  information 
which  the  Gaaettea  supply,  and  the 
diversified  nature  of  the  subjects 
referred  to  in  the  Memorials,  Re- 
ports, and  Decrees.    Having,  stated 
mjownopinionin  accord  withother, 
and  perhaps  more  competent  judges, 
that  illnstrations  of  Chinese  political 
and  social  life  of  the  greatest  value 
were  to  be  found  in  the  pages  of  the 
Fehng  Journal — sole  representative 
Bs  it  is,  in  China,  of  the  newspaper 
press  of  other  countries — ^I  propose 
in  the  following    pages  to  bring 
under  notice   further  extracts    to 
justify  that  conclusion^  with  such 
ronning  commentary  as  may  best 
explain  their  special  bearing  on  the 
present  condition   of  the  country 
and  its  administration. 

Taming  to  domestic  habits  and 
social  relations,  here  is  an  example 
of  cox^jugal  fidelity  and  devotion  in 
the  husband  which  was  deemed 
worthy  of  record  and  Imperial  re^ 
cognition  in  the  Gaaette  i — 

^A  Censor  prays  that  the.  Em- 
peror will  confer  a  tablet  on  the 
family  of  a  Lieutenant-Colonel  who 
pined  and  died  on  acdount  of  his 
wife's  death.     Granted.' 

As  a  pendant  to  this  picture  of  a 
de?oted  husband,  another  Censor, 
'bjname  Chang  Ching-ching,  re- 
ports upon  the  conduct  of  the  wife 
of  a  setC'tsai  by  purchase.  This 
lady,  finding  her  husband  ill,  cut 
off  one  of  her  fingers  and  adminis- 
tered it  to  him  in  his  physic.     Un- 


luckily the  specific  had  not  the 
desired  efiTect,  for  the  man  died. 
In  the  tenth  month  ihe  heroine's 
mother-in-law  died,  whereupon  she 
strangled  herself.  An  Edict  is  how 
issued  directing  the  Board  of  Bites 
to  report  upon  the  most  suitable 
form  for  the  Imperial  admiration  to 
take.' 

Here  again  is  a  domestic  tragedy 
fit  for  a  sensation  novel.  *Ting-jih- 
chang.  Governor  of  Kiangsu,  r^ 
ports  on  the  case  of  a  woman  who 
had  committed  adultery.  She  and 
her  paramour  slew  the  husband  on 
findmg  that  he  was  cognisant  of 
their  guilt.  The  woman  is  to  be 
put  to  a  slow  and  lingering  deaths 
and  the  man  is  to  be  beheaded/ 
This  *  slow  and  lingering,'  or  literally 
disgraceful  or  shameful  death,  is  the 
often-described  punishment  termed 
in  Chinese  Ling-chih,  in  which  the 
victim  is  secured  to  a  cross  and 
then  cut  to  pieces  with  a  revolting 
excess  of  cruelty  and  barbarity. 
The  spirit  of  modem  civilisation  is 
outraged  by  such  horrible  butcheries 
under  the  sanction  and  authority 
of  judicial  sentences.  But  if  we 
would  deal  fairly  with  the  Chinese 
in  passing  judgment  upon  them  and 
their  sanguinary  code,  we  must  not 
forget  that  our  own  criminal  law 
procedure  was  little  better,  if  at  all, 
as  late  as  the  seventeenth  century. 

In  the  days  of  good  Queen  Bess — 
not  three  centuries  back  —  sur- 
rounded as  she  was  by  a  brilliant 
galaxy  of  statesmen  and  poets, 
philosophers  and  jurists — ^a  Bur- 
leigh and  a  Shakspeare,  a  Bacon 
and  a  Coke — men  leaving  an  im- 
perishable name  on  the  pages  of  our 
history — ^torture  was  administered, 
and  criminals  were  quartered  and 
disembowelled  on  the  public  scafibld. 
Compared  with  an  account  of  the 


342 


The '  Pdcing  OazdU: 


[Mudi 


mode  of  execution  by  breaking  on 
the  wheel,  onoe  so  common  in  En- 
rope,  it  may  be  donbted  whether 
anything  worse  can  be  cited  of 
China.  Dnring  the  reign  of  Lonis 
XVI.  it  is  said  that  the  incredible 
nnmber  of  3,000  people  were  an- 
nually condemnea  to  this  most 
brutal  and  ferocious  mode  of  taking 
life.  The  last  of  these  victims  is 
stated  to  have  been  a  servant  girl 
at  Paris,  whose  crime  was  a  petty 
theft  in  the  house  where  she  waa 
serving,  and  Marie  Antoinette  was 
in  vain  petitioned  to  have  her 
sentence  mitigated.  Nor,  apart  from 
these  murderous  cruelties,  is  it  so 
lone  since  forgery  and  theft  were 
capital  offences  in  Great  Britain,  for 
which  life  was  forfeited.  If  a  hu- 
mane code  of  laws  and  method  of 
judicial  procedure  be  taken  as  the 
test  of  civilisation,  there  is  no 
country  in  Christian  Europe  which 
could  make  out  any  better  claim 
under  this  head,  a  century  ago,  to 
be  classed  amon^  civilised  States. 

'Ting-han,  Governor  of  Anhui, 
reports  the  death  of  a  lady  by  sui^ 
cide,  caused  by  slanderous  reports 
made  of  her  by  a  man.  The  man 
is  arrested,  and  the  Board  of 
Punishment  is  to  consider  his  case.' 

Even  the  seclusion  in  which  their 
women  live  does  not,  therefore,  pro- 
tect them  altogether  from  suspicion 
and  slander,  and,  it  is  to  be  inferred, 
from  the  opportunity  of  going 
astray,  if  so  minded.  Yet  as  the 
well-to-do  classes  keep  the  women 
of  their  families  entirely  secluded 
from  all  social  intercourse  with  any 
but  the  nearest  male  relatives — 
fathers  and  brothers — it  is  not  easy 
toundersiand  how  occasion  for  scan- 
dal can  arise — unless  with  such  near 
relatives  or  domestics,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  further  difficulty  created  by 
their  crippled  feet  seriously  inter- 
fering with  all  facility  of  locomo- 
tion or  movement  from  their 
own  apartments.  The  result, 
which  gives  for  a  more  limited 
number  of  infidelities  or  scandals — 


if  such  mav  be  assumed — a  greater 
intensity  of  wrong-doing,  does  not 
leave  much  to  be  said  in  favour  of 
a  system  of  more  rigid  secluaon, 
such  as  prevails  generally  in  the 
East. 

As  to  the  crippled  feet,  it  is  a  ca- 
rious fact — tendmg  to  show  that  the 
most  diverse  forms  of  manifestation 
are  compatible  with  a  certain  iden- 
tity in  the  motive — that,  although 
the  pinching  and  crippling  involve 
a  very  protracted  torture  in  earlj 
years  to  secure  the  requisite 
amount  of  distortion,  and  se- 
rious inconvenience  ever  after,  no 
Chinese  mother  seems  to  have  any 
scruple  or  hesitation  in  subjecting 
her  child  to  the  barbarous  process. 
Even  the  children,  if  steps  have  not 
been  taken  in  the  first  infancy,  seem 
not  unfrequently  to  accept  volun- 
tarily  the  pain  as  a  necessaij 
penidty  of  niture  distinction.  In 
both  cases  it  is  easily  understood, 
once  we  know  that  no  large-footed 
girl  can  ever  hope  to  marry  anyone 
above  the  rank  of  a  cooly .  Whereas 
if  her  feet  be  reduced  to  the  required 
form  and  dimensions  she  may  aspire 
to  the  hand  or  establishment  of  the 
first  mandarin  in  the  land,  birth 
or  fortune  going  for  very  little 
when  a  rich  man  or  a  high  officer 
in  China  desires  a  mother  for  his 
children.  The  love  of  progeny,  or 
rather  the  desire  to  have  children 
to  pay  the  funereal  rites  at  the 
grave,  and  before  the  tablets  in 
the  ancestral  hall  worship  the  de- 
parted, is  considered  as  essential  ^ 
the  rest  and  happiness  of  the  sonls 
of  the  Chinese  when  dead,  as  aiv 
absolution  ^nd  masses  to  the  devout 
Boman  Catholic. 

So  the  custom  of  crippling  the 
feet  still  prevails,  and  is  handed 
down  from  generation  to  genera- 
tion, without  a  voice  being  raised  in 
condemnation.  A  more  strib'ng 
proof  of  the  strong  attachment 
of  the  Chinese  to  old  customs  and 
traditions  can  scarcely  be  conceived 
It  is  all   the  more   striking  that 


1873] 


Tlie' Peking  Gazetie,* 


843 


their  Tartar  conquerors  do  not 
cripple  the  feet  of  their  women,  and 
therefore  the  Emperor's  bride  mnst 
fJtwap  be  chosen  from  the  Banner 
clans  of  his  own  race,  and  the 
highest  elevation  attainable  by  the 
sex  is  thus  reserved  for  women  with 
feet  as  nature  made  them. 

The  Chinese  Thcogony  admits 
of  goddesses   as  did  that  of   the 
Greeks.    And  notwithstanding  the 
]ow  rank  accorded  to  the  wife  in 
the  social    scale,    so   long  as  the 
husband  lives — if  left  a  widow,  and 
a  mother,  she  claims  the  most  pro- 
found respect   and  reyerence,    as 
well  as  absolute  obedience,  from 
her  children.     And  so  the  balance 
is  restored,  for  if  woman  in  China 
begins  as  a  slave,  she  ends  as  an 
autocrat.     Female  spirits  are  often 
held  in  high  honour. 
Here  is  an  example : 
'  Ts^n-Kwo-fan,  Governor- Grene- 
ral  of  the  two  Kiang,  and  Kwo-po- 
jin,  Governor  of  Chiang-su,  petition 
Eia  Majesty  to  confer  a  title  of 
honour  on  a  female  spirit  of  Hsten^ 
fltf-mtoo,  for  having  averted  calamity 
and  removed  distress  in  the  follow- 
ing ways : — In  time  of  drought  she 
filled  die  neighbouring  river  with 
crater.     In  &e  third  year  of  the 
reign  of  Hsienfung  (the  &ther  of  the 
present  Emperor),  when  the  Canton 
rebels    attacked    Yangchow,    she 
protected  the  district  in  which  her 
shrine  was.      And  in  the  eighth 
year  of  the  same  reign  she  destroyed 
with  fire  and  lightnmg  a  large  band 
of  rebels   who    had    returned  to 
attack  Yangchow.     On  other  occa- 
sions  she  came    forth    in  person, 
showed  herself  in  a  blaze  of  light, 
And  drove  back  a  body  of  rebels 
attempting  to  cross  the  river.' 

The  petition  was  referred  to  the 
Board  of  Ceremonies. 

The  spirits  of  air  and  water — 
gnomes  and  various  terrestrial 
powers,  good  and  evil — are  of- 
ten decreed  honours  or  propitia- 
tory sacrifice^.  In  one  Gazette 
Chang.chih-wan  memorialises  His 

VOL.  Vn. — KO.  IXXIX.  NEW  SERIES. 


Majesty  that  when  the  rebels  were 
making  constant  attacks  upon  Kao- 
yu-chow  in  Kiang-su,  a  spirit  called 
Kang-Ue^How  (a  title  equivalent  to 
Marquis),  which  causes  abundant 
rain,  and  has  a  temple  there,  ap- 
peared in  the  air  and  Mghtened  the 
rebels.  This  spirit  has,  moreover, 
very  effectually  answered  the  prayers 
of  the  influential  inhabitants,  by 
speedily  causing  a  fall  of  rain.  His 
Imperial  Majesty  therefore  ordered 
the  Han-Lin- Yuan  to  write  a  tablet, 
which  is  with  due  reverence  to  be 
placed  in  the  temple. 

Such  a  nation  ought  to  furnish 
ready  proselytes  to  the  Boman 
Catholic  Church.  Many  of  these  ac- 
counts of  the  appearance  of  the 
Spirits  and  the  services  performed^ 
r^Eid  strangely  like  some  of  the 
monkish  legends  of  apparitions,  and 
even  strongly  remind  the  reader  of 
the  more  recent  appearance  of  the 
Virgin  at  Lourdes,  which  within 
the  last  few  months  has  attracted 
so  much  attention  in  France,  and 
led  to  pilgrimages  of  thousands  of 
devout  worshippers,  of  both  sexes 
and  of  every  rank. 

Much  has  been  thought  and  said 
of  late  years  as  to  the  merits  of  com- 
petitive examination  for  all  the 
offices  in  the  public  service.  And 
a  great  deal  of  clap-trap  argument 
in  favour  of  this  system  has  been 
advanced,  on  no  better  foundation 
than  its  alleged  success  in  China. 
As  it  is  only  at  its  commencement 
with  us,  and  has  been  in  full  activity 
in  China  for  many  centuries,  it  is 
worth  while  to  enquire  what  have 
been  the  practical  results. 

What  may  be  said  in  its  favour 
on  general  grounds  we  are  all 
tolerably  familiar  with.  The  late 
Mr.  MoEkdows,  a  very  enthusiastic, 
but  also  a  very  well-informed 
admirer  of  Chinese  theories  of 
government  and  administration,  be- 
lieved that  one  of  the  chief  elements 
of  the  stability  of  the  Chinese 
Empire  lay  in  the  opportunity  thus 
offered  to  menof  iaknt,irresx)eotive 

B  B 


344 


The  '  Peking  QazeUe: 


[^rch 


of  wealth  or  inflaence,  of  obtaining 
the  highest  honours  and  posts  in  t^e 
administration  of  the  conntrj.  The 
same  thing  has  been  said  with  per- 
haps greater  accuracy  of  the  Boman 
Catholic  Church,  which  has  the 
highest  honours  in  its  gift,  and  yet 
opens  wide  the  door  for  the  entrance 
of  the  humblest  in  birth  or  social 
adyantages.  Its  wide  and  demo- 
cratic base  may  no  doubt  in  Feudal 
Europe  have  had  as  much  to  do 
with  the  power  and  stability  secured 
through  so  many  ages  as  the  culmi- 
nating honour  and  influence  of  the 
Papal  Tiara.  And  in  both  respects 
there  is  sufficient  analogy  to  justify 
a  comparison.  But  as  in  the 
Church  there  was  celibacy,  and  the 
continually  increasing  accretion  of 
land  and  property  to  bind  the  whole 
together  in  a  common  interest  and 
give  it  favour  with  the  people ; — 
80  in  China  there  has  always  existed 
that  minute  subdivision  of  the  soil 
and  a  large  clasa  of  peasant  pro- 
prietors which  is  held  to  give  a 
greater  pledge  of  stability  to  a 
country  and  a  nation  than  any  other 
institutions  affecting  the  status  of 
the  people.  In  all  three  it  is  plain 
there  is  a  pervading  democratic  ele- 
ment, opening  to  everyone  a  vista  to 
the  most  absorbing  and  universalob- 
jects  of  desire — ^huad,  power,  and  in- 
fluenoe  both  spiritual  and  temporal. 
As  apractical  means  of  securing  edu- 
cation for  the  greatest  possible  num- 
ber, and  the  exclusion  of  iterance 
firom  every  office  of  State,  it  would 
be  difficult  to  point  out  any  process 
by  which  these  ends  could  be  better 
secured,  or  more  successfully  applied 
to  a  vast  population  extended  over  a 
territory  nearly  as  large  as  Europe. 
Selection  would  be  open  to  a  per- 
petual suspicion  of  favouritism,  and 
oould  not  possibly  be  made  equally 
acceptable  to  the  people.  And  the 
competitive  examination  for  literary 
grades  and  honours  W  no  means 
precludes  the  exercise  of  a  fiatculty  of 
selection,  since  it  ^oes  not  follow 
even  in  theory  that  all  who*  take  the 


first  or  seiD'tsai^s  degree  are  equally 
fitted  for  office,  though  all  are  held 
to  be  eligible.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
vast  numbers  of  these  never  get 
office  or  take  any  higher  degree. 
But  the  Oazettes  give  curious  in- 
stances  of  the  tenacity  and  per- 
severance with  which  the  hope  is 
nurtured  even  to  the  most  advanced 
age.  One  of  the  later  returns  gave 
the  following  results : — 

'Kuanflsi  heads  the  list  with  a  Sew-tm 
of  I02,  who  showed  his  vi^iir  not  oslybj 
snecessfally  braving  the  disoomfbiti  of  the 
examination,  hut  by  his  erect  carriage  and 
mnscnlar  frame.  A  special  memorial  w 
devoted  to  his  case,  and  he  will  no  doubt 
receive  some  very  distingniahed  mark  of 
Imperial  approbation.  Knangsi  can  abo 
boast  of  a  candidate  of  91,  and  of  ten 
others  ranging  between  80  and  S6. 
Shantung  had  no  less  than  seventeen  above 
90,  and  fifty-three  between  80  and  90.  Id 
Chekiang  there  were  four  over  90,  and 
fifteen  between  So  and  90.  Ssechnen  sent 
np  one  Seuht&ai  hy  porchase  aged  91,  and 
nmety  others  whose  ages  ranged  between 
70  and  90.  And  lastly,  Hunan  had  the 
very  respectable  number  of  sixteen  candi- 
dates above  80,  but  not  reaching  90.  It  is 
rather  sad  to  consider  that  not  one  of  theie 
two  hundred  and  eight  old  gentlemen,  the 
most  boyish  of  whom  was  70  at  leait, 
succeeded  on  his  merits.  7%ey  tpere  aU 
plucked  \  But  Imperial  clemency,  more 
far-reaching  than  Hoyal  prerogative  in  less 
learned  countries,  steps  in  and  justifies  the 
good  old  oopy-book  maxim — that  Fereevov 
ance  is  crowned  with  Success,  and  bestovs 
on  some  of  the  oldest  honorary  degrees. 
May  we  hope  that  they  find  some  comjpeosa- 
tion  in  these  for  so  manj  tnennial 
£ulures!' 

Ting-jih-chang,  who,  as  Gbyemor- 
(Jeneial  of  a  province,  has  reached 
the  highest  rank,  has  never  taken 
the  second  degree.  He  would 
prohahlj  insist  upon  the  superior 
usefulness  of  practical  sagacity  to 
any  amount  of  hook  learning.  It  is 
yery  much  the  same  argument  as 
goes  on  here  concerning  the  valod 
of  classical  education.  Certain  it  is 
that  there  is  not  any  knowledge  of 
the  Chinese  or  the  Greek  andBoman 
classics  which  will  either  give  or 
supply  the  place  of  sagacity,  tact, 
courage — all  the  quaJitLes,  morali 


1873] 


The  *  Teking  Gazette.' 


345 


intellectaal    and    physical,    which 
mtke  able  mlers  of  meiiy    or    ad- 
miniBtrators.  Neither  will  any  form 
of  oompetitiye  examination  hitherto 
devised^  enable  examiners  to  deter- 
mine  in    what   proportion     these 
different  qnalities  are  possessed  by 
the  candidates.    The  whole  theoiy 
of  competitiTe  examination  there- 
fore reeolTes  itself  into  a  question 
not  of  fitness  for  any  public  office  or 
employment,  but  of  ability  to  read 
and   write,    and    remember  what 
certain  class  authors  have  taught. 
Its  chief  merit  must  lie  in  two  re- 
sults— ^the    exclusion     of  the  ab- 
solutely uneducated  and  ignorant, 
and  the  keeping  open  the  door  of 
admission,  if  not  of  adyancement,  in 
the  service  of  the  State  to  all  ranks, 
apart  from  patronage.  It  does  effect 
these  two  ends  to  a  very  consider- 
able extent  in  China,  and  these  are 
so  highly  pri£ed  by  the  people,  that 
to  grant  to  a  province  for  any  ex- 
amination  an  additional  uumbBr  of 
degrees  to  bo  competed  for,  is  held  to 
be  an  Imperial  reward,  for  large  con- 
tributions to  the  needs  of  the  State. 
That  it  does  not  secure  any  very  gen- 
eral range  of  ability  or  sagacity  to 
the  roiing  classes  may  be  taken  as 
equally  certain  from  all  we  know  of 
Chinese  officials.    And  of  late  years 
there  have  been  many  interlopers 
on  the  part  of  those  who  have  been 
allowed  to  purchase  office.     So  that 
a  Canton  or  a  Shanghae  merchant, 
if  snccessfal  in  trade,  may  be  found 
among  the  Taontaes  with  a  large 
jurisdictioD,      although     he     can 
neither  speak  with  any  correctness 
the  Mandarin  tongue  nor  write  it. 
Samqna^    one   of   the  old  Canton 
Hong  merchants,  was  Taontae  at 
Shanghae  in  very  disastrous  times. 
He  was  an  example  of  a  vulgar  and 
wholly  uneducated  man,  who  pur- 
chased his   button    and    office  for 
100,000    taels— 3o,oooL  ;    and    of 
course  hoped  to  recoup  himself  as 
they   all    do  in  office — but  fortune 
was  against  him.    All  that  can  be 
said  in  conclusion  may  be  sunmied 


up  in  a  few  words.  The  principle 
which  each  successive  dynasty  has 
ostensibly  acted  upon,  that  good 
government  consists  in  the  advance- 
ment solely  of  ability  and  merit  to 
the  rank  and  power  of  official  posi- 
tion, can  scarcely  be  disputed.  The 
Chinese  in  all  ages  seem  to  have 
thought  with  Plato,  that  bad  educa- 
ti(m  is  one  of  the  chief  causes  of 
political  decay.  But  all  depends 
upon  what  is  considered  good  educa- 
tion. Is  it  mere  learning,  or  the 
cultivation  and  development  in  due 
proportions  of  the  intellectual 
powers  and  the  moral  faculties? 
Habits  of  order,  self-denial,  and 
discipline,  cannot  be  excluded  in 
such  a  course.  But  the  Chinese  are 
content  to  test  the  progress  made 
in  the  Chinese  classics  and  nothing^ 
else,  except  a  power  of  composition, 
only  to  be  attained  by  years  of 
study,  and  a  knowledge  of  many^ 
thousand  characters,  as  well  as  the 
conventional  style  of  the  learned. 
And  so  great  is  the  strain  of  the 
preliminary  cramxning  that  no  trien- 
nial period  passes  without  one  or- 
more  deaths  caused  by  exhaustion,, 
and  a  larger  number  of  suicides 
prompted  either  by  despair  of  suc- 
cess, or  the  fear  of  fslilure.  The 
degrees  conferred  create  a  class- 
of  Literati  constituting  the  only 
aristocracy  in  China,  and  they  be* 
come  men  of  great  local  influence- 
wherever  they  choose  to  settle 
down,  irrespective  of  property,  and 
whether  they  attain  office  or  not. 
The  holder  of  a  literary  degree, 
even  the  lowest,  cannot  be  subjected 
to  corporeal  punishment  or  be  sum- 
moned before  the  inferior  tribunals 
like  other  subjects.  They  enjoy, 
indeed,  many  privileges  and  im- 
munities which  confer  personal 
distinction.  It  is  an  aristocracy  of 
letters,  from  which  in  theoiy  all 
holders  of  office  are  exclusively 
taken.  But  inasmuch  as  there  is 
nothing  invidious  in  a  distinction 
accorded  to  education  alone,  the 
means  of  acquiring  which  is  open 
BB  2 


846 


Ths^  Peking  Gazette.* 


[Marcli 


to  all,  there  can  be  no  sach  heart- 
burnings and  sense  of  injury  in  the 
popular  mind  as  we  see  exist  when 
a  privileged  class  in  other  countries 
monopolise  State  officesand  honours. 
Even  the  ignorant  and  uneducated 
do  not  contend  that  a  country  shotdd 
be  governed  by  men  of  that  class. 
There  is  a  general  if  not  universal 
feeling  that  only  the  intelligent  and 
the  most  capable  should  rule.     The 
old  Teuton  title  of  Koenig  or  King 
implied  this,  in  the  most  barbarous 
times.     The  least  intelligent  con- 
stituency are  persuaded  that  they 
can  only  be  fitly  represented  by 
educated    intelligence — by   reason 
and  superior  judgment — and  that 
only  the  possessors  of  these  can  be 
rightly  entrusted  with  the  guardian- 
ship of  the  State  and  authority  to 
rule.      In  China,  therefore,  it  is 
apparent  that  their  theory  of  selec- 
tion for  posts  of  authority  and  office, 
generally  through  personal  quali- 
fications alone,   to  be  determined 
by  competitive  or    searching    ex- 
amination, tends  to  stimulate  the 
entire  nation  in  this  direction.     The 
poorest  cotter  or  working  man  will 
make  great    sacrifices  to  give  at 
least  one  of  his  sons  an  education 
which  may  enable  him  to  compete 
for  literary  honours.     And  he  re- 
mains contented  in  his  ovm  humble 
sphere,  knowing  that  the  path  of 
advancement  and  honour  is  open  to 
his  progeny — as  open  to  them  as  to 
the  eldest  son  of  the  first  Minister 
of  State.     It  is  difficult,  perhaps, 
adequately  to  measure  how  widely 
and   profoundly  this   sentiment  of 
equality,   in  the  best  and   largest 
sense  of  the  term,   influences  the 
whole  nation,  and  gives  to  every 
subject  of  the  Empire  an  interest  in 
maintaining   the    existing  institu- 
tions.    Every  family  certainly  feels 
this    interest,    for  there  are    few 
indeed  which  cannot  point  to  an 
ancestor    who  has    held  office  or 
achieved    distinction  ;  or,   if  there 
be  no  such  descended  honour,  which 
has  not  some  son,  brother,  or  other 


connection,  about  to  try  their  forfcane 
in  the  examinations,  animated  wiUi 
a  sanguine  hope  of  success.    And  it 
is  a  remarkable  illustration  of  the 
general  indisposition  to  make  any 
fundamental  change  in  the  exutmg 
order    of   things — of   which   thia 
principle  is  the  comer-stone,  giving 
strength  and  stability  to  the  whole 
edifice, — ^that  during  the  great  Tai- 
ping  insurrection,  which  for  so  many 
years  convulsed  and  devastated  the 
provinces,     scarcely    an    instance 
occurred  of  an  educated  man  join- 
ing the  ranks  of  the   Insni^;ents. 
Although  they    counted  hundreds 
of  thousands  among  their  soldiers 
and  followers,  these   were  exclu- 
sively drawn  from  the  very  poorest 
and    chiefly  from    the    dangerous 
classes  which  exist  in  all  cities  and 
towns — ^men  alreadyin  a  stateof  out- 
lawry or  hostility  to  society.     Had 
any  considerable  following  of  the 
educated  been  at  any  time  secured, 
the  issue  would  in  all  probability 
have  been  very  difierent. 

A  principle  of  selection,  founded 
on  a  basis  so  thoroughly  popular 
and  democratic,  the  avowed  object 
of  which  is  to  secure  education  and 
cultivated  intelligence  in  all  the 
servante  of  the  State,  to  the  utter 
exclusion  of  ignorance,  may  well 
claim  respect  after  having  stood 
such  a  test  as  this  Taiping  rebellion. 
It  has  retained  through  some  twelve 
centuries  the  admiration  and  ad- 
hesion of  a  larger  nation  than 
exists  elsewhere  in  the  whole  world 
under  one  head,  with  a  common 
language,  origin,  and  religion.  Sncb 
a  result  is  the  more  remarkable, 
moreover,  when  we  rexn^nber  that 
in  this  period  there  have  been  many 
changes  of  dynasty  —  many  and 
long-protracted  insurrections,  re- 
bellions, and  civil  wars  ;  but  no 
change  in  this  one  institution,  nor 
any  very  fundamental  changes  in 
any  other.  Ite  vitality  and  stabiKty 
have  further  withstood  all  the  disin- 
tegrating and  corroding  influence 
of  the  most  manifest  abuses  in  the 


1878] 


The' Peking  Gazette: 


317 


genera]  administration  of  the  Em- 
pire.    Offices  and  distinctions  sold 
openlj  in  direct  yiolation  of   its 
leading  principle — ^bribery,  corrup- 
tion,  and    misrule  in  a    hundred 
forms ;  all  have  failed  to  make  any 
perceptible  impression.     And  thus, 
notwithstanding  all  the  predictions 
and  vaticinationB  of  foreign  observers 
as  to  the  obvious  effeteness  of  the 
whole  Imperial  system,  I  venture 
to  think,  unless  foreign  disorganis- 
ing and   destroying   elements  are 
brought  to  bear,  that  China  may  yet 
survive  for  an  indefinite  period,  far 
exceeding  the  usual  term  of  Western 
communities   and  kingdoms,  as  it 
has   in   the  past.     How  much  of 
this    stability    and    enduring   vi- 
tality may  be  fairly  attributed  to 
this  one  among  many  causes   of 
permanence  and  unchangeableness, 
I    will    not    pretend    to    decide. 
Among  these  causes  I  would  only 
enumerate  a  certain  tendency  of  all 
Asiatic  races  in  various  degrees  to 
immovability  and  an  indisposition  to 
change.     Best,  repose,  and  fixity  of 
tenure,  with  a  dreamy  contempla- 
tive mode  of  existence  for  an  ulti- 
mate end,  all  specially  recommend 
themselves    to    the  Asiatic  stock. 
The  spirit  of  enterprise  and  restless 
seeking  after  something  new  which 
most  distinguish  the  people  of  Eu- 
ropean race  are  as  a  rule  thoroughly 
hs^ful    to    an  Asiatic — ^from    the 
Turk  on  the  Bosphorus,  the  Hindoo 
on  the  Ganges,  or  the  Sons  of  Han 
on  the  banks  of  the  Yangtze.     As 
their  fathers  have  lived  before  them 
so  would  they  like  to  live,  striving 
for  and  desiring  nothing  better  or 
different — if  only  haply  they  might 
attain  by  constant  retrospection  as 
nearly  perfect  a  state.    No  doubt 
the  constant  contact  and  impulsive 
force  communicated    by   Western 
nations  in  their  eager  struggle  for 
trade  or  territory,  or  spiritual  and 
temporal  domination  beyond  their 
own  limits,  does  produce  a  certain 
commotion  even  among  the  lotus- 
eaters  on  the  banks  of  the  Nile. 


As  in  chemistry  the  mingling  of 
certain  decomposing  or  conflicting 
elements  will  produce  an  efferves- 
cent or  a  dissolvent  effect,  so  do  the 
ever-active,  never-resting  spirits  of 
Western  race  stir  up  and  break 
down  the  most  inert  of  the  Eastern 
empires — with  what  idtimate  result 
yet  remains  to  be  seen.  Something 
of  assimilation  in  character,  aims, 
and  religious  ideas  is  the  hope  of 
the  propagandists  and  civilisers, 
with  merchants  and  missionaries 
for  their  pioneers.  But  I  confess 
to  a  feeling  of  doubt  as  to  the  success 
of  any  efforts  now  making  in  that 
direction.  A  modtis  vivendi  may  be 
established,  and  a  certain  wearing- 
down  of  the  sharper  angles  and 
lines  of  separation  may  in  time  be 
achieved.  More  than  this,  either  in 
the  present  or  many  successive 
generations,  seems  to  be  if  not  im- 
possible, to  the  last  degree  impro- 
bable as  regards  China,  by  any 
methods  now  in  use. 

It  is  not  often  that  data  of  a 
statistical  or  financial  character 
appear  in  the  Gazette,  On  the 
collection  of  taxes  and  their  appro- 
priation to  public  purposes,  showing 
either  the  total  amount  levied  in. 
each  province,  or  the  proportioni 
annually  sent  to  Peking  for  the-^ 
current  expenses  of  the  Court,  and 
as  a  reserve  against  great  emer- 
gencies, the  most  painstaking  reader 
will  search  in  vain  for  available 
information.  Here  and  there  a 
memorial  or  a  decree  touches  upon 
the  subject  of  finance  and  fiscal 
administration  in  the  provinces. 
But  such  notices  generally  refer  to 
some  alarming  deficiency  or  great 
defaulter,  and  show  plainly  the 
absence  of  any  general  audit  at 
Peking  or  efficient  control  exercised 
from  thence  over  the  system  of 
taxation  in  the  Empire  and  the  fiscal 
administration  generally.  Both  are 
in  the  hands  of  mutually  indepen- 
dent provincial  governments,  equally 
without  central  control  or  direct 
responsibility.     Taxation,  revenue. 


348 


The  '  Teking  OazetteJ 


P^larch 


ezpendittire,  these  three  cardinal 
elements  of  all  systematic  gorem- 
ment,  are  left  withoat  any  supreme 
direction  from  the  head  of  the  State 
or  the  Six  Boards  at  Peking — ^which 
are  supposed  to  take  cognisance  of 
all  national  concerns  in  so  many 
departments.  Hence  arises  a  want 
of  unity  and  of  all  power  of  concentra- 
tion or  combination  when  any  great 
national  object  is  to  be  attained. 
Such  for  example  as  the  embank- 
ment of  the  Yellow  River ;  the  re- 
pairs of  the  Grand  Canal;  the 
suppression  of  a  rebellion,  or  the 
defence  of  the  Empire  against  a 
foreign  enemy.  Each  province  of 
the  eighteen  constituting  China 
proper,  is  isolated  in  its  administra- 
tion. And  each  is  left,  as  a  rule, 
single-handed  to  deal  with  what- 
ever disasters  or  difficulties  may 
arise  within  its  limits,  even  although 
these  may  be  such  as  to  involve 
both  national  and  Imperial  interests, 
^o  it  was  in  the  beginning  of  the 
^  great  Taiping  rebellion,  which  so 
nearly  put  an  end  to  the  present 
dynasty,  and  for  nearly  twenty 
years  devastated  all  the  wealthiest 
and  fairest  provinces  of  the  Empire. 
It  was  long  before  the  magnitude  of 
the  peril  led  to  some  departure 
from  this  theoretic  basis  of  inde- 
pendent provincial  government. 
-  And  even  to  the  last  only  very  par- 
tial and  imperfect  efforts  were 
made  to  concentrate  all  the  power 
•«nd  resources  of  the  Empire,  and 
by  combined  operations  stamp  out 
the  fire.  All  this  tended  to  show 
how  disjointed  and  ineffective  was 
itbe  State  m^hinery;  and  the  ab- 
sence of  any  adequate  directing  and 
controlling  power  at  the  centre. 
The  Emperor  can  undoubtedly  send 
his  orders  to  each  of  the  eighteen 
provinces,  and  the  several  Viceroys 
and  Governors  are  bound  by  their 
tenure  of  office  to  render  implicit 
obedience.  But  when  it  comes  to 
be  a  question  of  combination  and 
concentration  for  a  common  object, 
all  efforts  in  this  direction  seem  in- 


variably to  break  down — ^partiy 
from  provincial  jealousies  ;  rivalries 
among  so  many  Viceroys,  Tartar 
Generals  and  Governors — all  high 
officials  exercising  large  and  some- 
times conflicting  powers; — ^partly 
also,  if  not  chiefly,  from  the  want 
of  any  solidarity  between  the  differ- 
ent provinces.  They  might  be  differ- 
ent kingdoms  for  any  recognition 
that  can  be  discerned  of  community 
of  interests  as  integi*al  parts  of  one 
empire  and  one  nation.  Why  one 
province  should  be  drained  of 
its  resources  and  impoverished 
because  another  on  their  borders 
needs  help,  never  clearly  appears  to 
the  administration  appealed  to. 
Possibly  there  may  be  a  suggestion 
that  the  neighbour  is  in  need  only 
from  some  great  incompetence  or 
malversation  on  the  part  of  those 
responsible  for  its  administration 
and  good  government.  Again,  each 
Governor-General  has  the  supreme 
command  of  all  the  armed  force  of 
his  province.  All  being  localised 
and  raised  within  its  borders  as  a 
kind  of  militia  rather  than  a  r^nlar 
portion  of  an  Imperial  army,  and 
paid  for  out  of  the  provincial 
treasury,  it  is  easy  to  understand 
how  personal  ambitions  and  rival* 
lies  should  often  create  insuperable 
obstacles  to  any  combined  strategy 
or  unity  of  plan.  To  make  oostlj 
efforta  in  men  and  money,  and  under- 
take grave  responsibilities  in  harass- 
ing or  frustrating  movements  by 
which  some  high  officer  in  another 
province  may  reap  all  the  glory  of 
a  victory  and  eclipse  all  rival  mag- 
nates in  personflJ  distinction  and 
power,  does  not  usually  commend 
itself  to  the  Chinese  mind  as  a  wise 
policy. 

The  Chinese  Empire,  it  will  thus 
be  seen,  is  no  better  than  a  kM»e 
confederation  of  eighteen  vast  States 
—  theoretically  amenable  to  a 
central  authority  vested  in  the 
Emperor — ^but,  practically,  soM- 
cientlv  independent  to  paralyse  all 
combmed    action.       They    are    all 


1878] 


The  ^Peking  Gazette: 


349 


more  or  less  isolated  from  eacli 
other  and  the  capital,  bj  separate 
interests  and  objects  of  desire,  both 
popular  and  administrative.  The 
whole  system  and  machinery  of  go- 
▼emment  tend  to  favour  this  want  of 
cohesion  and  solidarity.  A  total 
change  in  both  wonld  be  required 
to  give  real  centralisation,  or  any 
effective  control  and  unify  of  direc- 
tion to  the  central  power,  l^ot 
only  are  the  resources  of  the  country 
very  partially  called  out  and  very 
ill  applied,  but  so  far  as  they  are 
devcdoped,  they  are  in  great  de- 
gree wasted  by  a  vicious  system  of 
taxation  and  a  still  more  vicious 
collectorate.  The  universaHty  of 
bribery  and  corruption,  to  the  pro- 
fit of  grasping  officials,  ruins  the 
country  and  gives  it  up  to  pillage. 
The  armies  are  badly  paid  and  al- 
ways in  arrear.  The  whole  civil 
serrioe  is  maintained  upon  merely 
nominal  salaries  and  starvation 
allowances.  Frequent  mutinies  and 
insurrections  naturally  follow,  while 
peculation  and  merely  perfunctory 
service  render  all  energetic  action  to 
arrest  such  evils  impossible. 

In  many  districts,  some  unfor- 
tunately in  which  Treaty  Ports  are 
situated,  as  at  Formosa  and  between 
C?haoa-chow-foo  and  Swatow,  the 
authorities  are  openly  set  at  defiance 
by  associated  communities ;  and  it 
is  notorious  that  in  the  latter,  com- 
prehending a  wide  sweep  of  terri- 
toiy  and  a  large  population,  no 
warrant  can  be  executed.  No  tax- 
gatherer  dare  show  his  face;  and 
if  the  Viceroy  ever  ventures  to  send 
troops,  they  are  either  ignomi- 
nionsly  defeated,  or  by  the  aid  of 
bribery  and  treachery  combined, 
they  obtain  some  prisoners,  perhaps 
surprise  a  village,  and  then  return 
and  report  that  the  district  has 
been  reduced  to  order ! 

It  was  in  this  locality  that  the 
affair  of  the  Cockchafer'a  boats  oc- 
corred  in  1869,  which  created  so 
mxich  anxious  and  angry  comment 
in  £ngland,  when  the  Commodore 


on  the  station  took  the  matter  into 
his  own  hands  after  the  boats  had 
been  fired  on.  A  few  hours  sufficed 
to  teach  these  half-piratic  villages 
the  danger  of  molesting  foreigners, 
even  though  the  Chinese  authori- 
ties were  powerless.  And  they  have 
respected  them  accordingly,  andbeen 
on  their  good  behaviour  ever  since. 
In  such  a  state  of  affairs,  and  in  a 
country  beyond  the  control  of  any 
central  power,  the  strict  applica- 
tion of  the  International  laws  ob- 
served between  European  States 
could  only  end  in  disaster  and 
another  war  of  redress.  A 
certain  range  of  discretionary 
power  must  be  held  inseparable 
from  such  an  office  as  that  of 
Foreign  Representative  in  Peking 
— ^if  not  in  all  Eastern  countries — 
and  provided  the  exercise  of  any 
power  beyond  that  contemplated 
by  the  formal  instructions  be  strictly 
regarded  as  involving  personal  re- 
sponsibility, and  the  necessity  for 
justification,  there  is  little  danger 
of  abuse.  Judging  from  much  in 
the  past,  what  danger  there  may 
be  would  seem  rather  to  be  in  the 
opposite  direction.  The  respon- 
sibility of  abstaining  from  action, 
with  all  its  attendant  anxieties, 
when  a  Minister's  instructions  en- 
join abstinence  as  the  rule,  is  al- 
ways less  than  must  be  incurred 
by  the  opposite  course, — ^however 
ample  the  justification  which  the 
urgency  of  the  danger  or  the  un- 
foreseen nature  of  the  circumstances 
might  afford.  In  China,  more  espe- 
cially, this  has  been  felt  of  late 
years  to  be  the  one  great  difficulty. 
How  to  reconcile  a  policy  of  absolute 
abstinence  from  all  local  action  in 
seeking  redress,  with  the  necessity 
of  securing  as  the  corresponding 
obligation  the  strict  observance  of 
Treaty  rights  ? 

Here  is  a  Gazette  which  concerns 
the  army  and  its  administration— 
with  some  very  significant  revela- 
tions as  to  the  absence  of  all  pro- 
bity in  the  higher  ranks. 


350 


The  '  Pehifig  Oazette: 


[Maic\i 


Li^ho-nieUf  Goyemor  of  Honan, 
denonnces  a  General,  who,  he  re- 
questa,  may  be  stripped  of  his  rank, 
because  he  ought  to  have  led  5,000 
men  against  the  rebels,  btit  only 
had  3,000,  appropriating  to  himself 
the  pay  of  the  other  2,000.  This, 
it  appears,  is  a  common  case,  but  we 
must  in  justice  admit  sach  pecula- 
tion is  by  no  means  pecoliar  to 
China.  We  have  heard  of  similar 
falsifications  of  army  returns  but 
very  lately  in  countries  nearer  home. 

A  little  further  on  we  come  upon 
a  report  from  Tseng-Jcivo-fan,  a 
Governor- General  of  two  provinces, 
who  has  already  been  introduced 
to  the  readers  of  this  journal 
among  the  Chinese  Statesmen  as 
the  writer  of  an  important  memo- 
rial on  the  revision  of  foreign 
Treaties.  He  announces  that  the 
money  in  the  province  of  Hunan 
not  beiug  sufficient  to  pay  the 
trained  bands,  the  latter  rebelled 
and  slew  their  officers  ;  and  reports 
that  he  has  investigated  the  case 
and  put  to  death  the  offenders.  The 
beheading  of  a  number  of  men 
may  be  taken  for  granted.  Whether 
guilty  or  innocent, — the  chief  of- 
fenders or  only  accessories  or  in- 
struments, is  not  so  clear.  But  he 
does  not  state  that  he  had  investi- 
gated the  first  causes  of  this  de- 
ficiency of  funds,  and  non-payment 
of  troops  which  led  to  the  mutiny. 
That  might  have  opened  a  wide 
field  for  denunciation  and  judg- 
ment, not  free  from  danger  to  any 
official  entering  upon  it, — since  all 
into  whose  pocketis  the  money  had 
gone  which  should  have  found  its 
way  to  the  mihtary  chest  and  the 
soldier,  would  have  been  his  foes  in 
self-defence — and  their  name  would 
be  legion. 

Peculating  commanders  and  cow- 
ardly and  incompetent  officers  were 
not  the  only  difficulties  the  Govern- 
ment at  Peking  had  to  contend 
agamst  in  their  efforts  to  put  down 
the  Nien-feif  the  name  by  which 
the  rebels  or  brig^ands  in  the  last 


great    insurrection    in   the  North 
were  distinguished.     The  report  of 
another   Censor  shows  that  those 
in  command  of  Imperial  troops  were 
sometimes  on  much  too  good  terms 
with  the  common  enemy,  and  took 
care  not  to  inflict  too  much  damage 
on  each  other  by  any  serious  on- 
slaughts.    As  long  as  the  country 
was  not    utterly    exhausted,  each 
party  made  a  good  thing  of  it,  and 
had  no  desire  to  see  t£e  struggle 
come  to  an  end — a  state  of  things 
vividly  recalling  the  wars  in  Italy 
in  the  middle  ages,  when  battles 
were  chiefly  fought  by  Free  corps 
and  foreign  mercenaries,   and  the 
tactics  on  both  sides  tended  to  pro- 
long,  not    to  terminate  the  cam- 
paigns.    As  a  rule    the    Imperial 
General  in  China  would  draw  pay 
from  the  provincial  treasuries  for 
twice  as  many  men  as  he  ever  took 
into  the  field  or  had  under  arms. 
Living  in  the  meanwhile  at  free 
quartera  with   those  he  had,  and 
paying  for  nothing,  there  was  little 
to  choose  between  rebels  and  Im- 
f)erialists.     As  far  as  the  unhappy 
inhabitants  were  concerned,   both 
parties  were  equally  ruthless  and 
unscrupulous — plundering  the  vil- 
lages and  sacking  the  tovms,  and 
then  setting  fire  to  them  as  a  means 
of  destroying  all  evidence  of  their 
marauding.     How  amicably    such 
matters  were  often  arranged  by  the 
two  contending  forees  may  be  seen 
by  the  following   Censor* s   report 
which  appeared  in  the  Gazette  : — 

*At  Chia-hsing-fu  in  Chekianga 
high  officer  has  been  on  constant 
good  terms  with  the  rebels ;  so  mach 
so  that  his  son  took  to  wife  a  ladj 
from  among  the  insurgents,  and  the 
officer's  daughter  was  given  in 
marriage  to  a  rebel  chief.  More- 
over when  any  danger  threatened 
the  rebels  this  officer  invariably  lei 
them  know  beforehand.'  The  Cen- 
sor goes  on  to  observe  tliat  this  is 
'a  most  undesirable  kind  of  offi- 
cial,' and  prays  '  that  the  Governor- 
General  may  seareh  into  the  facts 


1873] 


TJte  'Peking  Oazetle: 


351 


of  the  case.'  Wiih  sacli  arrange- 
ments we  need  not  wonder  that  civil 
wars,  ¥rith  Taipings,  Nien-fei,  and 
Mohammedans,  are  interminable. 

If  we  torn  to  the  Qazette  for 
evidence  of  the  state  of  the  civil 
admizustration  of  the  Empire  the 
information  obtained  is  not  more 
cheering. 

Many  telling  examples  of  malver- 
sation and  general  prevalence  of 
dishonestv  and  corruption  in  the 
public  offices  may  be  gleaned  from 
any  file  of  Gazettes  stretching  over 
a, few  months.  Here  is  one,  for 
example. 

A  Censor  announces  to  his  Imperial 
Majesty  the  result  of  the  investiga- 
tion of  the  state  of  the  granaries, 
lately  ordered.  A  deficiency  of  rice 
was  found  of  25,380  bushels.  The 
clerks  and  lower  officials  are  sent 
to  the  Board  of  Punishments,  and 
the  case  of  the  Superintendent  is  to 
be  considered  by  the  same  Board. 
The  whole  number,  from  the  highest 
to  the  lowest,  are  in  the  meantime 
to  make  good  the  deficiencies. 

The  amount  of  corruption  and 
fraud  going  on  in  all  the  depart- 
ments, and  more  especially  perhaps 
in  these  granaries,  in  which  are 
stored  the  reserves  for  the  capital, 
is  great  and  unceasing.  Holding 
every  official  responsible  for  the 
deficiency  and  compelling  them  to 
make  it  good,  has  a  sort  of  rough 
justice  in  it.  But  unless  eveiy  one, 
high  and  low,  participated  in  the 
ofience  by  acts  of  omission  or  com- 
mission, it'  must  bear  hardly  on 
some  who  may  be  innocent.  Per- 
haps the  Government  knows  too 
well  that  there  are  no  such  persons 
connected  with  any  public  charge  in 
China.  But  it  takes  away  a  strong 
motive  for  honesty,  if  it  cannot  se- 
cure immunity.  Certainly  bribery 
and  cxnrraption  are  the  rule,  and 
honesty  the  exception.  The  other 
day  a  large  deficit  was  discovered 
in  the  treasury  of  the  Palace  itself. 
Ingots  of  gold  and  silver  to  a  large 
amount  had  been  removed. 


To  return  to  the  rice :  we  find 
somewhat  further  on,  that  the  Board 
of  Bevenue  pray  the  prohibition 
formerly  existing  against  the  trans- 
port of  rice  from  one  port  to  an- 
other in  junks  may  be  taken  ofi* — 
rice  being  cheap  in  the  south  and 
dear  in  the  north.  And  the  follow- 
ing day  the  officers  appointed  to 
investigate  the  dilapidated  state  of 
public  granaries  send  in  their  re- 
port, which  states  that  the  House- 
hold Board  complain  that  the  supply 
of  rice  for  the  Imperial  fiunily  is 
insufficient. 

The  rice  supply  is  a  large  questiou 
and  an  important  one  for  Peking. 
Not  only  does  the  population  draw 
its  whole  supply  from  the  southern 
provinces — millet  and  Indian  corn 
alone  being  grown  in  the  vast  plains 
surrounding  the  capital — but  the 
Grand  Canal  having  been  allowed 
to  get  out  of  repair,  the  fleet  of 
grain  junks  employed  in  the  trans- 
port of  grain  have  become  useless,, 
and  the  supply  has  been  brought 
by  sea,  latterly  by  foreign  steamers,  as 
cheaper  in  the  end,  as  well  as  more 
swift  and  certain.  The  amount  of 
deterioration  and  robbery  to  which 
the  Government  was  subject  while 
the  rice  tribute  was  en  rouUy  and  as 
it  was  being  stored  in  the  granaries^ 
and  afterwards  as  long  as  any  re- 
mained to  be  pillaged,  might  well 
cause  a  deficiency  for  the  Imperial 
family — which,  however,  means,  no 
doubt,  for  the  whole  Court  and  the 
Bannermen,  who  are  paid  in  rice, 
and  short  paid  as  a  rule.  The 
wretched  and  dilapidated  state  of 
the  granary  buildings  are  but  apt 
types  of  the  dilapidation  and  malver- 
sation within.  A  short  residence  iu 
China  is  enough  to  carry  conviction 
that  it  is  worth  any  pecuniary 
sacrifice  in  the  way  of  liberal  sala- 
ries to  ensure  honesty.  Without 
this  the  best  devised  system  of  go- 
vernment and  administration  comes 
to  a  dead  lock,  and  all  the  resources 
of  an  empire  run  to  waste  and  con- 
fusion. 


352 


The  *  Peking  GjLzette: 


[Marcli 


We  have  seen  that  the  supply  of 
rice  for  the  maintenance  of  the 
Tartar  garrison,  the  Court,  and  the 
population  at  Peking,  is  a  constant 
source  of  anxiety,  not  so  much  from 
any  paucity  of  grain  or  means  of 
transport,  as  from  the  dishonesiy 
of  all  the  officials  concerned  in  its 
transport  and  storage.  This  is  a 
perennial  source  of  trouble.  Short 
weight  is  constantly  given,  and 
fraudulently  made-up  weight  by 
watering  the  rice  to  make  up  defi- 
ciencies by  robbery  is  perhaps  still 
more  common.  Then  again  the  sub- 
stitution of  inferior  qualities  for 
good,  frequently  is  connived  at. 
These  are  a  few  of  the  deteriora- 
tions to  which  the  Imperial  grain 
is  subject,  both  on  its  way  to  Pe- 
king and  in  the  granaries  there 
when  stored  for  use.  Of  course  the 
rice  when  damped  begins  to  fer- 
ment and  spoil.  Then  it  is  reported 
upon  and  condemned,  by  which  act 
all  defalcations  are  covered.  In  the 
end  the  food  supply  is  lost,  and  a 
number  of  officials,  high  and  low, 
have  managed  to  rob  the  revenue 
and  enrich  themselves  at  the  Go- 
vernment expense.  When  a  more 
serious  defect  than  usual  cannot  be 
adequately  met  by  qualified  mea- 
sures of  this  nature,  it  is  shrewdly 
suspected  that  an  opportune  con- 
flagration and  total  destruction  of 
one  or  two  blocks  of  granaries, 
situated  along  the  banks  of  the 
canal  at  Peking,  may  make  all 
straight,  besides  otherwise  benefit- 
ing trade,  to  the  encouragement  of 
contractors,  builders,  Ac.  These 
are  only  some  among  the  minor 
mischiefs  resulting  from  a  universal 
state  of  disorder  and  want  of  honesty 
in  all  the  departments  of  the  State, 
civil  and  military.  Wherever  loy- 
alty and  patriotism  have  no  place 
in  the  popular  mind,  and  the  public 
service  of  a  country  ceases  to  afford 
means  of  subsistence  adequate  to 
the  position  which  the  employes  are 
expected  to  maintain,  corruption 
and  peculation  are  the  invariable 


consequences,  and  honesty  ceases  to 
be  a  qualification  for  office.    When 
such  a  state  of  things  has  been  ar- 
rived at,  no  virtues  civil  or  military 
can  be  expected  long  to  survive.  In 
some  instances,  as  in  ancient  Rome, 
and    the     more    warlike    Eastern 
Empires  —  Assyrians,   Medea,  and 
Persians — ^the  military  virtues  have 
survived  a  certain  period,  and  snf- 
ficed  to  uphold  the  power  of  the 
State,  and  even  to  crown  it  with  an 
evanescent  glory  of  conquest  and 
pride.  But  sooner  or  later,  wanting 
in  any  solid  foundation  of  national 
virtue,  the  whole  crumbles  in  the 
dust.     After  a   longer  or  shorter 
interval  of  disaster  and  decadence, 
another  and  a  better  organisai^on 
may  arise ;  but  the  Modes  and  Per- 
sians, or  the  peoples  that  now  repre- 
sent them,  are  not  hopeful  examples. 
In  the  present  case  it  becomes  a 
curious  question  how  long  a  great 
empire,  with  such  a  population  as 
China  is  known  to  possess,  can  be 
maintained  under  such  conditions 
of  misrule  and  disorganisation.    It 
has  been  very  truly  observed  that  it 
IS  not  by  accident  that  floods  and 
pestilence  have  hitherto  marked  in 
China  the  downfall   of    djmasties. 
When    considering    the     injurious 
effects  of  an  insufficiently  paid  pub- 
lic service,  it  is  necessary  to  carry 
our  view  beyond  the  more  imme- 
diate consequences — want  of   zeal 
and  honesty  in  the  servant,  and  mal- 
administration both  in  matters  fiscal 
and  judicial,  which  are  tlie  first  evil 
effects  upon  the  people — to  the  ul- 
terior and  reflex  action    of  these 
abuses.     A  striking  example  of  this 
was  given  a  short  time  ago  in  the 
report  of  a  trial  by  jury  which  took 
place  in  Italy ;  where  a  receiver  of 
Customs'  dues  appeared  before  the 
Court  of  Assize  at  Udine,  charged 
with  having  defrauded  the  Govern- 
ment of  several  thousand   francs. 
There  was  no  doubt,  vre  are  told, 
about  the  fraud — ^nor  did  the  ac- 
cused deny  it,but  pleaded  distress  and 
his  intention  to  restore  the  monej 


1873] 


The  '  Peking  Gazette: 


353 


as  soon  as  he  should  be  able.    His 
connsel  contented  himself  with  at- 
tacking the  admimstrative  system 
of  the  kingdom,  which  he  declared 
had  driven  the  prisoner  at  the  bar 
to  the  necessity  of  committing  the 
crime.    Apparently,  as  we  are  told 
by  the  correspondent  of  the.  Times^ 
who  gives  these    details,   he   con- 
vinced the  jury  of  the  culpability 
of  the   system,   for  the  fraudulent 
fimctionaiy  was  acquitted.      Pre- 
cisely such  a  verdict  might  be  ex- 
pected in   China  if  their  jurispru- 
dence admitted  of  trial  by  jury.   So 
convinced  are  the  Chinese  people  of 
the  impossibility  of  obtaining  honest 
and  efficient  service  with  salaries 
that  do  not  supply  the  necessary 
means  of  existence,  that  they  think 
it  no  discredit  to  an  official  if  he 
pays    himself   from    public  funds 
or  taxes  which  he  collects,  or  accepts 
fees  and  douceurs  in  the  discharge 
of  his  duties.   In  a  word,  peculation 
within  certain  bounds,  and  not  in- 
volving    inordinate    hardship     or 
wrong  on  individuals,  is  not  con- 
sidered a  punishable  offence.     They 
do    not   so  much    object,    as    the 
late    Consul    Meadows    truly    re- 
marked   in  his   Origiiwl  Notes,  to 
magistrates  and  other  officials  sell- 
ing justice,  and  making  the  clients 
pay  for  it  in  various  degrees.    They 
only  protest  when  he  sells  injustic-e, 
end  gives  for  pecuniary  considera- 
tions an  iniquitous  or  unrighteous 
deciaion.     Justice  they  would  wil- 
lingly enough  purchase  by  a  some- 
what   slippery   scale   of  fees  and 
bribes.     Thus  there  enters  into  the 
popnlar  mind  a  tolerance  for  bri- 
bery, corruption,  and  peculation  in 
ilie  abstract,  which  saps  the  foun- 
dation of  all  moral  principle  as  re^ 
gards  truth  and  honesty,  demoral- 
ising alike  to  rulers  and  subjects. 
How  this  operates  with  the  former 
we  have  an  instance  in  the  following 
GazeUe, 

It  reads  only  as  a  simple  an- 
nonncement,  that  one  ^Chiang-yuliy 
fonnerly  Governor  of  Kwantnng, 


is  ordcnred  to  be  Chief  Judge  in 
Shansi.'  But  supplementing  this 
with  information  otherwise  ac- 
quired, and  known  to  hundreds,  if 
not  thousands,  that  this  said  Chiang- 
yi-li  at  a  previous  date  had  been 
degraded  for  embezzlement,  it  is 
conclusive  evidence  that  this  is  no 
disqualification  for  a  Judge  in 
China,  to  whom  is  confided  .  the 
administration  of  the  law  over  wide 
districts  numbering  their  inhabi- 
tants by  millions,  and  whose  liberty, 
as  well  as  lives  and  property,  are  at 
his  mercy.  Kthis  great  and  nearly 
irresponsible  power  is  too  oppres* 
sively  abused,  an  insurrection  be- 
comes the  only  resource  of  the 
oppressed.  A  magistrate's  yamen 
is  pillaged  or  pulled  down,  and  its 
occupant,  if  he  has  not  escaped 
before  the  mob  reaches  his  resi- 
dence, is  lynched  on  the  spot.  A 
despotism,  tempered  by  insurrec- 
tion, is  not  altqfj^ther  the  best  go- 
vernment that  can  be  conceived 
even  for  an  Asiatic  race.  Such, 
however,  has  been  the  established 
order  of  society  throughout  Asia 
from  the  beginning,  and  still  con- 
tinues to  be  the  prevailing  system. 

Several  memorials  and  decrees 
have  been  given  already,  affi)rd- 
ing  curious  and  undoubted  evi- 
dence of  the  general  disorder  into 
which  the  Empire  has  fallen,  and 
the  all  but  univei-sal  prevalence  of 
corruption  and  malversation  in 
every  form,  extending  their  baneful 
influence  through  every  service  and 
department.  Before  proceeding  to 
analyse  such  evidence  as  the  Oazette 
supplies  in  reference  to  those  at 
least  of  the  more  prevailing  causes 
of  this  deplorable  state  of  deoEMlence, 
it  may  be  well  to  give  a  few  more 
examples,  throwing  light  on  the 
administration  of  justice,  the  work- 
ing of  the  fiscal  system,  and  the 
reaction  of  the  abuses  in  both 
upon  the  social  and  moral  habits  of 
the  people. 

The  Yellow  River  has  firom  time 
inunemorial  been  a  source  of  trouble 


354 


The 'Peking  Gazetu: 


[Marcb 


and  anxiety  io  tbe  rulers  and  people 
of  China  alike.  This  has  gained  for  it 
in  popular  estimation  a  very  poetical 
title  in  allusion  to  its  firequentlj  re- 
curring inundations, — ^its  migratory 
habits  often  changing  its  course, 
and  spreading  devastation  far  and 
wide.  *  China's  Sorrow,*  is  the 
common  name  given  to  it,  and  well 
it  seems  to  have  earned  it  both  in 
past  and  present  times.  Formerly, 
however,  some  of  the  most  energetic 
of  the  Emperors  devoted  much  care 
and  attention  to  the  measures  ne- 
cessary to  embank  and  keep  it 
within  bounds ;  whereas  now  these 
works  have  shared  in  the  general 
ruin.  Certain  dues  or  taxes  are  set 
aside  by  law  to  meet  the  ever-recur- 
ring expenses  necessary  to  keep  in 
repair  the  vast  embankments,  and 
special  officers  of  high  rank  are  ap- 
pointod  whose  sole  duty  is  to  seek 
the  proper  application  of  such  funds. 
But  the  old  Roman  difficulty  has 
arisen  —  *  Quis  custodiet  custodes  ? ' 
and  as  a  matter  of  course,  a  very 
small  proportion  is  expended  on  the 
embankments.  Great  disasters  are 
constantly  occurring  from  want  of 
repairs,  and  then  there  appears  an 
equally  sweeping  condemnation  of 
all  the  officials  of  the  province,  in 
the  Gazette,  of  which  the  following 
may  serve  as  a  specimen : — 

*Su-ting-kwei,  Governor- General 
and  Superintendent  of  the  Yellow 
Eiver,  denounces,  and  requests  to 
be  stripped  of  rank,  every  official, 
civil  and  military,  at  Shanguan,  in 
Honan,  for  allowing  the  river  there 
to  burst  its  banks  and  overflow  the 
country.* 

By  the  latest  news  from  China 
we  hear  of  very  disastrous  floods  in 
Pecheli,  the  province  in  which 
Peking  is  situated,  from  the  giving 
way  of  the  embankments  of  the 
Yung  -  tifi^  -  ho,  a  river  running 
through  the  province  into  the  Gulf 
of  Pecheli,  but  far  north  of  the 
Yellow  River.  These  floods  have 
destroyed  the  means  of  living  of  a 
large  population,  thee  Sects  of  which 


will  be  felt  far  beyond  the  imme- 
diate scene  of  disaster.     Now,  as 
heretofore,  however,  there  is  Uttle 
hope  of  any  serious  attempt  to  in- 
vestigate the  real  origin  or  the  ex- 
tent of  the  calamity.     This  want  of 
energy  in  the  central  Government 
in  redressing  the  evils  under  which 
the  Empire  groans,  and  faQure  to 
take  efiective  steps  of  a  preventive 
nature  to  avert  these  periodical  and 
devastating  floods,  fraught  with  ruin 
to  so  many  millions,  tend  more  to 
undermioe  the  stability  of  the  cen- 
tral   Government,   and   bring   the 
present  dynasty  into  contempt,  than 
any  want  of  capacity  or  efficient 
action  in  other  directions.  The  Chi- 
nese as  a  nation  are  long-suffeiing 
and  patient,  besides  being  like  all 
Asiatics  fatalists  in  creed.     More 
than     this,    however,      they    are 
most  painstaking,  industrious,  and 
thriftv ;  and  like  all  people  so  dis- 
tinguished, they  are  a  peace-loving 
race.     So  long  as  there  is  a  mode- 
rate d^ree  of  security  for  life  and 
property,  they  manifest  a  degree  of 
tolerance  for  abuses  and  bad  go- 
vernment which  is  simply  marvel- 
lous.  For  this  reason  among  others, 
they  are  the  most  easily  governed 
of  nations.    A  small  modicum  of 
justice  and  wisdom  in  their  rulers 
will  sufficiently  leaven   the  whole 
corrupt    mass     of    administrative 
wrong-doing  to  keep    the    people 
quiescent.      But   nothing    can  be 
more  disheartening  than   the  un- 
practical spirit  with   which  these 
national    calamities     are     treated, 
unless  it  be  the  equally  apparent 
absence  of  all  true  sympathy  witk 
the  sufferings  of  the  people  on  the 
part  of  the   rulers,   whose  short- 
comings are  among  the  principal 
causes  of  both  floods  and  insurrec- 
tions which  so  incessantly  devastate 
the  country.     No  better   evidence 
can  be  required  tlian   the  Fekk^ 
Gazette,  of  the  truth  of  this  conclu- 
sion.    While  page  on  pageeach  week 
is  filled  with  nonsensical  and  absurd 
announcements,  great  disasters,  in- 


1873] 


TJie  'Feking  Gazette: 


855 


Tolving  the  lives  and  property  of 
tJiooBands,  and  the  means  of  snste- 
nanoe  for  millions,   are    carsorilj 
alluded  to  and  briefly   dismissed 
with   a  decree  of  degradation  on 
all   the    officials   of  the  province 
afflicted,  which,  if  often  deserved, 
has  nevertheless  no  snre  foundation 
of  justice  based  upon  enquiry  and 
conviction  of  real  neglect  or  inca- 
pacity.   The  Chinese  people  may 
sigh  in  vain  for  a  native  ruler  like 
Yii,  the  great  engineering  prince, 
who  first    embanked    the  Yellow 
River,  and  devised  means  for  pro- 
tecting   the    surrounding   country 
from  its  inundations.     But  in  his 
de&nlt»  is  there  any  reason  why  the 
Grovemment  should  not  have   re- 
course to  the  engineering  skill  and 
science  of  the  West?     The  utter 
inaptitude  of  all  who  influence  the 
conncfls  of  the  present  youthful 
occupant  of  the  throne  in  China  is 
nowhere  more  manifest  than  in  their 
impotent  tolerance  of  evils  so  disas- 
trous and  widespread,  and  their  sto- 
lid disregard  of  such  obvious  means 
ofprovidingaremedy.  Nor  can  they 
plead  ignorance  or  disbelief  of  the 
power  of  Western  nations  to  furnish 
them  with  means  adequate  to  their 
need.     The  prompt  and  thorough 
Dianner  in  which  they  have  availed 
themselves  of  European  skill  and 
science  to  create    naval    arsenals 
and  docks  and  iron  ships,  sufficiently 
demonstrates  the  hollo  wness  of  such 
a  plea  of  ijraorance  or  want  of  trust 
in  iJie  efficacy  of  European  agen- 
cies.     But  a    still  more  striking 
answer  is  to  be  found  in  the  foreign 
Inspectorate  of  the  Imperial  Mari- 
time Customs.    Nor  is  there  any- 
thin^^    more  curious,  or  more  in- 
structive,   than     the    origin    and 
j^rowth  of  this  establishment.    It 
was  some  twenty  vears  ago,  when 
all  Chinese  authontv  was  in  abey- 
ance ;    when   the    Custom   House 
bad  been  levelled  with  the  ground, 
and     the    Imperial    officers    were 
wholly  unable  either  to  collect  their 
dues  on  foreign  trade,  or  afford  it  the 
needfnl  protection — that  a  British 


consul  conceived  the  idea  of  pro- 
viding a  remedy  against  the  pre- 
vailing evils.  To  meet  the  first 
danger,  the  foundations  were  laid 
for  a  Municipal  Oovemment,  to  be 
entirely  maintained  by  the  foreign 
community,  for  defensive,  sanitary, 
and  police  purposes  geneially.  And 
for  tne  second  unadnunistration  of 
the  Customs  was  devised  for  levying 
duties  on  foreign  trade  under  a 
foreign  Inspectorate  sanctioned  by 
the  Treaty  Powers,  and  holding  at 
the  same  time  the  necessary  au- 
thority from  the  Imperial  Govern- 
ment. These  two  improvised  mea- 
sures originated  in  a  period  of 
danger  and  oonfasion,  but  they  not 
only  answered  their  immediate 
purpose,  but  have  taken  root  in 
the  soil  of  China.  They  are  now 
become  peroianent  institutions  of 
inestimable  value,  not  only  to  the 
ever-changing  European  population 
of  this  centre  of  foreign  trade — 
the  largest  indeed  after  Calcutta, 
east  of  the  Cape — ^bnt  to  China 
itsel£  The  Inspector-CFeneral,  Mr. 
Hart,  is  a  British  subject^  as  was 
his  predecessor,  and  all  the  prin- 
cipal posts  are  filled  under  him 
hy  foreigners  of  different  nationali- 
ties,  but  all,  the  Inspector-General 
inclusive,  are  the  paid  servants  of 
the  Chinese  Government,  appointed 
and  dismissed  by  them  at  their  own 
pleasure.  They  simply  import  into 
their  service  for  a  special  depart- 
ment those  elements  of  honesty- and 
vigour  which  could  not  be  obtained 
from  native  sources.  And  it  is  not 
the  least  of  the  recommendations  of 
the  system  that  it  works  with  equal 
advantage  to  the  Chinese  revenue 
and  the  foreign  trade. 

Nor  have  the  benefits  of  this  or- 
ganisation of  the  Customs  on  a 
foreign  foundation  been  limited  to 
the  more  immediate  results  above 
indicated.  Under  the  energetic  and 
intelligent  direction  of  the  present 
head  of  the  department,  all  the 
Treaty  Ports,  and  the  whole  line  of 
coast  from  Newchwang  to  Hainan, 
some   1,500  miles  in    extent^   are 


856 


The'PehmgOazeUe.' 


[March 


already  in  great  part  provided  with 
the  most  modem  appliances  of 
science  for  safe  navigation.  Light- 
ships, light-houses,  beacons,  and 
buoys  are  year  by  year  being  supplied 
at  great  cost,  and  on  the  most  en- 
lightened plans.  There  is  much  to 
amend,  no  doubt,  in  China.  The 
heart  is  sick  and  the  whole  head  is 
sore.  But  nevertheless  there  is  both 
strong  vitality  and  powers  of  coher- 
ence in  the  Empire. 

The  entire  system  is  at  fault 
which  places  an  officer  in  charge  of 
great  engineering  works  with  no 
better  training  than  the  four  books 
of  Confucius,  or  the  metaphysics 
of  Mencius  can  supply ;  and  the 
competitive  examination  for  office, 
of  which  we  have  heard  so  much 
laudation,  provides  nothing  better. 
With  utterly  insufficient  pay  and 
universal  corruption,  and  peculation 
as  a  necessary  consequence,  super- 
added to  the  primary  want  of  any 
rational  training  or  ^u  cation,  what 
wonder  is  it  that  all  public  works  fall 
into  decay,  and  all  public  ^nds  are 
misapplied  and  only  go  to  the  en- 
richment of  their  collectors  and  ad- 
ministrators, while  the  whole  Empire 
is  falling  into  a  state  of  decay,  a  prey 
to  chronic  insurrections  and  general 
disorder?  In  the  autumn  of  1868 
a  series  of  victories,  mainly  achieved 
hj'Li-Hmig'Chang's  crafty  combina- 
tions for  driving  the  main  body  of 
the  Nien-fei  into  a  peninsula  and 
then  drowning  them  by  turning  a 
river  course  and  inundating  the 
only  ground  they  could  occupy,  at 
last  gave  some  hope  of  rest  and 
peace.  But  five  years  have  now 
elapsed  and  still  no  sensible  pro- 
gress towards  improved  govern- 
ment can  be  discovered.  When 
LUHung-chang  announced,  in  a 
memorial  published  in  the  Gazette^ 
that  '  Ckang'tstmg-yii,  the  noted 
leader  of  the  Nien-fei,  did  reallj 
meet  his  death  by  drowning,'  His 
Majesty  published  in  the  Gazette 
that  he  was  •  exceedingly  rejoiced; ' 
as  well  he  might  be,  seeing  that  said 
Nien-feiy  as  he  observes,  *  had  been 


disturbing  Pecheli  and  the  neigh- 
bouring  provinces  for  seventeen 
years,  causing  much  loss  to  the 
people  thereby.'  But  sinoe  then 
there  have  been  other  risinge  in 
the  west  and  the  south;  and  in 
fine  an  unceasing  protest  against 
misruleand  incapacity,  in  the  stereo- 
typed form  of  insurrection  ever 
since. 

The  only  direction  in  which  any 
evidence  of  vigour  has  been  shown, 
as  already  remarked,  is  in  the  crea- 
tion of  dockyards  and  an  iron  fleets 
with  the  newest  improvements  in 
machinery  and  artillery.  This  or- 
ganisation  of  a  naval  force  capable 
of  engaging  and  offering  serious 
resistance  to  the  ironclad  fleets  of  a 
foreign  Power,  and  the  ready  adop- 
tion of  all  Western  improve- 
ments, and  foreigners  to  aid  in  the 
organisation,  is  an  important  fie^ct. 
A  writer  in  the  New  York  Timeg^ 
not  long  ago,  in  an  amusing  ariiole 
headed  'The  Test  of  Civilisation,' 
stoutly  contends  that  the  only  rea- 
son why  the  European  has  refused  to 
admit  \he  civilisation  of  the  China- 
man is  the  fact  that  when  engaged 
in  war  with  Western  nations  the 
Chinese  have  proved  scarcely  more 
formidable  than  the  timid  natives 
of  Australia  or  Polynesia.  He  goes 
on  with  a  grim  humour  to  ob- 
serve 

That  a  great  empire,  irith  almost  qb- 
limitod  f  ands,  and  an  enormous  number  of 
men  capable  of  bearing  arms,  of  irhose  in- 
dividual bravery  and  contempt  of  death 
there  is  abunduit  proof^  should  prove  so 
feeble  in  war,  has  convinced  their  enemies 
that  the  Chmese  are  little  better  than  naked 
barbarians.  Had  the  Chinese  beaten  Preoch 
and  English  troops  in  the  field,  there  would 
have  been  an  end  of  the  shallow  talk  of 
Chinese  semi-civilisation. 

Now  the  creation  of  a  powerful  ChineBO 
fleet,  propelled  by  steam,  protected  by 
armour,  and  provided  with  the  best 
European  arms,  handled  by  crews  drilled 
after  the  system  of  European  navies,  is  not 
only  a  step  that  will  go  far  toward  eon- 
vincing  Europeans  that  the  Chinese  ara 
civilisra,  but  is  a  matter  full  of  interestand 
importance  to  the  civiUsed  world.  The 
weakness  of  China  in  war  has  been  due 
solely  to  the  want  of  fleets  and  anaiet 


1878] 


The  'Peking  Ocaette.' 


357 


equal  in  drill  and  equipments  to  those  of 
her  adyersaries.  Since  she  has  shown  that 
fhd  appreciates  the  necessity  of  ezchacging 
the  jonk  for  the  ironclad,  we  may  expect 
to  Bee  the  archer  and  the  matchlodk-man  of 
the  Imperial  Army  superseded  by  infiantxy 
armed  with  breech-loaders,  and  artillery 
equipped  with  rifled  cannon.  The  successes 
achiered  in  the  Taiping  rebellion  by  the 
small  bodies  of  Chinese  troops  organised 
after  the  Emropean  model,  ana  commanded 
Ij  Ward,  Burgevine  and  Gordon,  afford 
abundant  evidence  of  the  efficiency  of  the 
Chinese  soldiers  when  properly  armed  and 
led.  The  reorganisation  of  the  army  will 
undoubtedly  follow  the  reorganisation  of 
the  fleet,  and  when  this  shsJl  hare  been 
thoroi^hly  accomplished,  China  will  be  the 
most  powerfdl  military  Empire  on  Uie 
gbbe.  With  her  countless  population,  she 
will  be  able  to  put  ten  men  in  the  field  for 
every  one  man  that  Germany  or  Prussia  can 
raise,  and  can  famish  these  men  with  their 
simple  rations  of  rice  at  probably  a  tenth  of 
the  outlay  that  each  European  soldier  costs 
his  GoyemmeDt. 

The  Chinese  are  so  essentially  an  agri- 
cokoral  and  trading  people  that  no  schemes 
of  conquest  need  be  expected  from  them. 
Were  China,  however,  in  a  condition  to 
maintain  the  integrity  of  her  possessions,  to 
enforce  her  nominal  authority  over  the 
tribea  of  Tartary,  and  to  check  the  tide  of 
Ruaiian  conquest  now  flowing  eastward 
through  Bokhara — all  of  which  she  is  folly 
capable  of  accomplishing,  so  soon  as  she 
possesses  an  army  as  well  equipped  as  her 
new  fleet  promises  to  be — we  should  no 
looser  hear  of  the  semi-ciyilised  Chinaman, 
and  the  arrested  development  of  the  Chinese 
intellect  We  liave  contemptuously  ignored 
the  dviUsation  of  the  people  who  first 
fonnded  a  civil  service  upon  competitiye 
esuninations,  who  invented  gunpowder  and 
the  mariner^a  compass,  who  dotned  Europe 
in  silks,  and  provided  her  with  porcelain 
ware  from  which  to  drink  Chinese  tea ;  but 
we  shall  instantly  admit  her  claim  to  be 
called  dvilised  the  moment  that  she  de- 
moQstiates  her  ability  to  kill  men  in  a 
scientific  manner.  So  true  it  is  that  the 
modem  test  of  ciyilisation  is  the  efficiency 
of  a  nation's  breech-loaders. 

It  is  impossible  to  deny  that 
there  is  a  g^reat  deal  of  truth  in 
this  statement^  overcharged  though 
it  be  in  some  respects.  It  xnaj  yet 
be  some  time  before  the  ChineBe 
Government  can  bring  itself  to  the 
necessary  effort  to  organise  an  army 
on  the  same  principle  and  on  a  still 
larger  scale  than  its  navy.  Bat  it 
would  be  a  great  mistake  to  assume 


that  China  may  not  gird  up  its  loins 
and  start  in  that  direction.  At  the 
same  time,  we  at  least  need  not 
regret  such  policy.  It  is  possible 
that  the  first  aim  of  the  present 
rulers  would  be  to  obtain  sufficient 
strength  to  assert  their  indepen- 
dence, and  either  eject  the  foreigners 
from  their  soil,  or  dictate  to  the 
Powers  which  have  hitherto  only 
imposed  their  own  terms, — on  what 
conditions  of  reciprocity  and  inde- 
pendence commerce  and  interna- 
tional relations  shall  be  maintained. 
Schemes  of  territorial  conquest  on 
the  Russian  side,  and  of  missionary 
propagandism  of  an  Ultramontane 
type,  might  both  be  effectually 
checked; — and  British  merchants 
might  even  find  it  necessary 
to  carry  on  their  trading  opera- 
tions under  conditions  &llmg  short 
of  absolute  control  over  all  the 
internal  taxation,  and  without  ex- 
territorial rights  in  tbe  interior, 
or  on  the  inland  waters  of  the  Em- 
pire. Yet  there  would  be  various 
conopensations.  The  Government 
of  China  would  find  it  necessary, 
if  they  wanted  to  put  a  million  of 
men  under  arms  on  any  system  of 
European  organisation  and  equip- 
ment, to  have  command  not  only  of 
a  great  many  millions  sterling  for 
the  first  outiay,  but  a  steady  and 
reliable  revenue,  &r  exceeding  any 
they  have  ever  possessed.  To  obtain 
this  they  must  reorganise  their 
whole  system  of  administration, 
political  and  fiscal ;  and  this  they 
cannot  do  without  having^  recourse^ 
as  in  the  re-casting  of  uieir  Mari- 
time Customs,  to  foreigners,  and  a 
very  large  admixture  of  the  foreign 
element  in  persons  and  in  things— 
that  is,  ideas,  system,  and  adminis- 
trators must  chiefly  be  drawn  from 
the  West,  and  more  or  less  as- 
similated with  what  is  essentially 
Chinese.  The  necessity  of  such 
foreign  admixture  and  fusion  is  the 
sure  guarantee  that,  when  effected, 
the  desire  would  no  longer  remain 
to  make  such  use  of  the  instruments 
when  forged  to  their  hand. 


358  [Marcli 

BRAMBLEBERRIES. 


Two  Kinds  op  Discontent. 

28.  A  BASV  and  selfish  discontent 

From  bell  is  sent; 
A  noble  discontent  is  given 
Direct  from  beaven; 
That,  cowardice  and  low  desire 

Fill  witb  nnrest; 
This,  tbe  soul's  longings  tbat  aspire 

To  find  tbe  Best. 


Against  Impatience. 


29.  Be  not  impatient,  0  Sonl ; 

Tbou  movest  on  to  tbj  goal« 
Be  not  full  of  care ; 
In  tbe  Universe  tboa  bast  tby  sbare. 
Be  not  afraid,  bat  tmst; 
Tbou  wilt  suffer  notbing  unjust. 


30.  I  know  not  if  it  may  be  mine 

To  add  a  song,  a  verse,  a  line, 
To  tbat  fair  treasure-bouse  of  wit, 
Tbat  more  tban  cedam  cabinet, 
Wbere  men  preserve  ibeir  precious  tbings, 
Free  wealtb,  surpassing  every  king*d. 
I  only  know,  I  felt  and  wrote 
According  to  tbe  diEiy  and  bour. 
According  to  my  little  power; 
If  souls  unborn  sball  take  some  note, 
Or  none  at  all,  'tis  tbeir  affair; 
I  cannot  guess,  and  will  not  care. 
Yet  boping  still  tbat  sometbing  done 
Has  so  mucb  life  from  eartb  and  sun. 


Bramhleherries.  859 


Drftwn  timmgh  iiiaii*8  finer  brain,  as  may, 
In  mjMc  form,  with  mystic  force, 
Beach  forwaxd  from  a  fleeting  day, 
Bat  an  nn&thomable  sonrce. 
To  tonch,  npon  his  earthly  way. 
Some  brother  pilgrim-soul,  and  say—* 
(A  whisper  in  the  wayside  grass) 
^  I  have  gone  by,  where  now  you  pass ; 
Been  sorely  tried  with  firost  and  heat. 
With  stones  that  braise  the  weary  feet. 
With  alp,  with  quagmire,  and  with  flood. 
With  desert-sands  that  parch  the  blood; 
Nor  fail*d  to  find  a  flowery  dell, 
A  shady  grove,  a  crystal  well; 
And  I  am  gone,  thou  know'st  not  whither. 
— Thou  thyself  art  hastening  thither. 
Thou  hast  thy  life;    and  nothing  can 
Have  more.    Farewell,  O  Brother  Man ! ' 


To  AN  AnOBL  PiCTURBD  LoOfIKO  THBOnOH  THB   SeT. 

.31.  High  Creature,  watching  twirl'd 

This  cloudy  world, 
See,  for  a  seven  times  seven 
Refulgent  Heaven, 
What  belts  of  hope  and  fear 
Involve  our  sphere, 
Deep  gloom,  with  fitful  flash; 
And  be  not  rash 
In  blame,  lest  One  discern 
Thy  need  to  learn  . 
How  man's  &int  orison 
Strives  to  His  Throne. 


VOL.  VH. — XO,  XXXIX.     5BW  SEBIBS.  C  C 


.  3B0 


[March 


THE  PABIS  OOMMUNB  OF  1871  r     • 
ITS  ORIGIN,  LEGHTDiAOX,  TENDENCY,  AND  AIM. 

By  GENEtUL  CLtJSEBBT. 


THE  Paris  Commune  of  1871  was, 
undoubtedly,  one -of , the 'most 
important  dramas  enacted  in  the 
nineteenth  centnry,  both  for  the 
ferocity  displayed  by  the  victors,  and 
for  the  principles  proclaimed  in  the 
&ce  of  the  Govemn^e^ts  of  Earope 
by  the  vanquished. ' 

The  Commune  of  Paris  comprised 
two  great  ideas,  namely,  the  4dea  of 
a  Socialist  Eepublic  and  that  of  a 
simple  Eepublic.  .  The  idea  of  a 
Bepublic  was  not,'  at  thi^t  momept, 
discussed  by  either  party,  but  the 
danger  by  which  it  was  menaced 
united  the  two  factions  in  a. common 
defence ;  for  it  must  be  clearly  un- 
derstood that,  from  the  beginning  to 
the  end  of  the  struggle,  the  Commu* 
nalists  acted  on  the  defensive.  They 
were  never  the  aggressors,  but  con- 
fined themselves  to  repelling  attack. 

I  will  not  go  back  to  the  Deluge, 
or  speak  of  the  universal  and  eter- 
nal protest  of  the  employed  against 
the  employers,  which  assumes  va- 
rious forms  in  different  ages  and 
countries,  but  is  always  the  same  at 
bottom.  Leaving  all  these,  I  will  pass 
on  to  the  Working  Men's  Associa- 
tions of  1850.  When  the  Revolution 
made  over  to  the  bourgeoisie  the  pos- 
sessions of  the  nobility  and  the  clergy, 
gave  them  power  and  education,  in 
short,  made  them  masters  of  the  so- 
cial machinery,  it  imposed  on  them, 
in  return  for  these  benefits,  the  d\ity 
of  shutting  the  gates  on  monopoly 
and  of  granting  to  others  the  oppor- 
tunities which  they  had  obtained 
for  themselves.  If  the  substitr^tion  of 
thebourgeoisiefor  the  nobility,  of  mo- 
ney for  parchment,  of  one  pri^eged 
class  for  another,  had  been  the  D^ly 
result  of  the  successful  effect  of  the 
Revolution,  it  would  have  accom- 
plished nothing.  As  one  nail  drives 
out  another,  one  class  of  society 
takes  the  place  of  the  other.  It 
is  only  jk  flatter  of  time.     The  sue* 


cess  of  the  men  of  mark  in  1 793  was 
only  partial.  The^  recognised  the 
great  liberal  principles  necessaiy  for 
the  consolidation  and  development 
of  political  order;  bnithey  neglected 
the  socialside  of  the  question.  Boar- 
geois  themselves,  all  they  thought  of 
was  the  freedom  of  the  foourgeoiBie, 
and  they  created  a  society  for  them- 
selves and  in  their  own  image. 

It  never  occurred  to  them  to 
study  the  laws  of  capital,  which 
inevitably  and  &tally  tend  to  its 
complete  centralisation,  or,  in  other 
words,  to  the  absorption  of  every- 
thing and  everybody  by  one  person. 

The  monarchy  of  capital,  which 
is  far  more  dangerous  than  that  of 
Inrt^,  oould  not  fail  to  rouse  the 
apprehension  of  the  workman ;  for 
not  only  was  his  happiness  in 
peril,  but  even  his  existence  as  a 
human  being.  He  was  doomed  to 
be  a  beast  of  burden  in  the  tread- 
mill. Such  was  the  fate  the  future 
had  in  store  for  the  labourer.  I  am 
not  exaggerating.  The  artisan  has 
already  been  killed  by  the  mechanic, 
and,  thanks  to  the  division  of 
labour^,  the  workman  is  only  a  tool. 
Science,  the  handmaid  of  capital, 
will  soon  reduce  him  to  the  condition 
of  a  piston,  and  just  sufficient  oil 
will  be  given  him  to  keep  him  going. 
What  ought  to  be  done  under  these 
drcumst^ces ?  Nothing?  Should 
he  lie  down  like  the  over-loaded  ox 
in  the  Arrows  and  wait  patientlj 
for  death?  This  is  in  &ct  what 
the  greater  part  do ;  but  a  number 
of  workmen,  thinkers,  men  with 
heart  and  brain,  animated  by  the 
same  maiily  spirit,  formed  them- 
selves into  a  bsmd,  and  headed  tiie 
great  n:iasses.  They  were  bom 
men,  and  they  wished  to  live  and 
did  like  men ;  but  for  this  it  was 
necessary  they  should  do  the  work  of 
the  bourgeoisie  over  again,  and  finish 
what  had  been  left  incomplete  ifi 


isrs]^ 


(Che  Pans  Commune  o/187li 


361 


1793.  They  wonld  have  ioi>egainpos- 
sessk)]^  of  the  social  machinery,  and 
this  time  for  the  benefit  of  all. 

Hence  came  the  attempts  at 
\rorkii^  men's  associations,  and  the 
experiment  of  1 850,  which  was  fatal 
to  the  liberty  of  idl  who  took  part  in 
it.  Among  others  Mme.  Jeanne 
Deronin  and  Mme.  Panline  Boland 
were  transported  in  185 1,  by  the 
ttathor  of  the  ExtincHon  of  Pavjper* 
ism^  Louis  Napoleon  Bonaparte. 

Hence  came  also  in  a  great  mea- 
snretiie  morement  of  1848.  I  say 
in  a  great  measnre,  because  Bona- 
partism  played  an  important  part 
in  the  aJair.  I  know  something 
about  it,  afi,  at  the  head  of  the 
Gardes  Mobiles,  I  nnfortanately 
displayed  too  much  energy  in  that 
disastrous  battle.  Had  it  not  been 
for  the  cry  of  vive  VEmpereur  be- 
hind the  barricades  we  ^ould  not 
have  charge<i. 

It  IS  certainly  very  interesting, 
though  [heartrending,  to  follow  teh 
thousand  and  one  tnmsfomia.tions  of 
the  Ph>teu8  we  call  Bonapartism  in 
iiA  chase  after  power.  According  to 
cmnimstances  he  is  by  turns  a  sol- 
dier and  a  working  man,  a  cleric  and 
a  stock  gambler,  a  Socialist  and  a 
conservative,  a  Republican  and  a 
despot,  an  aristocrat  and  a  dema- 
gogue. To-day  he  is  a  Gommunalist 
and  a  Legitimist.  It  is  all  the  same 
to  him,  as  long  as  he  can  plot,  and 
dabble  in  intrigues.  Mud  is  his 
element.  Do  not  go  too  near  him 
or  he  will  splash  you.  It  is  what 
he  did  at  the  cradle  of  the  Inter- 
national ;  but  of  that  anon. 

Between  the  years  1850  and  1864 
SociaUsm  made  no  new  attempt 
worthy  of  notice.  In  1864  tiie 
International  was  bom  in  St. 
Martin's  Hall.  Toil  and  misery 
were  its  parents,  the  world  its 
cradle,  the  people  its  godfkthers, 
justioe  its  godmother,  and  eternity 
its  fiiture.  Its  d6but  was  not  a 
briDiant  one.  In  Prance  it  narrowly 
escaped  being  suffocated  in  the 
arms  of  Ceesarism.    Plon-plon,  the 


maid-of-all-work  of  Bonapartism* 
took  it  to  the  Palais  Boyal,  and 
Tolain,  now  a  member  of  the 
Assembly  of  Versailles,  and  one  of 
the  founders  of  the  great  Society, 
acted  as  mediator  between  l£e 
Palace  and  the  Passage  Baoul,  the 
seat  of  its  first  section. 

In  this  native  of  the  Faubourg 
St.  Antoine,  who  was  clever  at  his 
own  crafb,  that  of  engraver,  but 
still  more  clever  in  the  art  of  speak- 
ing and  speaking  well,  Plon-plon 
had  divined  the  man  of  ambitious 
and  intriguing  mind  cramped  by 
the  narrowness  of  his  circumstances. 
The  discovery  did  him  no  good« 
Tolain  and  his  dupes  had  to  l^at  a 
retreat  before  the  universal  repro- 
i^ation  of  the  working  classes,  whose 
watchword  is  the  same  as  that  of 
Italy,  Fara  da  se,  Bonapartism 
dazzled  them  for  a  moment,  but 
they  soon  came  to  themselves  and 
proclaimed  theirindependence,  more 
proudly  than  ever.  From  that  mo- 
ment the  International  was  esta- 
blished in  France.  In  the  following 
year  I  became  a  member.     . 

This  is  not  the  place  for  me  to 
discuss  the  International — time  and 
space  are  both  wanting ;  but,  not- 
withstanding its  historians,  the  his- 
tory of  this  great  association  has 
still  to  be  written ;  so  much  error 
and  prejudice  has  entered  into  all 
that  has  been  said  of  it.     Suffice  it 
now  for  me  to  say  that  it  contains 
no  secrets,  and  includes  no  dicta- 
torship.   A  model  of  future  society, 
its  sole  object  is  the  emancipation 
of  the  working  classes.   Its  method 
of  organisation  is  federal  autonomy, 
its  legislature  the  annual  congress, 
its  executive  the  general  council.  It 
has  solved  the  great  problem  of  unity 
through  decentralisation,  and  has 
been  able  to  muster  three  millions 
of   men   in    less    than  six  years. 
Knowing  that  it  would  be  idle  to 
try  to  separate  social  from  political 
reforms,  it  honestly  declares  that  it 
is  concerned  with  politics,  and  to 
the  union  of  the  oppressors  it  op- 
G  G  2 


The  Pwrla  Oommune  of  1871  • 


[March 


£0868  ihe  nnion  of  the  oppressed. 
There  is  nothing  underhand  about 
it;  all  is  plain  and  abovo-board. 

And  I  ask  every  honest  man 
what  fault  can  be  found  with  these 
industrious  workmen,  most  of  them 
fathers  of  families  and  skilful 
craftsmen,  who  combined  to  gain 
for  their  children  the  right  of  ac- 
cess to  all  the  natural  paths  of 
buman  happiness  ?  By  what  right 
are  they  prohibited  to  do  what 
the  bourgeoisie  did  in  1 789  ?  In  the 
name  of  what  principle  are  they 
denied  the  priyuege  of  combining 
to  realise  the  great  truth  inscribed 
on  the  Constitution  of  America: 
*  Every  man  has  a  right  to  human 
happiness '  P 

Aud  yet  not  only  has  every  un- 
successml  experiment  of  these  ob- 
scure martyrs  met  with  a  savage 
repression,  but  they  themselves  have 
had  every  kind  of  infamous  contu- 
macy and  ins^idt  heaped  u]pon  them. 
We  have  just  witnessed  it  in  history 
— the  history  of  yesterday.  Trin« 
Quet,  a  shoemakert  the  father  of  a 
family,  one  of  the  most  honest, 
industrious,  and  orderly  members 
of  the  Commune,  having  been 
guilty  of  acting  in  accordance  with 
the  principles  adopted  by  the  Yer- 
saillists,  was  condemned  by  those 
warriors  to  penal  servitude  for 
life.  You  would  expect  that  some 
consideration  would  be  shown  to 
this  honest  and  hi^h-principled 
man,  cast  among'  thieves  and  as- 
sasnns  of  the  worst  kind;  but  the 
Administration  lets  it  be  known, 
through  the  medium  of  its  on;ana, 
that  Sie  convict  Trinquet  will  not 
be  raised  to  the  level  of  the  other 
}>risoners  until  he  has  proved  himself 
deserving  of  it  by  his  good  conduct. 
Trinquet  by  his  energy  had  made 
himself  feared,  and  fear  makes  people 
cruel.  The  bourgeoisie  and  all  their 
belongings  are  cowardly,andcoward- 
ice  renders  them  savage. 

The  International  held  its  sittings 
at  No.  6  Place  de  la  Gorderie  du 
^emple. 


The  cradle  of  Socialism  was  mean. 
It  was  on  the  third  floor  of  a 
shabby  house  in  a  triangular  court, 
situated  in  a  populous  neighbour- 
hood— ^that  is  to  say,  in  a  dirty 
poverty  -  stricken  neighbourhood, 
teeming  with  misery.  A  fitting 
frame  for  a  picture  of  the  prole- 
tariat. You  entered  the  nonse 
through  a  narrow  door;  on  the  right 
was  one  of  those  old  porter's  lodges 
more  fitted  for  a  dog  than  for  a  hu- 
man being ;  on  the  left  a  wine-shop, 
one  of  those  classic  masiroqueis  fur- 
nished with  pewter  measures,  large 
black  pitchers,  and  brown  and  blue 
mugs.  Fronting  you  was  the  nar- 
row staircase  witn  its  black  iron 
balustrade;  the  worn  and  sticky 
steps  bore  witness  to  long  service 
and  the  parsimony  of  the  landlord. 
The  walls,  that  had  once  been 
whitewashed,  were  covered  with 
stains  and  scrawled  inscriptions. 
On  reaching  the  third  floor  you 
entered  through  a  door  on  the 
right.  The  first  room  was  an 
unftimiahed  antechamber,  which 
communicated  by  two  doors  with 
a  room  of  some  twenty-five  feet 
long  by  twelve  broad.  At  one 
end  of  this  room,  wherc^  the  floor 
was  raised,  stood  a  table  and  three 
chairs ;  the  other  part  was  fnmiahed 
with  wooden  benches;  the  walls 
were  covered  with  placards  similar 
to  those  posted  on  the  walls  of  Pftris. 
Behind  the  chairs  allotted  to  ihe 
president  and  his  assistants  was  a 
large  black  board,  on  which  the 
times  and  places  at  which  public 
meetings  would  be  held  used  to  be 
written  in  chalk.  At  the  bottom  of 
the  room  a  door  to  the  right  opened 
into  a  third  chamber  which  oom- 
municated  with  two  others.  These 
rooms  served  as  offices  for  the  com- 
missions, and  were  all  furnished 
alike  with  a  deal  table  and  a  few 
church  -  chairs  —  common  wooden 
chairs  with  coarse  straw  seats.  A 
few  inkstands  were  scattered  about, 
but  the  pens  were  few  and  out  at 
elbows,  aud  as  for  paper,  you  were 


1873] 


The  Pane  Oonimune  of  1871. 


368 


Teminded  of  the  adage,  'Always 
bive  8ome  paper  in  your  pockety 
as  yoa  don't  know  what  may 
happen.'  It  was  yery  evident 
those  who  had  none  wonld  have 
to  do  without  it.  From  this 
came  forth  the  Commnne  of 


'ana. 

It  is  a  tmth,  which  sounds  par- 
adoxical  to  those  who  have  not 
associated   with  and    studied    the 
working  classes,  that  no  one  is  more 
conaervatiye  thasi  the  working  man. 
The  eoup$  d'etat  made  by  adventurers 
and  ambitious  politicians  have  been 
most  unjustly  laid  to  his  account. 
Generally   speaking,  the    working 
classes  will  not  moye  unless  they 
are  pushed  to  the  last  ditch ;  then 
the   matter  is    serious.      If    the 
International  did  not  include  all  the 
working  men,  it  certainly  possessed 
the  ^lite  of  them.    Its  influence  on 
the  class  was  far  greater  than  its 
effective  force.   It  had  the  sympathy 
of  all  other  working  men's  associa- 
tions, whether  they  were  directly 
(x>nnected  with  it  or  not.    Blouse 
is  attached  to  blouse,  all  the  world 
over.    What  are  the  three  millions 
who  form  the  International,  com* 
pared  to  the  legions  of  workmen 
who,  owing  to  family  reasons,  or 
from  motiyes  of  private  interest^ 
refrain  from,  joining  formally,  but 
make  common  cause  with  ij^e  So- 
ciety !   I  have  therefore  always  laid 
more  stress  on  winning  the  oonfi- 
dence  of  the  workmen  i^ian  in  ob- 
taining   their  adherence.     Human 
nature  is  timid,  and  heroes  do  not 
grow  on  every  bush.    Let  us  respect 
this  timidity,  and  we  may  be  sure 
tliat  those  who  tremble  in  the  time 
of  peace  will  fight  bravely  on  the 
day  of  battle.    Did  we  not  witness 
this  under  the  Commune  ? 

I  haye  said  that  the  working 
man  is  oonservatiye,  and  slow  to 
take  up  arms.  I  will  show  by  what 
steps  uie  workman  of  Paris  passed 
from  the  workshop  to  the  barricades. 
I  will  not  enter  upon  the  large  side 
of  the  qnestion,  namely,  the  finan- 


cial position  in  which  the  working 
man  has  been  placed  by  the  conduct 
of  the  bourgeoisie  since  1815,  and 
which  was  aggravated  by  the  Impe- 
rial orgy  and  the  demoralisation  it 
produced.  I  will  confine  myself  to 
the  narrower  side,  which  concerns 
the  immediate  facts.  One  of  the 
causes  of  the  people's  patience  under 
the  Empire  was  ike  profound  demo- 
ralisation which  that  corrupt  regime 
had  systematised  into  a  form  of 
government.  The  depravity  was  so 
general  that  no  one  could  boast  of 
being  better  than  his  neighbour. 
Spies  were  everjrwhere,  and  when 
the  police  appeared  everyone  took 
flight.  Until  the  7th  of  September, 
at  any  rate,  a  score  of  sergente  de 
ville  armed  with  bludgeons  were 
sufficient  to  clear  the  boulevards  of 
some  thousands  of  people.  This  is 
what  took  place  on  the  evening  of 
the  3rd: — A  crowd  of  people — a 
real  crowd — composed  of  persons  of 
both  sexes  and  idl  ages  and  ranks, 
filled  the  boulevards  shouting  Ma 
D6ch6ance.'  It  was  the  people  stirred 
to  their  inmost  depths.  Arrived 
opposite  the  Gynmase  this  vast 
assembly  stopped,  then  receded,  and 
finally  dispersed,  flying  in  all  direc- 
tions. They  had  been  attacked  by 
the  sergente  de  ville  of  the  post  of 
Bonne- Nouvelle  police.  Now  the 
post  of  the  Bonne-Nouvelle  con- 
sisted of  eight  or  ten  men. 

Some  of  the  spectetors  took  re- 
fuge on  the  steps  of  the  Gymnase ; 
among  them  a  young  Garde  Mobile 
sought  to  escape  from  the  general 
oonnision.  A  gentleman  took  out 
a  revolver  and  coolly  shot  him 
through  the  head.  This  gentleman 
was  a  civil  officer.  The  sergents 
de  ville  did  not  even  condescend  to 
stop  and  see  if  the  youth  were  quite 
dead.  That  was  the  last  murder 
committed  by  the  Empire.  A  ser- 
gent  de  ville  whispered  to  Arthur 
Amould,  who  happened  to  be  there, 
and  whose  appearance  is  eminently 
respecteble,  'Monsieur,  withdraw, 
you  are  going  to  be  killed.' 


364 


The  Paris  Gommwie  0/ 1871. 


[Maicb 


What  a  revelation  of  the  Imperial 
programme ! 

After  the  stampede  of  th'e  3rd, 
the  following  word  of  command, 
originating  no  one  knew  [how,  was 
given  from  one  end  of  Paris  to  the 
other — To-morrow  let  ns  meet  at 
the  Corps  Legislatif  in  the  dress  of 
the  National  Guard.  The  following 
day  was  a  Sunday,  one  of  those 
lovely  Paris  Sundays  on  which  the 
whole  population  turns  out  into  the 
streets.  The  National  Guards, 
obedient  to  the  mandate,  broke 
through  the  triple  line  which  sur- 
rounded the  Assembly,  in  the  most 
pacific  manner. 

On  arriving  at  the  first  line  of 
sergents  de  vSle  the  drum-m^'or  of 
the  ist  battalion,  turning  his  face  to 
his  men  and  consequentiy  his  back 
to  the  police,  marched  backwardsinto 
their  ranks — ^the  breach  was  made. 
As  humble  now  as  they  were  pre- 
viously arrogant,  these  gentlemen 
turned  for  aid  and  sympatiiy  to  the 
people  they  had  been  murdering  the 
evening  before.  The  troops  frater- 
nised. The  Imperial  Guard  presented 
arms  to  the  insurgent  National  Guard 
with  the  same  stupid  impassibility 
with  which  they  had  presented  arms 
to  the  Emperor.  They,  the  dark  and 
angry  faces  of  the  Paris  guard, 
seemed  to  say,  '  When  shall  we  be 
ordered  to  sweep  away  all  this 
canaille,  civil  and  military  ?' 

Thus  the  revolution  was  made, 
and  made  by  the  bourgeoisie, 
without  striking  a  blow — the  people 
did  not  take  part  in  it  for  want 
of  leaders.  I  said  that  the  Inter- 
national was  its  lighthouse,  but  the 
leading  men  of  the  Society  were 
in  exile  or  in  prison.  Varlin  was 
at  Brussels;  Malon,  Pindy,  Gom- 
bault,  etc.,  were  fugitives  or  cap- 
tives. I  myself  had  been  arrested  on 
the  morning  of  the  4th,  on  my  return 
from  Sedan,  as  I  was  crossing  the 
frontier  at  Feignies,  after  having 
had  a  meeting  with  Varlin  in  the 
night.  It  was  the  last  arrest  made 
by  the  Empire. 


A  government  was  formed,  whieh, 
having  no  root  in  popular  feeling, 
was  without  strength. 

It  was  made  of  the  deputations  of 
Paris,  with  the  addition  of  Trochu 
as  president.  Keratry  awarded  the 
Prefecture  of  Piplice  to  himself,  justas 
Emanuel  Arago  had  awarded  the 
Maine  of  Paris  to  his  uncle  Stephen. 
*"  Here,'  he  had  cried,  throwing  him 
a  tricoloured  scarf,  'take  this, 
Stephen ;  you  are  Mayor  of  Paris.' 

Trochu,  whom  Victor  Hugo  has  so 
cruelly  called  the  past  participle  of 
the  verb  '  trop  choir,'  was  a  General 
of  the  Staff,  a  Catholic,  and  a  Breton* 
His  notoriety  was  entirely  owing  to 
an  insignificant  book  on  the  army, 
which  he  published  in  1868.    Small 
and  dark,  with  a  bald  head,  dark 
smiling  eyes,  with  a  mouth  shaded 
by  a  tluck  moustache,  and  contracted 
at  the  comers  by  a  nervous  afifection^ 
which  gave  his  face  something  be- 
tween a  smile  and  a  grimace,  his 
whole  appearance  was  an  enigma. 
Is  he  good  or  bad  ?  frank  or  false  ? 
weak    or  resolute?   intelligent    or 
stupid  ?  able  or  incapi^ble  ?  were  the 
questions  it  gave  rise  to. 
.  Trochu  is  simply  a  mystic^  vdih 
whom  the  Virgin  takes  the  place  of 
genius,  and  i£e  priest  that  of  con- 
science. Trained  to  passive  obedience 
by  his  confessor,  anything  like  i^esist- 
ance  irritates  him.     Vain  with,  that 
sort  of  absorbing  vanii^  which  ia 
pious  and  modest,  dull  and  suspicioos, 
the  vanity  that  turns  sonr  in  solitude 
and  blames  everybody  for  its  impo- 
tence, Trochu  never  could  pardon  the 
people,  for  not  having  admired  him 
through    thick     and     thin.      Ck>n« 
sequently  he  is  filled  with  the  hatred 
of  a  devotee,  the  hatred  of  a  '  vieille 
fille  incomprise';  a  hatred  that  is 
patient  and  sly,  but  that  never  lets 
go  its  prey.    Added  to  this  he  has 
an    indecision    of  character,     only 
equalled  by  his  obstinacy,  a  despond- 
ing spirit  that  sees  everything  with 
a    jaundiced    eye    and    is    always 
seeking  and  finding  obstacles,  and  a 
mind  that  revels  in  the  infinitely 


1878] ; 


.rfe  Pane^Oofftniune  ofl67t. 


SOS 


small,   and  is  e^xy^hete '  findizfg 
xooka  to  run  f6|il  of. 

At  tea  o'clock  on  the  oight  of  the 
3rd  of  September,  a  bkigebodj  of 
people  came  to  Troofau  and  desired 
bim  to  proclaim  tbe  Dech^an^e. 
*  I  caxmot>  be  eam^gf&red,  in  a  modest 
and  Buave  manner;' 'bat trith  jou 
tbe  case  is  different,  yeiy  difierent/ 
'  Such  was  tbe  maai.  Bebind  him 
waathe  Chnrcb. 

Tbe  next   on  the  lii^  i^  Jules 
FaTxe,    tbe    vice-president.      Like 
Trocbu,  be  was  a. Catholic,  a  &natio, 
and  a  mystic ;  but  be  was  more  .dan«- 
geions,  being  a  more  wicked  man. 
He  was  a  man  of  a  bilions  tempen^ 
ment  and  a  jealous  dispositidn,  who 
.belieyed  only  in  eloquent  oratory 
and  tbe  bourgeoisie;  be  bated  and 
despised  that  blockhead  caUeid  Hhe 
people/  who  did  not  participate  in 
the  enthusiasm  ,of  the  bourgeoisie 
for  binu     He  was  Virions  against 
the  4tb  of  September,  which  had 
distorbed  bim  at  his  occupation  of 
first  tenor,,  which  he  held  in  the 
oompanj  got  up  by  tbe  Emperor  to 
plaj   the  opposition  in  the  opera^ 
Aoose    of    the     Corps   LegidatiH 
He      was    moreoyer,     desperately 
jealom    of  young    aspirants,    and 
was   never    more  distressed   thaa 
at  the  debut  of  Grambetta.    It  was 
like   Dupre  succeeding  Nonrrit  in 
*  William  Tell.'    He  uttered  a  fune- 
real note.    He  did  not  go  to  Naples 
to  die,  Hke  his  fellow-sc^erer  Nom> 
rit ;  but  spared  no  pains  to  avenge 
Jmnself  on  the  people  of  Paris,  who 
had     been    guilty    of   applauding 
another  singer  than  himself  on  the 
political  stage.     Like  Trocbu,  when 
he  saw  that  there  could  be  no  vic- 
tory without  the  people,  and  that 
the  Tictoiy  of  the  people  meant  the 
defeat  of  the  Church,  the  bourgeoi- 
sie,    and    the    army — ^in   fact,  the 
defeat  of  what  was  most  dear  to 
them  by  what  they  hated  and  de- 
spised— he    decided    in    favour  of 
defeat,  and  preferred  the  foreigner 
to  the  French  people. 


'  Thdfftctis  fiti^ti8t.ai^tlikdb;and 
•w6  shall 'see  tiiem.: 
^  The  most  important' man  x>£  the 
'4th  of  September;  after  Trocbm^und 
Jules  EaTre,'was  -G^ambettao  -Tbia 
person,  younger  and^less  c6fa4>i^ 
mised  than  Jtcles  Fasrre,-wss-  not 
more  resptictable  &Dm  a  pelitiGal 
^intofviewl'  '  Moieover,  theEe  was 
not  an  advocate,  a  student,' or  a 
lawyer  of  any  Idnd  who  was  not 
aware  of  the  empiy  noisy  ptet  of 
4/his  lialico-Giadcon  stuJent^^  .who 
only  a  few  years  before  used  to 
mount  on  the  tabtea  at  tha"€a£& 
Procope  to  ^ow  off  bis  sonorous 
eloquence,  and  would  zuake  aibbast 
of  pleading  either  side  of  a  question 
with  equal  impartiality. 

This  singvUar  figure,  a  pupil 
of  the  Jesu^  of  Cabons,  bad  pre- 
served their  elastio  moraiit^.  *  When 
Delesclnze  gave  him  the  canse-  of 
tbd  BeveU  to  plead:  before-  the 
6tk  Chamber  of  the  '  police-  cox^mc^ 
tionneUe,'  bewtoabnefleasadv^eatQ, 
known  in  tbe  Quartier  Latin  for 
drinking  bottles  ii  wine'  that  were 
paidfotfoyLaurier.  After  this  a  rich 
IsriG^lite,liyinginthe  J^ne  dnHeldei^ 
gave  him  tan  aomuity  of  3,000  francs 
in  anticipation  of  the,  services  •  he 
might  do  him^  This  is  a  literati  fiict-; 
and  if  I  do  not  name  tbe  Israelite  it 
is  because  I  do  not  wish  to  mix:  up 
irrelevant  matter  wiUi  history^ 
Such  were  tbe  means  of  existence 
of  the  future  Dictator  of  ]BYatkoe 
when  be  reo^ved  the  oommissiQ& 
from  Delescluze  which  transforined 
bim  into  a  politician.  Very  subtle 
and  vety  clever,  though  without 
breadth  of  intellect,  Gambetta 
seized  the  ball  at  the  rebound,  and 
became  more  steady  than  the  moat 
prudish  among  us.  The  people  who 
were  musical  were  taken  in  above 
everything  by  bis  sonorous  voice, 
bis  pompons  phrases,  and  high 
sounding  periods,  and  appointed 
bim  their  candidate  for  Belleville. 
I  remember  that  sitting.  Suspect- 
ing a  trickster  in  that  musical  box, 


.The  Peris  X)ammune  4>/ 1871. 


[Haix)ti 


1  said  to  GlambeUa  with  reference 
to  the  imperative  oommiflnon,  *  Ac- 
cept the  engagement^  and  at  the 
end  of  eyexysession  jon  can  refer 
your  commission  to  jpnr  electors ; 
•and  if  they  are  satisfied  with  yon 
they  will  oontinne  it ;  if  not,  tibey 
can  withdraw  it.'  He  replied, 
^What  yon  propose  is  nnconstita- 
tional/  As  a  matter  of  tact,  the 
Constitution  did  nominate  its  Depu* 
ties  for  six  years. 

Well,  among  all  these  men  who 
elected  Gambetta  in  order  to  over- 
throw  the  Oonstitution,  there  was  not 
a  majority  sufficiently  intelligent  to 
understand  that  their  revolutionary 
candidate  was  a  Conservative ;  that 
the  urreconcilablehadbeenreconciled 
even  before  he  was  elected. 

Under  the  Empire  Oambetta 
set  up  that  mild  form  of  opposi- 
tion, without  passion  or  purpose, 
so  pleasing  to  Governments,  which 
msikes  its  originator  the  pet  of  the 
public,  and  gains  him  the  most 
agreeable  of  sinecures.  He  suc- 
ceeded Jules  Favre  and,  according  to 
Clement  Duvemois,  he  had  laid  his 
plans  for  succeeding  Ollivier,  when 
the  4th  of  September  put  an  end  to 
the  Empire*  On  the  i8th  of  July, 
when,  at  the  Emperor's  desire, 
Marie  Sass  was  singing  the  *  Mar- 
seillaise' at  the  opera,  Oambetta 
stood  up  in  his  box  and  accom- 
panied her.  On  thisoccasion  he  sepa- 
rated himself  both  from  his  electors 
and  his  party  in  the  Chamber,  but 
he  believed  in  success,  and  left  the 
red,  to  play  on  the  black.  Oambetta, 
therefore,  was  as  responsible  as  the 
Emperor  for  the  war  he  provoked. 

On  the  17th  of  August^  Oambetta, 
with  the  zeal  of  a  novice,  demanded 
frt>m  the  Chamber  ^prompt  andswn^ 
ma/ry  justice*  on  the  misguided 
wretches  who  had  committed  the 
disturbance  at  La  Yillette  a  few 
days  before;  and  brought  on  him- 
seu  the  sharp  reprimand  from  Pa- 
likao,  *  Respect  the  judicial  forms 
at  least,  and  give  me  time  to  judge 
the  rioters'   (they  were  all  con- 


demned to  death).  iSuchwasthe 
answer  given  by  the  representa- 
tive of  the  Empermr  to  the  member 
for  Belleville  when  he  demanded 
the  summary  execution  of  some  of 
his  electors. 

On  the  4th  of  September,  when 
the  National  Guards  invaded  the 
Chamber,  demanding  the  overthrow 
of  the  Empire,  Gambetta  presented 
himself  to  the  crowd,  and  with  aa 
air  of  indignation  commanded  it  to 
await  respectfuUy  the  decision  of 
the  majority — of  that  official  majo- 
rify,  the  accomplice  in  all  the 
crimes  of  the  Empire.  Fortunately 
the  people  paid  no  attention  to  what 
he  said;  but  they  have  not  forgotten 
it.  At  one  o'clock  on  the  '5th,  Gam* 
betta  received  a  deputation  from 
the  Place  de  la  Corderie,  represent- 
ing the  International  and  the  Work- 
ing-men's Syndic  Chambers.  This 
deputation  offi^red  the  Gk)vemment 
large  numbers  of  working  men  on 
the  following  conditions : — 

1.  The  immediate  election  in 
Pirns  of  Municipal  Councils,  and  of 
a  Committee  to  superintend  the 
armament  and  the  organisation  of 
National  Gkiards. 

2.  The  suppression  of  the  Prrfec- 
ture  of  Police,  and  the  restoration 
of  the  police  to  the  municipahiies. 

3.  The  election  of  magistrate^. 

4.  The  abrogation  of  aJl  the  laws 
placing  restrictions  on  the  liberty  of 
the  press,  and  on  the  right  of  holding 
meetings  and  forming  associations. 

5.  The  suppression  of  the  warn 
voted  for  public  worship. 

6.  The  free  pardon  of  every  poli- 
tical crime. 

Certainly  there  was  nothing  anar- 
chical in  this^  programme,  ^T^hidi 
was  a  true  expression  of  the  fteling 
of  the  masses,  and  would  have  made 
them  fidthf  ul  adherents  to  the  Go- 
vernment. 

Oambetta  replied — *  The  amnesty 
exists  already.  As  regards  bail, 
stamp  duty,  and  other  fiscal  laws 
attached  to  the  press,  they  are  ab- 
rogated ie/octo.  The  other  matters 


1878] 


The  ParU  Commune  of  1871. 


867 


aie  loo  flerions  to  be  decided  in  a 
moment.  The  Gk>Temment  will  take 
tiiem  into  conmderation.  Abuses 
will  be  done  away  with/  &o.  All 
evasions,  which  nubde  the  delegates 
very  axudoas  concerning  the  fatnre. 
From  this  moment  theCorderie  con- 
sidered it  wise  to  keep  a  good  watch 
over  these  intruders,  and  to  take 
all  creoaations. 

On  the  5th  it  had  a  new  cause 
for  complaint.   Instead  of  confiding 
the  election  of  their  municipal  offi* 
oers  to  the  people,  M.  Gkonbetta 
placed  the  whole    matter  in  the 
hands   of  Stephen   Arago,  whom 
Emanuel  Arago,  his  nephew,  had 
appointed  Mayor  of  Pans,  without 
consulting  any  one.     The  conse- 
quence was  that  the  whole  tribe 
of  AragoB  were  appointed  by  the 
head  of  the  clan  to  the  different 
municipal  offices  of  Paris.      The 
Arago     dynasty    succeeded    that 
of  the  Bonapartes.    Though  it  was 
less    corrupt,    it  was    nofc    more 
capable,  and  at  that  moment  ad- 
mmistratiye  capacity  was  en)ecially 
needed  to  collect,  store,  and  distri- 
bute the  provisions  which  would 
be  required  for  a  civil  and  militanr 
population  of  more  than  two  mil- 
lion souls.     From  that  day  date  the 
Ck>nunittees    of  Vigilance  of  the 
20  arrondissements,  which  had  their 
seat  in  the  Gorderie,  and  were  the 
tULTBery  where  the  people  went  to 
seek  for  the  members  of  the  Com* 
mnne  of  Paris.    But  I  must  not 
anticipate.    I  will  say  nothing  of 
the    other  members,    except  that 
Jnles  Ferxy,  chosen  by  the  Govern- 
ment as  usher,  was  generally  consi- 
dered the  most  notoriously  immoral 
man  that  could  have  been  found.    I 
only  state  what  is  common  report. 
Having  had  no  opportunity  of  yen* 
fying  it,  I  keep  silent  out  of  regard 
or  'decency. 

The  rest  of  the  Government  was 
insignificant. 

Boehefort^;without  a  pen,  was  no- 
Pages    was   trying   at    last  to 


cheat  Death  also,  in  a  manner,  by 
getting  his  son-in-law  appointed 
his  successor.  Picard  had  bur- 
rowed  into  finance  like  a  &t  mite 
in  a  cheese,  and  would  not  come 
out  of  it.  He  was  like  the  good 
hermit  in  Lafontaine.    < 

Jules  Shnon,  who  shed  crocodile's 
tears,  was  a  special  object  of  aver- 
sion to  the  working  classes,  inde- 
pendently of  any  revolutionary 
reason,  owing  to  Ins  many  acts  ot 
treachery. 

As  forKeratry,  he  was  the  chief 
of  all  the  bravadoes  and  the  rene- 
gades. Bich,  idle,  and  a  Count,  he 
had  been  in  Mexico,  and  had  his 
share  in  all  the  atrocities  and  dis- 
graceful deeds  committed  by  the 
French  army  in  that  unfortunate 
country  ;  and  then,  after  its  fidJiure, 
he  condemned  the  expedition,  and 
his  opposition  gained  him  a  certain 
amount  of  popularity,  but  ^Ne 
sutor  ultra  crepidam.'  Blinded  by 
the  beginning  of  that  infatuation  so 
natural  to  the  Parisian,  he  fancied 
himself  the  right  material  for  the 
leader  of  a  parte,  and  convoked 
the  Chamber  on  October  26,  1869, 
by  a  letter,  which  owes  its  fame 
more  to  the  retrograde  movement 
which  followed  it  ^n  to  the  auda- 
city by  which  it  was  preceded. 
Finally,  he  was  at  the  !l^efecture 
of  Police  like  Stephen  Arago  at 
the  Hdtel  de  Ville,  proprio  motu. 
Could  one  expect  the  people  to 
place  confidence  in  a  Government 
uke  this  one,  which  they  had  neither 
elected,  appointed,  or  desired,  and, 
consequenUy,  not  recognised,  un- 
less its  acts  were  very  much  better 
than  the  reputations  of  its  mem- 
bers P  These  acts  we  will  quickly 
pass  in  review. 

Onthemomingof  the  5thlarrived 
in  Paris.  My  first  visit  was  to  the 
new  Government.  My  first  impres- 
sion was  bad.  The  H6telde  Ville  was 
unapproachable.  Behind  its  pali* 
sade  the  National  Guards  of  the 
Empire  were  drawn  up.  Their 
attitude  proclaimed  them  lords  and 


S68 


Tks^  Parh  (JmxnuM  of  1871. 


[Uindi 


amstera.  f  We  made  iiie ,  reydlai 
tion/  they  seamed  to  Bay;  'the  people 
bad  nothing  to  do  with  it.  XiOt 
them  take  care  not  to  meddle  ii^ 
it.'  So  when  I  reqneeted  to  be 
allowed  to  enter  the  Hdtel  to  see 
my  friends,  PeUetan  and  Arago, 
my  name,  profes^on,  &c.«  were 
demanded  with  an  abenrd  air  of 
importance  worthyof  the  'panrenn.' 
At  last  they  decided  upon  taking 
my  card  (PeUetan  immediately 
ordered  me  to  be  admitted  in 
the  name  of  the  Gbvemment). 
These  bourgeois  had  no  right  to 
prevent  my  passing.  I  lost  patience, 
and  raised  my  voice  ;  and  when 
the  discussion  was  getting  warmi 
Vonvielle,  PeUetan,  and  others, 
recognising  my  voice,  came  and 
shook  hands  with  me,  and  released 
me  from  these  importunately  imt 
portant  people. 

I  wasweU  received  by  the  majority 
of  the  Gbveroment — ^too  well,  in- 
deed; they  could  not  be  sincere. 
Trochu  gave  me  the  impression  of 
an  idiot.  My  conversation  with 
him  was  not  long.  'Good  mom« 
ing.  General,' he  said.  'Goodman* 
ing.  General,'  I  answered;  'bftve 
you  kept  me  a  command  ?  '  '  No  i 
there  are  only  nine  at  this  moment, 
and  they  are  aU  promised.' 

'  Q^  very  well ;  the  people  will 
see  to  it,'  I  said ;  '  Good  morning.' 

*  But  wait,'  he  said;  *I  only  went 
to  bed  at  two  o'clock.  We  shall 
find  you — * 

But  I  had  already  turned  on  my 
heel.  What  did  it  matter  to  me 
whether  he  had  gone  to  bed  at  two 
o'clock  or  not  at  aU  ?  What  I  saw 
was  that  the  Government  had  no 
place  for  the  only  Republican  Gen- 
eral in  France.  The  others  were 
Generals  of  the  Empire,  and  we  had 
just  had  proof  of  their  capacity ! 

'  Well,'  I  said  to  myself  as  I  left 
the  H6tel  de  Ville,  *  it  wiU  have  to 
be  done  over  again,'  and  I  turned 
my  steps  towards  the  Gorderie. 
There  I  found  the  people  in  the 
persons  of  their  real  representatives. 


Th0re  I  was  at  home  with  p^ple 
whose  principles  and  feelings  were 
the.  same  as  mine,  and  who  had  the 
same  .object  in  view^-the  franchise 
pf  the  proletariat.  At  the  Jldtd  de 
YiUe  it  was  its  utilisation  thej 
thought  of.  The  Committees  of 
YigiSmoe  were  at  once  put  into 
action.  ThB  buBineas  was  divided 
among  Commissions,  in  the  arrou^ 
dissements,  whose  centre  was  at  the 
Gorderie.  I  had  the. War  Depart- 
ment with  Flourens,  Lbuniier, 
YaiUant,  and  Demay* 

The  result  of  the  work  of  these 
Commissions  is  seen  in  the  foUowing 
manifesto  which  was  posted  on  all 
the  walls  of  Paris.    It  may  be  com 
sidered  the  popular  progranmie— a 
programme  from  wmch  the  peoplo 
have  never   deviated,  and   which 
they  never  ceased  demamding  fsom. 
the  31st  of  October  to  the  22nd  of 
Januai7,which  they  sealedjwith  their 
blood,  and  ratified  after  victoiy  by 
sending  in  a  number  of  signatures 
to  the  Commune.     The  obstinate 
resistance  of  the  bonrgeoisie  to  the 
very  reasooable  demands    of  the 
people  was  .the  principal  cause  of 
aU  the  bloodshed  whidi  ensued  in 
Paris. 

THK   CENTBAL  COMMITTKE'  OF  THE 

TWENTY  AKRONDisSEMENTB  TO  THE 

CITIZENS   OF   PABIS. 

.  Citizens — On  the  5th  of  Septem* 
her,  the  day  after  the  poroclamation 
of  the  Republic,  a  large  number  of 
citizens  proposed  that  a  Central 
Bepublican  Committee,  oompoeed 
of  members  from  the  twenty  arron« 
dissements,  should  be  formed  to 
watch  over  the  welfare  of  the 
country,  and  help  in  the  establish- 
ment of  a  regime  founded  on  trolj 
Eepublican  principles — ^tbe  prin- 
piples  of  the  co-operation  of  tiie 
individual  initiative  and  of  popubi 
solidarity. 

Since  that  day  public  assemblies 
have  elected  their  Conunittees  of 
Defence  and  Vigilance  in  every 
arrondissement.    As  soon  as  it  was 


1873] 


The  Paris  Commune  of  1871^ 


S69 


proved  that  the  znajoriiy  of  the  ar* 
rondissements  were  represented 
by  four  delegates  each,  the  Central 
Kepubhcan  Committee  commenced 
operations. 

The  following  measures  voted  at 
ithe  popular  meetings  were  laid  be« 
fore  the  Government  of  the  National 
Defence,  in  succession. 

Hbasvbss  op  Public  Saeett. 
To  suppress  the  police,  which  has 
been  organised  in  all  monarchical 
Governments  with  a  view  to  the 
subjection  instead  of  the  defence  of 
the  citizens;  and  to  entrust  it  to 
the  elected  municipalities. 

To  appoint  magistrates  in  every 
district  of  Paris  to  be  guardians  of 
public  safety  on  their  own  direct 
personal  responsibility. 

To  dissolve  all  the  special  corps 
of  the  old  centralised  police,  such 
afi  sergents  de  ville,  so-called  officers 
of  public  safety,  and  the  Paris 
Guard. 

To  entrust  the  National  Guard 
composed  of  the  total  number  of 
the  electorsj  and  especially  the  vet-^ 
erans  among  them,  with  the  mi»i 
sion  of  aiding  the  new  magistrates 
of  the  municipal  police  in  the  exer- 
cise of  their  duty. 

To  apply  the  two  principles  of 
election  and  responsibility  to  magis- 
trates of  eveiy  kind. 

To  abrogate  all  laws,  restrictive, 
repressive,  and  fiscal,  on  the  right 
of  writing,  speaking,  meeting,  and 
combining. 

Pbotisioks  akd  Aocohxodatxok. 

To  appropriate  for  the  public 
good  all  articles  of  provision,  es- 
pecially the  most  necessary,  stored 
in  Paris,  by  wholesale  or  retail 
dealers,  guaranteeing  the  pi^oprie- 
tors  payment  at  the  end  of  the  war 
hy  means  of  an  acknowledgment 
for  the  expropriated  goods. 

To   elect  in.  every  street,  or  at 


least  in  every  quarter,  a  Comnnssion 
to  draw  up  a  catalogue  of  the  arti- 
cles of  food,  and  m^e  a  list  of  the 
owners  who  are  to  be  responsible 
for  the  provisions  to  the  municipal 
authorities. 

To  distribute  the  provisions 
among  all  the  inhabitants  of  Paris 
by  means  of  orders  to  be  delivered 
periodically  in  each  arrondissement 
in  proportion  to — 

1.  The  number  of  persons  in  the 
family  of  each  citizen, 

2.  The  quantity  of  provisions 
declared  by  the  above-mentioned 
Commission. 

.3.  The  probable  TimTinnnTTi  dura« 
tion  of  the  siege. 

The  municipalities  must  fiimish 
every  citizen  with  the  accommoda- 
tion absolutely  needed  for  himself 
and  his  family. 

Teb  Dkfbncs  of  Fabis. 

To  call  upon  the.  Garde  Mobile 
to  at  once  elect  the  officers  by 
whom  it  shall  be  led  into  battle, 
those  who  command  it  at  present 
having  been  imposed  upon  it. 

To  rally,  as  speedily  as  possible, 
the  scattered  elements  of  that  he- 
roic army  which  had  been  crushed 
and  dissolved  through  the  treason 
of  its  officers,  and  which,  organised 
to  enslave  the  country,  had  nbt 
sufficed  to  defend  it.^ 

To  supply  all  the  citizens  as  soon 
as  possible  with  weapons  of  long 
range,  and  to  distribute  the  number 
of  cartridges  and  war  supplies  re- 
quisite to  enable  them  to  repulse 
any  attack  that  might  eventually 
be  made  against  them. 

To  prepare,  through  the  care  of 
the  Committees  of  Arrondissement 
the  material  means  and  the  organi- 
sation of  the  men  required  for  the 
special  defence  of  each  quarter. 

To  appropriate  all  free  places  to 
the  service  of  the  defence,  such  as 


^  This  passage  does  not  imply  the  approval  of  standing  armies.  It  yr&B  simply  a 
measure  requisite  tinder  the  circumstances,  seeing  the  number  of  disbanded  men  who 
encfunbered  the  streets  of  Paris. 


370 


The  Parts  Commune  of  1871. 


[Uarek 


abandoned  apartments  and  public 
toonmnents. 

To  employ  in  defensiye  works  all 
those  who  from  any  canse  were  not 
called  upon  to  contribute  to  the  de« 
fence,  in  the  character  of  National 
Guards. 

To  establish  a  pubHc  and  perma- 
nent registry  of  all  the  measures 
taken  for  the  defence. 

To  prepare  at  once  the  posts  of 
internal  defence,  secret  communi- 
cations, and  all  the  engines  of  de- 
struction capable  of  being  employed 
against  the  enemy,  even  by  women 
and  children  —  Republican  Paris 
being  resolved  to  bury  itself  be- 
neath its  own  ruins  rather  than 
surrender. 

DeFSNCB  of  THB  DsPASTKBIffTS. 

To  decree  a  hvee  en  masse  of  all 
able-bodied  Frenchmen,  without 
exception,  and  b,  general  requisition 
of  everything  that  might  be  of  use 
in  the  defence. 

To  support  every  organisation 
resulting  from  the  popular  initia- 
tive, whose  aim  was  to  contribute 
to  the  safety  of  the  Republic. 

To  commission  general  delegates 
of  the  National  Defence,  whose 
charge  should  be  to  concert  with 
the  Republicans  of  the  Departments 
how  to  stimulate  the  patriotic  zeal 
of  the  population,  to  resist  all  re- 
actionary manoeuvres — to  guard 
against  treason,  to  hasten  the 
march  of  the  Volunteers  to  the  suc- 
cour of  Paris,  and,  in  case  of  need,  to 
let  themselves  be  killed  at  their  head. 

In  presenting  these  measures 
'  d*urgence '  the  undersigned  are 
convinced  that  the  Grovemment  of 
the  National  Defence  will  hasten  to 
convert  them  into  decrees  for  the 
safety  of  the  country  and  of  the 
Republic. 
For  the  Central  Committee  and  by 

delegation  of  the  Committees  of 

Arrondissement. 

The  members  present  at  the 
meeting  of  the  13th  and  14th  Sep- 
tember— O.  Casse,  Ch.  L.  GbaMon, 


F.  Chate,  Chausse,  Cousin,  G.  Cln. 
seret**,  Demay*,  Ch.  Dumont,  N. 
Gaillard,  O.  Oenton,  H.  Hema,  J. 
Johannard*,  Kern,  Lanjalley,  G. 
Lefrancais*,  Leverdays,  Losgael* 
P.  A.  Lutz,  Q.  Lecot,  E.  Leger,  G. 
l^llet,  Mainier,  Marchand,  Milliere, 
Marohal,  Malon*,  F.  Mango,  Mj- 
ard,  G.  MoUin,  B.  Ondet*,  31  Por- 
talier,  J.  Perrin,  Saguerre,  Philip, 
Pillion,  Pindy*,  Ranvier*,  E.  Boy, 
E.  Rouiller,  Thelidon,  Thonnelier, 
Toussaint,  E.  Vaillant*,  J.  Valles*, 
Vwtut,  M.  Wong. 

The  asterisks  denote  those  who 
were  elected  members  of  the  Com- 
mune. The  double  asterisks  those 
who  were  elected  in  several  arron- 
dissemeuts.  All  the  elected  be- 
longed to  the  Intemational.  The 
&ult  of  this  programme  was  its  ex- 
treme moderation,  leaving  in  the 
shade  a  number  of  points  which 
ought  to  have  been  indicated ;  bat 
only  the  indispensable  was  indi- 
cated, in  order  not  to  give  offence. 

Thus  to  spare  the  military  suft* 
ceptibilities  of  Trocha  and  his 
Generals,  they  had  abstained  from 
indicating  anything  resembling  a 
plan  of  operations.  Neverthelesa 
this  address,  so  moderate,  was  re- 
jected. They  would  have  nothing 
to  do  with  the  people. .  The  direct* 
ing  classes  were  determined  to  keep 
the  management  of  affairs  in  their 
own  hands.  ,  The  people  received 
a  check.  The  bourgeoisie  excluded 
it  from  all  participation  in  public 
matters,  just  at.  the  moment  when 
they  could  effect  nothing  withoat 
it.  In  future  the  Bourgeoisie  woold 
find  in  the  people  no  longer  a  com- 
panion, but  a  judge,  a  critic,  and  an 
adversary. 

It  was  not  long  before  they  ex* 
posed  .  themselves.  Fearing  the 
people  even  more  than  the  Pms- 
sians,  Gambetta  their  minister 
proceeded  with  a  very  iU  grace  to 
arm  the  National  Guard.  On 
September  6  (observe  well  the 
date),  Trochu,  in  full  council,  de- 
clareid  that  the  defence  of  Paris  was 


1873] 


The  Paris  Commune  of  1871; 


371 


a  *  ridicolous  piece  of  folly '  (sic) — 
yet  it  was  oondSded  to  him  fall j  and 
entirely.  Thus  was  the  people  made 
acquainted  with  the  small  confi- 
dence in  the  future  professed  by 
those  who  had  arrogated  to  them- 
selves  the  right  of  defending  it 
without  consulting  it  —  wiwont 
even  being  willing  to  hear  it. 

Instead  of  attempting  to  arrest 
the  march  of  the  Prussians  by  dis- 
puting the  heights  which  sur- 
round Paris  they  abandoned  them 
hurriedly,  even  before  the  Prus- 
sians arrived ;  even  the  works 
commenced  at  Montretout  were 
abandoned.  These  abandoned  po- 
sitions were  at  once  occupied  by 
the  enemy,  who  firom  thence  bom- 
barded Paris.  Trochu's  plan 
seemed  to  say  to  the  Prussians, 
'  My  friendly  enemies,  come  as 
speedily  as  possible  to  deliver  me 
from  this  horrible  nightmare  called 
the  People  of  Paris.' 

Not    content    with    giving    the 
Niational  Guard  condemned  weapons, 
they    endeavoured    to    excite    the 
army  against  it  by  making  a  series 
of  small  sorties,  ridiculous  in  their 
conception  and  disastrous  in  their 
ezecotion.    From  these  sorties  both 
the  soldier  and  the  Mobile  returned 
discouraged.      The  military  chiefs 
set  a  discouraging  example  by  con- 
tinnally  repeating   that  resistance 
was  impossible — that  they  only  re- 
sisted to  please  the  National  Ouard, 
which  desired  war^ii  outrance,'  but 
did  not  itself  take  part  in  the  sor- 
ties.    T^  hat  the  generals  took  good 
care  ftot  to  say  was  that  they  them- 
selves denied  the  National  Guards 
the  ri^ht  of  marching  against  the 
enemy,  on  the  plea  that  their  contact 
with    the  troops  brought  disorder 
into  the  ranks  of  the  latter.    Every 
time  the  soldiers  met  the  National 
Guards  they  called  after  them  by 
the  name  of  *  outranciers,*  *  Guerre 
a  oatrance.'     It  is  by  such  foolish 
epithets  as  these  that  what  ought 
to  be  united  becomes  divided,  and 
that  reTolutions  are  prepared.^ 


Trochu  had  committed  a  great 
error  in  draining  France  of  its 
field-artillery  in  o^ler  to  shut  it  up 
in  Paris,  where  it  could  be  of  very 
little  use  against  the  siege-guns  of 
the  Prussians,  and  in  stuffing 
Paris  with  useless  mouths.  Him- 
self a  Catholic  and  a  Breton,  he  had 
gathered  around  him  the  Catholic 
Mobiles  of  Brittany,  as  well  as  a 
mass  of  provincial  Mobiles,  who 
came  to  eat  at  the  table  of  the  de- 
fence without  bringing  it  any  cor- 
responding assistance. 

The  total  number  of  bayonets  in 
Paris  amounted  to  388,000;  of 
these  133,000  were  National  Guards. 
Such  an  agglomeration  of  men  in  a 
besieged  place  could  only  be  ex- 
plained on  the  part  of  the  General- 
in-Chief  by  the  desire  of  bringing 
about  a  solution  as  rapid  as  it  was 
vigorous.  And,  indeed,  placed  in 
the  centre,  face  to  face  with  an  enemy 
whose  effective  force  was  &r  from 
reaching  his  own  and  whose  lines 
of  concentration  were  longer  than 
his,  he  had  only  one  course  to  take 
— ^to  mass  his  troops,  and  strike 
without     ceasing,    until     he    had 

Eierced  the  lines  of  investment.  If 
e  kept  this  mass  of  devouring 
mouths  idle,  he  was  either  a  traitor 
or  an  idiot.  This  elementary  'ar- 
gument was  in  everyone's  mouth. 
We  shall  see  in  the  conduct  of 
Trochu  one  of  the  principal  causes 
of  the  popular  exasperation. 

There  is  one  circumstance  which 
no  one  hitherto  has  thought  of 
noticing,  and  that  is  the  active 
participation  of  the  Jesuits  in  all 
the  unfortunate  events  which  suc- 
ceeded one  another  in  France  ever 
since  Eugenie  Montijo  obtained  the 
mastery  over  her  husband,  and, 
through  him,  over  the  whole  of 
France.  Generals,  diplomatists, 
and  administrators  were  all  either 
connected  with  or  agreeable  to  the 
Jesuits.  Trochu,  D^Aurelles  de 
Paladine,  Lefl6,  and  Ducrot  were, 
and  still  are  connected  with  them. 
I  seized  the  trunks  belonging  to  the 


872 


The  Paris  Oomrmme  of  1871. 


[Mardh 


two  last — ^that  of  Lefldatthe  Minis* 
try  of  War,  that  of  Ducrot  at  the 
Hdtel  de  Yille.  The  first  contained 
nothing  but  scapnlaries,  mass-books, 
and  nniforms ;  the  other  contained 
in  addition  a  yolaminons  corre- 
spondence with  devotees  and  mili- 
tary men.  It  is  hardly  possible  for 
anything  to  be  more  trivial.  This 
man,  who  ougllb  to  have  devoted 
the  greater  part  of  his  time  and 
attention  to  the  important  duties 
of  his  office,  was  chiefly  occupied 
with  domestic  trifles.  There  wBfi 
one  whole  paoket  of  letters  about 
the  choice  of  a  lodging  and  stables 
at  Versailles.  The  comfort  of  him- 
self and  his  horses  was  his  first 
care.  Indeed,  the  love  of  luxury 
was  everywhere  apparent  in  the 
French  army. 

The  day  of  the  capitulation  of 
Sedan  I  crossed  the  Belgian  frontier 
at  Bouillon,  and  entered  the  train 
at  Poiz  in  company  with  the  whole 
staff  of  a  regiment  of  lancers.  All 
the  conversation  of  these  gentlemen 
during  the  journey  was  about  the 
breakfast  they  had  eaten  in  the 
morning  and  the  supper  that 
awaited  them  in  Namur,  where 
they  were  to  be  interned.  Con- 
cerning France,  and  the  soldiers 
whom  they  had  abandoned,  not  a 
word.  Tms  in  part  explains  our 
disasters, 

Ducrot,  in  whom  Trochu  placed 
all  confidence,  after  the  Holy  Virgin, ' 
was  the  cause  of  his  first  misfortune. 
On  the  1 9th  of  September,  at  the  head 
of  the  14th  Corps,  composed  of  the 
three  divisions  Caussade,  Hugues, 
and  De  Maussion,  he  was  obliged  to 
abandon  disgracefully  the  redoubt 
of  Ch&tillon,  leaving  eight  guns  be- 
hind him,  and  afterwsros  those  of 
Bagneuz  and  the  Stone  Mill.  His 
soldiers,  badly  commanded,  fled  in 
disorder  without  fighting.  This 
first  check  at  the  beginning  of  the 
campaign  not  only  had  a  disastrous 
moral  efiect,  but  it  enabled  the 
Prussians  to  command  the  Southern 
forts. 


The  people  of  Paris  felt  the  disi 
grdce  acfutely.  It  entailed  the 
loss,  without  a  struggle,  of  the 
most  important  positions  of 
Meudon,  Montretout,  Brimborion, 
Gennevilliers,  and  Ville  d'Avray, 
and  afforded  a  pretext  for  blowing 
up  the  bridges  of  Sevres,  Billancourt, 
St.  Cloud,  %ineau,Asnieres,  Clichy, 
and  St.  Ouen.  Mont  Valerien 
remained  isolated,  like  an  advanced 
sentinel.  If  the  enemy  had  pleased, 
it  might  have  entered  Paris  that 
very  day,  pell-mell  with  the 
fiigitives. 

On  the  28th  of  September  General 
Vinoy  proposed  an  aggressive  re- 
connaissance    upon     Choisi-le-Eoi, 
with  the  additional  object  of  blowing 
up  the  bridge,   which   served  the 
Prussians  in  their  communicatioiis. 
The     village    was    not     strongly 
garrisoned.     It  was  to  be  a  coup  de 
mam^  the  success  of  which  depended 
on  the  boldness  and  promptitude  of 
its  execution.     At   i  p.m.    Trochu 
came    to    an    understanding    with 
Vinoy — the  advance  was  arranged 
for  the  morrow.    At  3  p.m.  another 
telegram  fix»m  Trochu  put    it  off 
until  the  day  after  the  morrow.    In 
themeantimecouncils  of  warfoUowed 
one  another.     In  pkce  of  a  simple 
affair,  Trochu  drew  up  the  plan  of  a 
real  battle,  with  a  firont  of  not  less 
than  six  Inlometres,  and  tlie  details 
of  which  were  as  minutely  prescribed 
as  if  it  were  to  be  a  review.     He 
even  went  so  &r  as  to  settle  to  a 
minute    the    length    of    time    the 
artillery  were  to  nre.     On  the  29th 
he    visited    the  forts    officially,  in 
order  publicly  to  give  his  instruc- 
tions concerning  the  cannonade  of 
the  morrow.    Chi  their  side,  all  the 
(Generals  of  Division,   escorted  bj 
their  respective  staff's,  proceeded  i> 
head-quarters  to    confer    with  the 
General-in-Chief.     The  whole  Press 
discussed  the  affair,  and  commented 
Ob  the  operations  of  the  morrow. 

What  might  have  been  anticipated 
came  to  pass.  Instead  of  surprising, 
the  French    were  themselves   snr- 


ms] 


The  Paris  OoinmtiM  o/187l. 


873 


priBecL    STetywiiepe^tlio  PMsisiiais 

in  immbera  w«re  ready*  for  them, 

and  ihey  were  again    shamefiillj 

defeated,  with  a  loss  of  1,985  men. 

This  second  Ibllf  of  Trocho,  which 

nHght  be  more  harshly  characterised, ' 

again  excited  a  jast  dissatisfdetion 

iathe  population.    On  the  13th  of 

October  the  hattle  of  Bagnenz  took 

place.    After  having-  pn&ed  on  the 

TTbole  of  the  13th  Corps,  and  got 

possession    of  Bagneax,     (General 

Vinoy   sent^  Troohn  the   following 

telsgnm  : — *  We  are    masters    of 

Bagneax.    I  am  taking  measures 

to  maintain  my  position.    Will  you 

ke^  it  P^     Trochn's  answer  was  an 

order  to  retreat.    This  retreat  was 

carried    out   in  good    order,  with 

the  loss  of  only  200  men ;  but  what 

good  result   could    come    of  this 

systematic  weakness  ? 

On  the  24th  of  October  the  £unous 
affiur  of  Boturget  took  place.  It  was 
only  a  r^^etition  on  a  raster  scale  of 
what  we  have  just  described.    This 
day,  for  the  first  time,  F&ris  got  a 
balletm   of   victory.     Trochu    an- 
nounced to  the  Parisians  that  he  had 
taken  Bourget^  a  yiUage  situated  to 
the  north  of  I^aris  on  iheold  Flanders 
Toad.    *  Thanks  to  this  important 
success  the  oirele  of  operations  is 
about  to  be  enlarged  in  this  direc* 
tion.'     On  ihe  following  day,  the 
29th,  the  Pmssians  directed  a  violent 
caniuxnade  upon  the  village.  Trochu* 
had  left  aome  battalions  of  Mobiles 
there,  but  he  did  not  take  the  trouble 
to  support  them.     On  the  30th  the 
PrussiaaB    returned  en  masse,  and, 
after  crushing  their  unhappy  victims, 
retook  Bonrget.     To  add  irony  to 
di^raoe,  Jules  Pavre  had  the  walls 
of  Paris  phu^urded  to  the  efiPeot  that 
the   population    should   not  allow 
it48e]f   to  be    discouraged  by   this 
erent^  ^aince  Boturget  does  not  belong 
to  our  general  system  of  defence.' 


Far'from  calmiiig,  this  new  insult 
to  its  good  siehse  only  exasperated 
Paris  mo  more.  The  climax  was* 
i^eaohed  the  following  morning, 
when  the  walls  were  covered  with 
placards  announcing  the  capitula- 
tion of  MetsE,  and  the  arrivid  of  M. 
Thiers  as  bearer  of  a  proposition  for 
an  armistice. 

To  form  an  idea  of  the  stupefac- 
tion of  the  Parisians,  it  is  necessary 
to  state  that  this  capitulation,  which 
was  known  to  the  Government  on* 
the  27th,  nearly  cost  F^liz  Pyat  his 
li^B,  for  having  published  it  on  the 
28th,  in  his  journal  Le    C&mhat. 

Srat  obtained  the  news  from 
ourens,  and  the  latter  got  it  from 
Bochefort)  who,  being  a  member  of 
the  Government,  was  present  at  the 
opening  of  the  despatches. 

NeVOTtheless  the  Government 
dared  to  insert  in  the  Official  Journal 
that  the  news  was  false  in  every 
respect,  that  its  author  was  in  lei^e 
with  the  P^ssians  (always  the  old 
calumny),  and  that  he  ought  to  be 
brought  before  a  court-martial,  but 
that  they  were  satisfied  to  deliver 
him  up  to  public  indignaiion — ^that 
was  to  say,  in  plain  French,  *  assassi- 
nate him!'  and  in  fact  the  mob 
rtished  to  the  office  of  the  paper  and 
sacked  it;  and  if  F61iz  Pyat  had  not 
fortunately  been  absent,  there  is 
little  doabt  he  ^ould  have  been  torn 
to  pieces.' 

The  Government  was  afterwards 
forced  to  confess  that  it  had  told  an 
impudent  lie,  and  it  was  not  its 
fault  that  the  people  at  its  instiga- 
tion had  not  committed  an  abomi- 
nable crime.  In  the  presence  of 
such  faetBj  what  boniest  man  dare 
condemn  the  people  for  having  that 
very  day  endeavoured  to  get  rid  of 
such  unworthy  and  incapable  men 
in  order  to  take  its  affairs  into  its 
own  hands  ? 


*  Th«  same  tidng  happened  to  me  on  September  7  with  the  Marmllaise,  for  having 
^and  to  attack  Cbimbetta ;  only  I  received  the  crowd  in  person,  and  things  took  a 
diffierent  turn.  I  was  greeted  with  cheers  that  evening  at  Belleville,  and,  as  at  the 
Hallea  Centrales  and  the  Roe  d' Arras,  the  people  en  masse  supported  xne  against 
GambHta  and  Boehefivt. 


374 


The  Paris  Gommune  of  1871, 


\Jbsii 


It  18  evident  tbat  Socialism  hacl 
nothing  to  do  with  all  this  in  its 
character  of  a  party  having  a  doc- 
trine. It  was  content  to  be  patriotic 
and  Bepublican,  and  to  combat  in* 
dividufuly.  It  is  qoite  true  that  the 
International  refused,  perhaps  with 
too  mnch  modesty,  to  take  the 
official  direction  of  the.  movementi 
as  a  constituted  body,  but  all  its 
members  took  part  in  it  individu- 
ally—  the  men  of  most  influence  at 
the  head.  Karl  Marx,  who  has  a 
German  temperament,  and  does  not 
understand  the  temperament  of  the 
Latins,  was  never  tired  of  counsel- 
ling the  Litemational  to  abstain 
from  all  political  action.  In  France, 
every  one  who  does  not  support  his ' 
views  by  acts,  whether  an  individual 
or  a  party,  is  dead.  The  people 
which  allows  itself  too  ofben  to  be 
paid  by  phrases,  digests  them  quick- 
ly, and  Paris  especudly  requires  lEusts. 

It  was  needAil  to  acquit  the  In- 
ternational of  all  responsibility  in 
what  follows. 

$i8i  of  October. 

About  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing numerous  deputations  of  the 
National  Guards  assembled  round 
the  H6tel  de  Yille  and  demanded 
fit)m  the  Mayor  of  Paris,  E.  Arago, 
and  from  Jules  Simon,  in  the  name 
of  the  Government,  an  explanation 
of  the  rumours  afloat  relating  to  an 
armistice.  Both  swore  that  there 
had  never  been  a  question  of  such 
a  thing,  and  that  they  would  rather 
allow  themselves  to  be  killed  than 
consent  to  it. 

While  this  comedy  was  being 
acted,  the  Gorderie  sent  some  rather 
more  earnest  delegates  to  insist  not 
only  upon  a  struggle  to  the  death, 
but  also  upon  the  election  of  a  com- 
munal assembly,  charged  with  the 
defence  of  Paris  and  its  administra- 
tion. During  the  whole  course  of 
its  progress  this  deputation  was 
greeted  with  the  cries  *  Long  live 
the  Commune ! '  *  Down  with 
Trochu!'     This  was  the  first  ap- 


pearance of  the  Commune.  It  wu 
nothingbut  the  pcotestof  thepeople, 
justly  indignant  at  having  been  so 
grossly  deceived. 

The  4elegates  had  some  troEble  to 
push  their  wav  through.  The  stair- 
case  and  corridors  were  filled  mih 
Breton  Mobiles  deyoted  to  Trochu. 
In  their  wake  the  people  invaded 
the  H6tel  de  Yille,  proclaimed  tHe 
dissolution  of  the  Government,  and 
the  establishment  of  a  Commission 
composed  of  Dorian,  Louis  Blanc^ 
Yilix  Pyat,  Gambon,  Ddeacluze, 
Ledru  Bollin,  and  Milliere,  charged 
with  the  duty  of  proceeding  with 
the  election  of  the  members  of  the 
Communtf  within  481  hours« 

While  this  was  going  on,  the 
membra  of  tbe  government,  who, 
with  ^on^  single  exception^E. 
Picard — ^had  assembled  in  their  hall 
(^deliberation,  BXidjg^ere  surrounded 
by  a  great  number  of  ciiizenB,  de- 
cide4  on  retiring.  Trochu  had 
already  constated  to  give  in  bia 
resignation,  saying  he  would  he 
satisfied  to  lead  .a  battalion  against 
the  enemy. 

Unfortunately  Flonrens  came  to 
spoil  all.  At  the  head  of  the  FosL- 
Hers  of  Belleville  he  broke  into  the 
saloon  and  proclaimed  the  appoint- 
ment of  a  Committee  of  Public 
Safety  (Solid  Public) — ^the  same 
stupid  idea  which  at  a  later  pioriod 
contributed  to  the  overthrow  of  the 
Commune.  The  Commune  meant 
liberiy    through     municipal    self- 

S3vemment ;  it  mea^t  justice.  The 
ommittq^of  PubHc  Safety,  how- 
ever it  might  be  composed,  meant 
dictatorship.  Many  of  the  National 
Guards,  discouraged  by  this  differ- 
ence, retired  from  the  cause* 

In  the  meantime,  Jules  Ferry  and 
Trochu,  who  had  succeeded  io 
making  their  escape — ^in  spite  of 
the  promise  of  Elourens  not  to  lose 
sight  of  them — ^returned  at  the  head 
of  the  Breton  Mobiles  and  of  the 
reactionary  National  Guards. 

Having  received  timely  warning, 
Blanqui,    Flourens,    MilUere,    and 


1873] 


The  Paris  Commune  of  1871. 


375 


Deleschize  came  to  the  following 
terms  with  the  Gk)vemment :— ^ 

1.  The  present  members  of  the 
Government  shonld  remain  at  their 
posts  until  the  Commnnal  elections 
took  place,  which  they  promised  to 
bring  about  as  soon  as  possible. 

2.  The  members  of  the  Com- 
mittee of  Public  Safety  should  have 
M  Kberty  to  retire,  and  the 
Government  should  not  prosecute 
any  person  whatsoever  on  account 
of  what  had  just  taken  place. 

At  four  o'clock  in  the  morning 
eveiyone  departed  to  his  home. 
The  affair  had  fiiiled  owing  to  want 
of  agreement.  If  the  International 
had  acted  in  its  oolleotive  capacity 
it  would  have  made  short  work  of 
exuberant  personalities.  The  Gt)- 
vemment  did  not  keep  a  single 
one  of  its  engagements.  It  did  not 
order  the  elections,  but  it  arrested 
Jackard,  Vermorel,  F^lix  Pyat,  G. 
Lefran^ais,  Endes,  Levrault,Tridon, 
Banvier,  Bazoua,  Tibaldi,  Goupil, 
SUlat,  Y^inier,  R^geie,  Maurice 
Joly,  and  Gyrille.  Blanqui,Milliere, 
and  Flourens  succeeded  in  making 
their  escape. 

The  petite  crev^s  were  rejoiced;' 
the  restaurateurs  again  spraui  out 
their  dainties,  andBr6bant--whohad 
neTer  let  his  customers  suffer  a 
sioffle  day,  as  is  proved  by  the 
m^l  I  am  about  to  describe — 
made  his  ovens  burn  more  brightly 
than  ever.  The  medal  was- of  gold, 
and  was  struck  at  the  Mint.  On 
its  face  it  bore  this  inscription : — 

Daring  the  siege  of  Paris  some  persons 
accustomed  to  meet  once  a  fortnight  at  M. 
Brabant's,  never  once  perceived  that  they 
were  dining  in  a  besieged  town  of  two 
million  inhabitants— 1870-71. 

On  the  reverse : — 

To  M.  Paul  Bbbbaitt. 

Ernest  Renan^S.  de  St.  Vietor— M. 
Bertholet — Ch.  Blanc— Scherer—Dnmesnil 
—A.  Nemser— Ch.  Edmond— Thurot— J. 
Bertrand  —  Marcy— K  de  Goncourt  — 
Th^phile  Ganthier-A.  Hebrard. 

All  weie  there  represented — ^phi- 

VOL.  YU. KO.  XXXIl.     NEW  SERIES. 


losophj,  letters,  the  arts,  criticism ; 
bnt  while  these  gentlemen  were 
eating,  the  people  were  fasting; 
while  they  were  tossing  off  their 
glasses  of  champagne  and  savonring 
their  refined  dishes,  the  women  who 
had  risen  before  daylight,  their  feet 
bnried  in  half-melted  snow,  their 
meagre  shoulders  shivering  nnder 
the  north-east  wind — ^the  wives, 
sisters,  mothers,  and  daughters  of 
the  '  thirty-sous  men,'  as  they  were 
called,  that  is,  of  the  workmen  and 
National  Guards,  —  were  forming 
queue  at  the  bakers'  doors  in  order  to 
obtain  a  piece  of  adulterated  bread 
and  a  portion  of  damaged  meat. 
As  to  the  fathers,  husbands,  sons, 
and  brothers  of  these  poor  crea- 
tures, whom  at  a  later  period  the 
guests  of  Brabant  nicknamed  the 
*  females  of  the  F^d^r^s,'  they  were 
fighting  and  mounting  guard.  How 
could  they  have  been  satisfied? 

Tkb  Battlbs  of  CHAMPXQxnr  Aim 

BUZBMYAL. 

M.  de  Bismark,  in  the  meantime, 
had  rejected  all  proposals  of  an 
armistice  which  stipulated  for  the 
re- victualling  of  Paris  during  the 
time  it  lasted.  Consequently  it  was 
necessary  to  renew  the  struggle  and 
to  abandon  the  hope  of  immediate 
capitulation,  so  dear  to  the  Oovem- 
ment  and  to  M.  Brabant's  customers. 
The  Government  was  obliged  to 
make  a  new  show  of  resistance. 
Marching  battalions  were  organised, 
and  many  of  their  officers  be- 
longed to  the  International.  The 
people  breathed  again,  and  believed 
that  now,  at  last,  they  would  have 
the  satisfaction  of  fighting  in  earnest. 
With  all  the  pomp  and  charlatanism 
necessary  to  throw  dust  into  the 
eyes  of  the  credulous,  and  to  at- 
tract the  attention  of  the  PrussianSy 
Ducrot  prepared  a  great  sortie, 
which  was  ushered  in  by  a  procla- 
mation, since  become  famous  owing 
to  the  following  gasconade: — 'Pari- 
sians !  you  wiu  never  see  me  again 
except  dead  or  victorious.'    He  re- 

D    D 


374 


J7*fl  Paris  Commune  of  18'^'' 


/v'/ 


It  is  evident  tliat  Socialism  h»^ 
nothing  to  do  with  all  *^' 
character  of  a  party  hf 
trine.  It  was  content  t'  .-. 

and  Bepablican,  and 
dividnally.    It  is  qn* 
International  refa? 
too  mnch  mode? 
official  direction 


[Mkrch 

jftftref&iisbed. 
formed  of 


'       ^^jVi^^^frointhefactof 
^^^'^fae  13th  Corps  to  de- 


:.  ^- 


as  a  constitutf 
members  tooV 
ally —  the  m' 
the  head. 
German  t^ 
understa         1 
Latins,  #* '; 

ling  t 


pOt. 


from 
ever 
vie 
or 


'^•^*>/»^^'  '^^''bridp^^  of  Goumay,  'whicli 
'^  A*^**^i^  A?/2ger  in  existence,  having 
.>>^  ^tio^TEL  up  by  order  of  Trocbn 
' r'^j!^^^'Jn{tJ ^Ih^ioxQ  the  siege  began. 
:',/^*'  !*J  V    ^^  *^6  19*^  of  January  all  Paris 
r^^^J/^  irsfl  astir;  armed  to  the  teeth  she  was 
:'''^%t^^^iLd  Abo^t  to  stake  her  all.    The  iim  of 
'^'         the  marching  battalions  was  remark- 
able. The  men  who  composed  them, 
for  the  most  part  married  and  &thers 
of  a  family,  departed  conrageously, 
escorted  by  their   fiEkmilies  to  the 
gates  of  Paris.      The  women  re- 
strained their  tears  and  consoled 


ri'^ul 


discon- 


^_        ^ their  children.     *  Do  yonrduty,  and 

'^'^^^ sider^ll  greB^^-     Every     we  will  do  ours,'  they  said  to  the 


:'■*      iid^^^-U  ifleBXeT.     Ejvery     we  wiii  ao  ours,     Lney  saio.  \Ai  \uk 
»"*•"  '''^t^     it  happened — ^by    cherished  beings    whom  many  of 


^^'^ed  l^^^act  of  folly — ^that    them  would  never   see  again;  and 
••"•rf^^^  388,000  n  -    -        - 

foond  himself  on  the 


fP'O,^  found  himself  on  the 
A'  di^fibe  battle  overwhelmed 


^/,/rt/  <^y    ginoe  his  lines  of  opera- 

by  '^^mach  shorter  than  those 

tio^  ^^  0netoy  \   and    indeed    only 

of  ^^^  goaJd  give  a  plausible  ex- 

t'^^^on  of  such  a  result.     Yet  the 

^^h^le month  of  November  had  been 

ot  in  preparations  for  this  gigan- 

fj^i  jjombug.'     Now  neither  Trochn 

or  the  Government  was  ignorant 

q{  the  number  of  rations,  and  con- 

jequently  they  knew    how    many 

(Jays  Paris    could  hold  out.     The 

inhabitants,  in  their  exasperation, 

demanded  the  dismissal  of  Trochu 

and  called  for  a  sortie  en  masse. 

This  sortie  was  made  on  the  19th 

of  January,  with  even  less  success 

than  the  affair  of  Champigny.     In 

the  interval  the  disastrous  affair  of 

the  Plateau  d' Avron  had  taken  place, 

and  the  useless  attempt  to  retake 

Bourget. 

As  early  as  the  7  th  of  September  I 
had  written  to  Trochu  to  point  out 
to  him  the  importance  of  the  Pla- 
teau, and  to  impress  upon  him  the 
necessity  of  making  it  a  tenable 
position.  On  the  23m  of  December, 
when  we  were  obliged  to  evacuate 


they  did  their  duty  bravely. 

The  army  could  not  help  admir- 
ing and  applauding  their  enthu- 
siasm. All  might  have  gone  well 
if  the  French  Generals  had  or- 
dered the  advance  to  be  sounded 
instead  of  the  retreat.  But  Paris 
victorious  meant  the  triumph  of  the 
people  and  the  destruction  of  the 
standing  army.  In  order  that  the 
Generals  might  retain  their  sine- 
cures it  was  necessary  that  the 
enemy  should  triumph,  and  that  the 
people  should  be  crashed. 

Make  your  notes  in  peace,  0 
Gbnerals  of  the  Empire !  You  hare 
attained  your  object.  The  humilia^ 
tion  of  France,  the  victory  of  the 
foreigner,  and  the  massacre  of  the 
people  by  you,  give  yon  a  threefold 
right  to  the  budget  of  which  Prance 
bears  the  burden. 

This  last  treason  coald  not  &il  of 
its  effect  on  Paris.  There  was  too 
much  grief,  too  much  despair  and 
indignation  there  for  an  explosion 
not  to  take  place.  It  was  in  yt^ 
that  the  (jovemment  threw  Trochu 
overboard  and  replaced  him  h; 
Vinoy.  What  the  people  wanted 
was  the  Commune,  that  they  might 
obtain  the  conduct   of  their  own 


1873] 


The  Paris  Commune  of  1871. 


877 


Vrs.     The  22nd  of  January  was 
day  appointed  for  a  fresh  Com- 
nal  demonstration;  but,  in  order 
/  understand  the  nature   of   the 
movement,  it  is  necessary  to  east  a 
eouj)  d'oeil  on  the  political  organisa- 
tion of  Paris  at  that  time.     Since 
the  4th  of  September,  outside  the 
Corderie,  where  the  different  socie- 
ties belonging  to  the  Socialist  party 
held  their  meetings,  other  societies 
had  formed  themselves,  purely  poli- 
tical— that  is  to  say,  for  the  most 
part  Jacobin. 

First  there  was  the  *  Republican 
Union,'  consistinjoj  chiefly  of  the 
representatives  of  1848-51,  who  were 
dispersed  on  the  2nd  of  December ; 
then  there  was  the  'Republican 
Alliance,'  which  grew  out  of  a 
schism  in  the  Republican  Union, 
but  was  composed  of  similar  ele- 
ments— the  Republican  bourgeoisie 
who  were  opposed  to  Socialism. 
This  society  still  counts  many  mem- 
bers in  the  South  of  France,  and 
plays  a  great  part  in  the  elections. 
Besides  these  there  was  -  *  the  De- 
fenders of  the  Republic,'  a  society 
founded  by  Henri  Brisson,  with  an 
aim  to  personal  election.  At  that 
time  it  was  of  little  importance,  but 
since  then  it  has  been  reformed  and 
has  done  good  service.  These  so- 
cieties, after  having  come  to  an 
understanding  for  the  occasion  with 
the  faubourgs  and  the  International, 
issued  a  proclamation,  ordering  the 
Communal  elections,  and  fixing  a 
rendezvous  with  the  National  Ghiards 
on  the  Place  of  the  H6tel  de  Yille 
on  the  22nd  of  January.  On  its 
side,  the  Government,  which  no 
longer  held  its  sittings  at  the  Hdtel 
de  V  ille,  had  filled  it  and  the  two 
annexes  at  the  comers  of  the  rue 
Victoria  with  Breton  Mobiles.  The 
windows  were  blocked  up  with  bags 
filled  with  earth. 

When  the  deputation  presented 
itself  at  the  H6tel  de  Ville,  Chaudey, 
the  colleague  of  Jules  Ferry,  was 
alone,  (hi  pretence  of  going  to 
consult  the  latter,  he  retired  for  a 


few  moments,  and  gave  orders  for 
the  Mobiles  to  fire  upon  the  people, 
and  upon  about  200  National 
Guards  of  Batignolles,  commanded 
by  Sapia.  Without  any  provocation, 
without  any  warning,  in  one  mo- 
ment the  ground  was  covered  with 
corpses.  The  Catholic  Mobiles  of 
Brittany  assassinated  in  cold  blood 
the  Parisians  who  had  come  to  ask 
for  the  Commune.  Chaudey  ex- 
piated this  horrible  crime  with 
his  life.  Sixty  corpses  remained 
lying  on  the  square,  mostly  those 
of  women  and  children,  who  had 
been  attracted  by  curiosity.  More 
than  a  thousand  warrants  of  arrest 
were  issued ;  and  the  miserable  vic- 
tims, shut  up  together  pell-mell  in 
Vincennes,  without  fire,  during 
one  of  the  most  severe  winters  of 
this  age,  underwent  terrible  suffer- 
ings. The  people  never  forget  this 
sort  of  executions.  These  were 
avenged  tinder  the  Commune,  as 
those  of  the  Versaillists  will  be  here- 
after. This  is  no  threat — I  am  not 
so  childish.  I  sorrowftilly  affirm  a 
law  based  upon  never-failing  pre- 
cedents. 

Six  days  later  Paris  capitulated. 
There  was  a  rumour  current  that 
the  sailors  refused  to  surrender  the 
forts.  Bah !  These  people — I  speak 
of  the  chiefs,  especially  admirals  as 
well  as  generals — ^have  their  own 
particular  courage  and  honour;  they 
know  no  other.  This  honour  and 
this  courage  consist  in  allowing  a 
cannon  ball  to  pass  over  them 
without  bending  their  heads,  and 
in  giving  up  their  swords  in  a 
partiCTtlar  manner.  They  wait  till 
the  breach  has  the  number  of  cen- 
timetres prescribed  by  the  code; 
then  they  surrender.  Their  con- 
science and  the  militaiy  code  are 
satisfied.  They  are  paid  for  that 
and  nothing  else.  It  is  as  if  yon. 
demanded  of  the  laquais  when  he 
has  cleaned  your  room,  or  of  the 
groom  when  he  has  rubbed  down 
your  horses,  some  affection  towards 
ids  master.  He  would  simply  ask 
D  D  a 


378 


The  Pa/rU  Commune  o/1871. 


[Much 


in  reply,  *  How  much  extra  do  you 
pay  for  snch  service  ? ' 

The  truth  is  the  sailors  as  well  as 
the  soldiers  were  glad  to  surrender, 
and  many  of  them  were  heard  to 
shout  aloud,  *  We  don't  care  a  d — 
for  France  or  the  French ;  we  shall 
go  to  Germany,  where  there  is  good 
beer!'  Imperial  system!  Panem 
et  circenses. 

In  capitulating,  Jules  Favre  had 
stipulated  that  the  National  Guards 
should  not  be  disarmed.  Afterwards 
he  asked  pardon  of  God  and  of  man 
for  this  error,  but  the  truth  is  he 
could  not  have  done  otherwise.  The 
National  Guards  would  not  have 
placed  themselves  in  the  power 
of  the  army — of  that  they  have 
g^yen  proof  in  allowing  themselves 
to  be  cut  to  pieces  by  the  Yersaillists 
rather  than  surrender 

According  to  the  terms  of  the 
capitulation,  the  elections  were  to 
take  place  on  the  8th  of  February. 
On  the  1 2th  the  Assembly  was  to 
meet  at  Bordeaux.  The  elections 
at  Paris  were  conducted  under  con- 
ditions whose  sincerity  was  more 
than  doubtful.  M.  Jules  Ferry 
took  more  than  eight  days  to  sum 
up  the  votes.  M.  Thiers,  who  on 
the  7th  had  only  6i,ooo  votes  all  of 
a  sudden  had  103,226.  Some  light 
may  be  thrown  on  this  by  a  &ct 
to  which  I  can  bear  witness.  M. 
Charles  Floquet  went  to  the  Hdtel 
de  YiUe  in  person,  in  order  to  de- 
mand the  restitution  of  10,000  votes, 
which  M.  Jules  Feriy  had  sub- 
tracted from  him.  '  Ex  uno  disce 
omnes.'  A  great  number  of  elec- 
tors abstained  from  voting,  either 
out  of  disgust  or  from  fear ;  and  in 
&ct  a  great  number  of  arrests  were 
made  at  the  polls.  Out  of  forty- 
three  Deputies  only  seven  were  Con- 
servatives. Jules  Favre  was  the 
only  member  of  the  Government 
who  was  elected,  and  he  was  the 
last  but  one.  Louis  Blanc  was  the 
first.  The  first  acts  of  the  Assem- 
bly at  Bordeaux  were  not  of  a  nature 
to    calm    the    popular    irritation. 


These  men,  these    ghosts    of  the 
past,   who  had    done  nothing  for 
their  country  while  it  was  in  dan- 
ger, and  who  were  now  about  to 
put  the  seal  upon  its  dismember- 
ment began  with  an  insult  to  Gari- 
baldi, which  passed  over  the  head 
of  Garibaldi  to  strike  the  people 
of   Paris ;    for    the    Parisians,   in 
testimony  of  their  gratitude  to  the 
hero  of  Italy,  had  appointed  him 
General    of    the    National   Guard. 
Garibaldi  retired,  as  well  as  Victor 
Hugo.     To  emphasise  still  more  the 
insult  to  the  Parisians,  D'Aurelles 
de  Paladine  was  imposed  upon  them 
— the  pious  General  of  the  Jesuits^ 
who,  in  order  to  beat  the  Prussians, 
had  recourse    to  Notre  Dame  of 
Fourvieres.      This  D'Aurelles  had 
not  distinguished  himself   in    his 
past  military  career.    It  was  to  him 
that  Gambetta  entrusted  the  great 
army  of  the  Loire.     At  the  first 
shock,  and  in  spite  of  Notre  Dame 
of  Fourvieres,  this  army  split  into 
two.     Gambetta,  without  being  at 
all  disconcerted,  issued  a  proclama- 
tion that  henceforth  there  were  two 
armies  of  the  Loire,  and  gave  one 
to  Chanzy,  while  Bourbaki  took  the 
command  of  the  other.     A  second 
shock  produced  a  similar    result. 
The  Generals  of  Gambetta  multi- 
plied the  armies  just  as  one  multiplies 
pieces  of  china  by  letting  them  fall. 
The  Holy  Virgin  did  not  protect 
D'Aurelles  any  better  at  Paris  than 
she  had  done  at  Orleans.     The  Pa- 
risians were  unmanageable.     Blow 
upon     blow    followed     upon     this 
miserable  choice  of  a  General  for 
the  National  Guard — ^first  the  de- 
gradation of  Paris  from  lier  rank  as 
capital,  and  next  the  entrance  of 
the  Prussians.     It  was   too  mucL 
On  the  27th  it  was  supposed  thai 
the  Prussians  would  enter  on  the 
following  day.      Everyw^here    waa 
heard    the   beating    of    the    gene- 
rale,  and  200,000  armed  National 
Guards  marched  to  the  barriers  of 
L'£toile  and  Passy.    It  was  a  &lse 
alarm.    On  their  return  they  car* 


1873] 


The  Paris  Commune  of  1871. 


379 


ried  back  with  them  a  number  of 
pieces  of  artillery  which  had  been 
left  at  the  park  of  Wagram,  on  the 
spot  abont  to  be  occupied  by  the 
Prussians.  These  pieces,  paid  for 
by  the  subscriptions  of  the  National 
(Jaard,  were  clearly  their  own  pro- 
perty. After  the  peace  was  con- 
cluded, the  bourgeois  journals  di- 
rected all  their  attacks  against  the 
poor  National  Guards,  who  were 
easily  recognised  by  their  thirty 
flous.  As  they  had  no  work  it  had  be^ 
cx>me  necessary  to  give  thirty  sous  a 
day  to  all  National  Onards  who 
asked  for  it.  Hence  resulted  two 
classes  of  citizens — the  poor  at 
thirty  sous  and  the  rich  who  served 
gratuitously.  The  above-mentioned 
journals  called  loudly  for  the  dis- 
arming of  the  National  Ghiard.  Ac- 
cording to  them,  it  was  only  out  of 
laziness  and  for  the  sake  of  the 
thirty  sous  that  the  people  desired 
to  maintain  the  institution;  but 
where  is  the  workman  even  who 
would  be  satisfied  with  thirty 
sous  ?  The  petife  bourgeoisie,  on 
the  other  hand,  who  were  discon- 
tented with  the  law  about  the  falling 
due  of  bills,  which  tended  directly 
to  bankruptcy,  joined  with  the  people 
in  demanding  the  Commune.  On 
all  sides  one  heard  it  spoken — '  Since 
France  will  have  nothing  to  do  with 
us,  we  will  have  nothing  to  do  with 
France.  Paris  as  a  free  town  has 
everything  to  gain.* 

When  matters  were  in  such  a 
state  of  tension  only  a  pretext  was 
wanting  to  bring  about  a  crisis. 
This  pretext  was  afforded  imme- 
diately by.  the  official  journals. 
They  complained  of  the  dan^r  that 
threatened  the  peaceable  inhabit- 
ants from  the  cannon  of  Mont- 
martre  being  levelled  on  Paris. 
There  was  no  question  of  their 
being  levelled  on  Paris.  The  guns 
on  the  summit  of  the  Buttes 
-were  only  troub^iesome  to  their 
guardians,  who  were  only  too 
desirous  to  be  rid  of  them.  Nego- 
tiations were  in  progress.    The  de- 


legates of  the  6ist  battalion  of 
Montmartre,  through  the  mediation 
of  their  mayor,  Gl6menceau,  had 
offered  to  surrender  the  guns  un- 
conditionally, but  Vinoy  thought 
proper  to  cut  short  the  denouement. 
What  was  desired  in  high  quarters 
was  a  massacre,  that  they  might 
take  advantage  of  it  to  disarm  the 
National  Guard  and  annihilate  the 
Socialist  party. 

On  March  1 2,  on  his  own  autho- 
rity, Yinoy  suppressed  six  Badical 
journals,  Le  Vengeur,  Le  On  du 
Peuple,  Le  Mot  cTOrdre^  Le  Pere 
DuchesTie,  La  Garicatnre^  and  the 
Bouche  de  fer.  Not  content  with 
this,  he  forbade  the  publication  of 
any  new  journal  until  the  state  of 
siege  was  declared  at  an  end — ^that 
is  to  say,  indefinitely. 

The  new  regime  was  of  bad 
augury  for  the  Republicans.  Every- 
one recognised  in  these  measures — 
too  well  known,  alas  !  in  France,  by 
having  been  so  often  employed — 
the  preliminaries  of  a  monarchical 
restoration.  On  the  night  of  the 
T  5-1 6th  of  March  a  strong  detach- 
ment of  mounted  gaards  issued 
from  the  barracks  of  the  Celestines 
to  try  to  seize  by  surprise  the  pieces 
of  artillery  belonging  to  the  3rd 
and  4th  arrondissements  on  the 
Place  des  Yosges.  But  the  National 
Guards  were  on  the  watch,  and  the 
cavalry  had  to  beat  a  retreat.  Some 
hours  later  these  pieces  were  re- 
moved to  the  Rue  Basfroid,  where 
they  were  in  greater  safety. 

On  the  morning  of  the  i8th  the 
Government  had  all  the  walls  of 
Paris  covered  with  a  proclamation, 
announcing  its  resolve  to  bring 
matters  to  an  end.  As  was  always 
the  case,  it  insulted  the  people  by 
appealing  to  the  bourgeoisie.  This 
was  its  mistake,  and  it  speedily 
perceived  it.  The  people  alone 
rose — but  to  resist  the  aggression 
of  the  Government ;  the  bourgeoisie 
did  not  stir.  On  the  morning  of 
the  1 8th,  at  the  moment  the 
Parisian  was  reading  the  proclama- 


380 


The  Paris  Commune  of  1871. 


[Muck 


tion  ho  conld  see  the  troops  on  the 
heights  of  Montmartre,  who  had 
got  possession  of  the  famous 
cannon.  The  success  did  not  last 
long.  In  a  moment  the  troops, 
surrounded  by  the  people,  raised 
the  butt  ends  of  their  muskets  in 
the  air.  The  famous  Vinoy,  who 
commanded  the  expedition,  seized 
by  a  panic  fear,  fled  at  full 
gallop,  losing  his  kepi,  which  I 
afterwards  saw  in  the  hands  of  a 
National  Guard,  and  abandoning  his 
troops.  General  Leoomte,  who 
commanded  the  ist  brigade,  was 
seized  and  shot  by  his  own  troops. 
I  am  well  aware  that  the  Councils 
of  War,  iu  order  not  to  admit  this 
terrible  precedent  of  a  general  shot 
.  by  his  own  soldiers,  condemned  in- 
nocent people  on  this  charge,  but 
I  also  know  that  the  men  of  the 
88th  regiment  of  the  line  shot 
him  —  just  as  National  Guards 
shot  Clement  Thomas.  Both  were 
killed  not  only  without  the  order, 
but  even  without  the  knowledge 
of  the  Central  Committee. 

Thiers  at  once  ordered  the  eva- 
cuation of  Paris.  The  dream  of  his 
life  was  fulfilled.  He  was  about  to 
become  the  first  man  in  the  State. 
He  was  about  to  command  the  army 
(he  had  always  believed  himself  a 
great  strategist),  and  he  was, at  last, 
about  to  put  into  execution  the  idea 
he  had  so  often  expressed,  and  which 
he  had  only  been  able  to  sketch  out 
roughly  in  the  Hue  Transnonain, 
*  make  Paris  stew  in  its  own  juice.' 
Without  the  massacre,  which  he  had 
so  long,  so  cleverly  and  patiently 
prepared,  the  disarming  might  take 
place,  to  be  followed  by  the  restora- 
tion of  the  monarchy,  and  then 
Thiers  would  no  longer  be  the 
'saviour,'  the  man  indispensable 
to  the  timid  bourgeoisie,  but  only  a 
Monk,  to  be  cast  off  like  old  clothes, 
whom  Henry  V.  would  certainly 
have  dismissed,  and  whom  the 
Count  de  Paris  would  have  put  in 
the  second  or  third  rank.  Thiers 
reflected  that  it  would  be  better  to 


work  for  himself  than  for  otherB. 
He  has  succeeded.  At  his  age  ha 
may  die  in  his  triumph. 

One  word  about  the  Central  Com- 
mittee.    Its  birth  dates  from  Feb- 
ruary 24.     It  took  its  origin  fi^m 
the  universal  discontent  of  the  Na- 
tional Guard,  and  their  apprehension 
concerning  the  disarming  and  the 
restoration  of  the  monarchy.    But, 
it  was  the  International — of  which 
Varlin  was  the  soul — that  took  ad- 
vantage of  the  discontent  to  bring 
about  an  organisation  of  the  peo- 
ple in  earnest ;  hunted  as  I  was,  at 
this  period,  in  the  South  by  Gam- 
betta  and  his  bloodhounds,  Varlin 
kept  me  informed  day  by  day  of 
what  was  happening,  and  consulted 
me  before  the  first  meeting.     Some 
members  of  the  Parisian   Federal 
Council  of  the   International  had 
even  been  attached  to  the  Central 
Committee,  as  being  men  of  more 
experience.     It  was  they  who  ori- 
ginated the  meeting  of  the  3rd  of 
March,  and  on  the  4th,  on  the  pro- 
position of  Varlin,  the   Committee 
proceeded  to  the  general  re-election 
of  the  National  Guard  ;    indeed  it 
had  only  to  co-ordinate  the  elements 
already  predisposed  to  accept  what 
we  desired — the  Commune  and  the 
Bepublic.  Then  the  ability  of  Varlin 
and  his  International  friends  became 
manifest.    They  effaced  themselves. 
No  one  felt  the  hand  that  held  the 
reins    of   this   fiery    charger,   the 
People.  They  were  satisfied  to  desire 
what  all  the    world   desired,  and 
allowed  everyone  to    pass  muster 
who   was   devoted  to    the   general 
idea.     Hence  the  mass  of  unknown 
persons  who  astonished  Paris  on  the 
1 8th  of  March.     The  men  of  the 
Central  Committee  were  only  known 
by  their  quarter,  by  their  company, 
or  battalion — but  there  they  were 
known,   and  well    known,   indiTi- 
dually. 

Every  company  of  the  National 
Guard  sent  a  delegate  to  the  Gen- 
eral Assembly.  Every  battalion 
sent  an  officer — every  commander 


187S] 


The  Paris  Oommime  of  1871. 


381 


of  fib  battalion  was  there  by  right  of 
bm  office. 

After  the  formation  of  the  Gen- 
eral Assembly  *  the  Circle  of  Bat- 
talion '  waA  formed.  The  circle 
of  battalion  was  composed  of  dele- 
gates from  the  General  Assembly, 
with  the  addition  of  two  special 
delegates  from  each  company. 

The  Conncil  of  the  Legion  (Ooii- 
seU  de  Legion),  representing  all  the 
battalions  of  the  arrondissement, 
was  composed  of  three  delegates 
from  each  circle  of  battalion  and  of 
all  the  commanders  of  battalion  be- 
longing to  the  legion.  The  com- 
mander of  a  battalion  thns  belonged 
to  each  of  the  degrees  of  the  or- 
ganisation— General  Assembly,  Gir- 
de  of  Battalion,  and  Council  of  the 
Legion. 

Each  delegate  to  the  General 
Assembly  conld  be  at  once  deposed 
if  be  did  not  behave  weU,  and  this 
was  easy  of  accomplishment  by 
means  of  the  circle  of  battalion  and 
the  conncil  of  the  legion. 

The  Central  Committee,  or  Ex- 
ecutive, was  composed  in  the  follow- 
ing manner  : — Three  delegates  elect- 
ed by  the  coancil  of  the  legion,  with 
the  addition  of  a  commander  of  bat- 
iaHon,  for  each  arrondissement  or 
legion,  elected  by  his  colleagues  of 
the  legion — in  all  eighty  members. 
Such  was  the  Committee  which 
(m  the  x8ih  of  March  took  up  the 
authority  which  had  fallen  from 
the  hands  of  M.  Thiers. 

This  Comniittee,  which  was  ac- 
knowledged by  200  out  of  the  270 
hattalionsy  was  as  capable  as  it  was 
modest,  and,  above  all,  it  was  sin- 
cere. Although  I  did  not  belong 
to  it — being  absent  from  Paris  at 
the  time  of  its  formation — ^I  was  re- 
quested to  attend  its  sittings  imme- 
diately on  my  arrival,  and  my  advice 
was  frequently  asked.  With  the 
exception  of  one  or  two  men  of  a 
bad  sort,  it  would  have  been  diffi- 
cult to  find  an  Assembly  more  ad- 
mirably adapted  to  the  circum- 
stances ;  it  was  much  more  efficient, 


though  in  appearance  more  rough 
than  the  Commune.  What  divided 
the  opinion  of  the  public  about  it 
was,  as  I  have  alimdy  said,  the 
having  to  deal  with  people  who 
were  unknown.  They  themselves 
felt  the  burden  of  the  mistrust 
which  attaches  to  everything 
that  is  not  known.  In  their  first 
proclamation  they  resolutely  grap- 
pled with  this  difficulty.  *One  of 
the  chief  causes  of  anger  against  us 
is  the  obscurity  of  our  names.  Alas  t 
many  names  were  known,  and 
this  notoriety  was  fiktal  to  us.  When 
we  have  gained  the  goal,  we  shall 
say  to  the  people — Behold  the  mis- 
sion you  entrusted  us  with.  There 
where  our  personal  interest  begins, 
our  duly  ends.  Do  your  wQl, 
my  master,  you  have  become  free. 
A  few  days  ago  we  were  obscure,, 
and  obscure  we  shall  re-enter  your 
ranks,  proving  to  the  Governments- 
that  it  is  possible  to  descend  the 
steps  of  your  H6tei  de  Ville  with 
the  certainty  of  meeting  the  pres- 
,  sure  of  your  loyal  and  s^ng 
hands  at  the  bottom.'  (Oentral  Gorn^ 
mitteej  March  19.)  Could  anything 
be  more  simple,  more  honest,  and 
more  great !  Again  :  '  We  are  not 
known.  We  know  it,  and  we  are 
in  haste  to  lay  down  iJus  dictator- 
ship which  we  have  not  sought. 
We  are  the  obscure  organs,  the 
humble  instruments  of  &e  people, 
who,  being  attacked,  have  confided 
to  us  the  organisation  of  the  defence. 
We  are  not  a  political  power ;  neither 
do  we  wish  to  he.  Servants  of  the 
popular  will,  we  are  here  to  be  its 
echo — to  cause  it  to  triumph.  The 
people  desires  the  Commune,  and  we 
shall  remain  to  carry  out  the  elec- 
tions of  the  Commane.' 

The  author  of  these  proclamations 
was  a  man  of  the  name  of  Moreau. 
It  is  evident  from  the  facts  them- 
selves, as  well  as  from  the 
official  declarations  of  the  true  re- 
presentatives, the  honest,  sincere 
representatives  of  the  people  of 
Paris — I,  that  the  people  had  merely 


382 


The  Paris  Commune  of  1871. 


[M&icU 


defended  ifcself ;  2,  that  it  desired 
the  Commune  ;  3,  that  there  was  to 
be  no  deceit  employed  in  the  choice 
of  the  future  members  of  this  Com- 
mune :  the  Central  Committee  con- 
sidering the  Communal  elections 
the  principal  object  of  its  mission. 
Faithftd  to  this  mission  the  Central 
Committee  convoked  the  electors 
for  the  22nd  of  March. 

As  it  does  not  enter  into  my 
plan  to  give  the  history  either  of 
the  Central  Committee  or  of  the 
Commune,  but  simply  to  point  out 
the  origin,  tendency,  and  aim  of 
this  remarkable  movement,  begun  on 
March  18,  and  terminated  on  May 
28,  I  shall  confine  myself  to  the 
quotation  of  one  or  two  passages 
of  the  official  records  kept  bv 
Longuet.  '  Impartial  history  will 
establish  undeniably  that  the  Revo- 
lution of  March  18  is  a  now  and 
important  step  in  the  march  of 
progress.  The  proletariat  of  the 
Capital,  in  themidstof  the  treachery 
and  bankruptcy  of  the  governing 
classes,  have  understood  that  the 
hour  has  stnick  for  them  to  save 
the  nation  by  taking  the  direction 
of  public  adaira  into  their  own 
hands.  Shall  the  working  men 
never  be  permitted  to  work  out 
their  own  emancipation  without 
jraising  against  them  a  concert  of 
maledictions  P  Does  not  the 
bourgeoisie  —  which  accomplished 
its  emancipation  more  than  three- 
quarters  of  a  century  ago — which 
preceded  them  on  the  road  of  revo- 
lution, understand  that  the  hour 
has  come  for  the  emancipation  of 
the  proletariat?'  *  Paris  has  there- 
fore the  incontestable  right  to  pro- 
ceed to  elect  a  municipal  council, 
to  administer  its  own  affairs,  as 
it  behoves  every  democratic  city 
to  do,  and  watch  over  the  public 
security  and  liberty  by  the  aid  of  a 
National  Guard  composed  of  all  the 
citizens,  and  electing  their  chiefs 
directly  by  universal  suffrage.' 

Such  was  the  official  language  of 
the  Central  Com  mittee ;  and,  it  seems 


to  me,  it  could  not  be  more  sen* 
sible,  more  worthy,  more  expUcit, 
and  more  moderate.  One  cannot 
say  the  same  of  the  language  of 
Versailles.  *It  is  the  party  of 
brigandage,'  cried  Trochu  in  the 
Assembly.  '  1  prefer  to  be  van- 
quished by  the  miscreants  to  not 
having  fought  them,'  said  Thiers. 
'Let  us  fight  without  truce,  or  mercy, 
this  impure  crowd,  composed  of  the 
most  detestable  elements,'  shouted 
Jules  Favre,  the  honest  forger.  The 
whole  Press  called  the  Press  of 
order,  not  only  in  Prance,  but  ia 
foreign  countries,  used  the  same 
language,  even  more  emphatically. 

We  have  seen  on  which  side  was 
right ;  on  comparing  the  language, 
we  may  see  on  which  side  was 
moderation. 

On  March  26, 230,000  Parisian  elec- 
tors took  part  in  the  elections  of  the 
Commune.  This  was  'the  handful 
of  factious  persons  who  terrorised 
Paris, '  according  to  the  despatches  of 
the  Government.  Never  were  elec* 
tions  more  free.  Never  was  a  popu- 
lation (1  use  the  word  designedly, 
because  on  that  day  the  bourgeoisie 
made  common  cause  with  the  people) 
more  full  of  sympathy  and  enthu- 
siasm. Everyone  supposed  that 
universal  suffrage,  so  loyally  called 
into  action,  would  put  an  end  to 
the  dispute ;  for  how  was  it  possible 
to  imagine  that  the  mayors  and 
Deputies  of  Paris,  who  were  in  daily 
communication  with  Thiers  and  the 
Assembly,  could  have  taken  part 
in  the  convocation  of  the  electors 
without  being  in  agreement  with 
Versailles  ?  Were  they,  then,  only 
hired  agents  provoking  to  sedition, 
and  accomplices  in  the  Macchiavel- 
lian  plan  of  M.  Thiers  ?  Alas  1  it 
was  too  true  ;  and  two  among  them, 
Yautrain  and  Yacherot,  have  boast- 
ed of  it. 

I  have  already  shown  hj  what  a 
succession  of  acts,  grievances,  and 
aspirations  the  Conmiune  came  forth 
from  the  hearts  of  the  people  of 
Paris.     It  remains  for  me  to  shoir 


ms] 


The  Paris  Omnmune  of  187L 


wfaatwasitsdesire.  Arthur Amonld, 
OTtd  of  its  members,  and  certainlj 
one  of  its  best  minds,  stuns  it  np 
tfans : — 

'  We  do  not  desire  to  impose  onr 
will  on  the  rest  of  France.    We 
sunplj  demand  for  ourselves  the 
rights  and  guarantees  that  are  es- 
fieniaal  to  us.    We .  desire  the  abso- 
lute autonomy  of  the  Commune  of 
Paris.  We  desire  to  administer  our 
own  affairs.    We  desire  that  within 
the  boundaries  of  Paris — the  go- 
venunent,    the    administration    of 
justice,  the  police,  the  armed  force, 
shall  be  all  onr  own.  We  desire  that 
all  that  has  reference  to  taxes,  pub- 
lic worship,  public  instruction,  the 
oi^^sation  of  labour,  shall  be  re- 
gulated bj  oorselyes,  as  far  as  Paris 
is  concerned.     We  do  not  desire  to 
separate  ourselves  from  France.  We 
wfll  accept  the  general  laws  pro- 
mulgated by  the  Central  Gbvem- 
meot  (provided  that  the  Gk)yem- 
ment  is  Republican)  in  all  that  does 
not  attack  onr   Communal    auto- 
nomy.   Thns,  we  will  pay  our  share 
of  the  war  expenses.  Thus,  although 
we  desire  to  abolish  the  conscrip- 
tion and  the  standing  army,  we  will 
funush     onr    contingent    in    case 
of  war,  but  we  shall  give  this  con- 
tingent according  to  onr  own  view 
of  die  matter.    We  shall  encourage 
the  other  Communes  of  France  to 
follow  onr  example,  and  to  join  us 
in  a  federation.     We  desire,  in  one 
word,  to  be  masters  at  home ;    to 
Hve  according  to  our  own  fashion, 
according  to  onr  convictions  and 
our  own  needs.     Let  Versailles  re- 
cognise onr  autonomy,  and  we  shall 
not  fight  against  her.     If,  however, 
VersiuUes  attacks  us,  we  shall  defend 
ourselves,  bein^  tired  of  supporting 
the  yoke  of  the  French  peasantry. 
We  do  not  demand  that  the  Centitd 
Government  shall  sit  in  Paris.    We 
are  willing  to  renounce  the  material 
advantages  belonging  to  a  capital, 
in  order  to    enjoy  the  benefits,  a 
hundred   times   more  precious,  of 
liberty.      Nevertheless,   if  the  Go- 


vernment should  desire  to  retuni 
and  have  its  seat  in  Paris,  we  are 
ready  to  open  our  gates  to  it,  but 
on  condition  that  it  brings  with  it 
neither  soldier  nor  police  agent,  and 
that  it  renounces  all  interference  in 
our  Communal  affairs.  It  shall  also 
be  clearly  understood  that  to  the 
National  Guard  alone  shall  be  en- 
trusted the  charge  of  watching  over  * 
it  and  protecting  it,  as  well  as  of 
protecting  us  against  it.* 

This  was  no  other  than  the  pro- 
gramme of  the  Central  Committee 
and  of  the  Bevolntion  of  the  i8th  of 
March.  Was  it  exaggerated  ?  Was 
it  pregnant  with  storms  ?  Was  it 
charged  with  the  unknown?  No, 
it  was  the  American  programme, 
and  not  even  the  whole  of  that. 
What  the  people  of  Paris  demanded 
is  what  is  practised  in  New  York, 
in  Boston,  in  Philadelphia,  and  in 
Geneva — everywhere,  in  fiact,  where 
good  sense  and  human  dignity  have 
united  to  give  to  mankind  a  human 
government,  and  not  a  crew  of 
galley  slaves. 

Now,  what  is  good  on  one  side  of 
the  ocean  is  good  on  the  other,  as 
my  friend  Charles  Sumner  said  one 
day  to  the  Commandant  Loysel  on 
his  return  from  Mexico,  who  was 
trying  to  prove  that  the  Republic 
was  good  for  the  Americans,  but 
not  for  the  French. 

This  also  was  the  programme  of 
£!tienne  Marcel  and  the  ^eat  *  Com- 
muniers '  of  France.  Like  us  they 
were  conquered,  afterwards  massa- 
cred and  calunmiated.  They  were 
none  the  less  founders  of  the  bour- 
geoisie, and  a  grateful  history  has 
transmitted  to  posterity  the  names 
of  the  conquered  alone — not  those 
of  the  conquerors.  Who  now  re- 
members the  name  of  the  conqueror 
of  the  great  Mayor  of  Paris  (Pr6- 
v6t  des  Marchands)  ?  '  We  are  the 
descendants  of  the  great  Commn- 
niers  of  France,  neither  Communards 
nor  (Jommunalists.' 

In  my  interviews  with  the  envoys 
of  M.  Thiers  concerning  the  con- 


884 


The  Paris  Oommune  of  1871. 


[Mttc\i 


ditions  on  which  Paris  would  open 
her  gates,  I  never  once  departed 
£rom  the  programme  I  have  jnst 
described.  I  insisted  especially  on 
the  disarming.  M.  Thiers,  who 
knew  the  extreme  hatred  I  bore  to 
a  standing  army — in  order  probably 
to  take  advantageof  thissentiment-— 
commissioned  the  Italian  (jeneral 
Frappoli,  and  the  Swiss  Federal 
Colonel  Fogliardi,  the  last  two  per- 
sons whom  1  saw  on  this  snbiect,  to 
rak  as  follows : — *  Tell  the  General 
t  he  who  entertains  such  a  pro- 
found hatred  to  the  army,  forces  it 
npon  me  by  his  resistance.  The 
army  .will  conqueir  in  the  end ;  bat 
then  it  will  be  master,  and  I  can 
do  nothing  in  opposition  to  it.' 
M.  Thiers  was  right;  but  it  was 
only  by  a  hair's  breadth  that  he 
escaped  being  in  the  wrong. 

To  conquer  was  so  ea^  and 
simple,  that  it  needed  the  double 
dose  of  vanity  and  ignorance  with 
which  the  feeble  brains  of  the  ma- 
jority of  the  Commune  were  stuffed, 
to  bedk  the  people  of  its  victory. 
In  any  case,  we  all  fought  for  the 
triumph  of  our  convictions,  and  we 
have  neither  capitulated,  nor  be- 
trayed, nor  insulted  anyone. 


I  think  I  have  clearly  demonstra- 
ted— (i)  That  the  Commune  took 
its  origin  from  the  multiplied  griev- 
ances which  the  working  class  had 
against  the  bourgeoisie,  or  directing 
class ;  (2)  that  its  legitimacy  flows 
from  the  facts,  as  well  as  firam  the 
primordial  and  imprescriptible  right 
every  man  possesses,  to  derive,  not 
only  his  subsistence,  but  also  human 
happiness,  from  his  labour ;  (3)  that 
the  aim  of  the  Commune  waa  am- 
ply to  do  for  the  proletariat  what 
the  bourgeoisie    did    for  itself  in 
1789 — to  found   its    admission  to 
social  power. 

The  question  is  put  (|70see),  and 
its  success  is  certain,  or  both  the 
Republic  and  universal  suffrage  will 
disappear.  Universal  suffrage,  in 
consecrating  the  sovereignly  of  the 
individual,  has  necessariiy  conse- 
crated the  sovereignty  of  the  gronp^ 
or  'Commune,'  the  essential  bams 
of  the  'Republic ; '  which  is  a  matter 
that  concerns  all. 

The  future  belongs  to  us.  De- 
feated yesterday,  we  may  conqner 
to-morrow. 

'  Et  spes  manet  in  sBtemum.' 

G.  Cltjsebex. 


1873] 


385 


TAB  miSH  SCHOOLMASTER  AND  THE  IRISH  PRIEST. 


AT  ilie  present  moment,  when 
the  thoughts  of  politicians  are 
tamed  to  the  question  of  University 
edacation  in  Ireland,  a  straggle  is  in 
progress  of  which  the  world  hears 
little,  on  aqnestion  of  equal  or  perhaps 
even  greater  importance  to  the  Irish 
people.  The  parties  to  this  struggle 
are  the  Government  on  the  one  hand, 
aad  the  Catholic  priests  on  the 
other;  and  the  question  at  issue 
is  the  emancipation  of  the  Irish 
Natioual  Schoolmaster. 

Up  to  the  present  time  the  Irish 
national  teacher,  though  educated 
hud  trained  at  the  State's  expense, 
and   deriving    the    main     part  of 
his  support  from  State  funds,  has 
ne?er  been   regarded  as  a  public 
serrant.   He  has  been  treated  in  all 
i^pects  as  the  private  borvant  of 
the  school  manager  (usually,  in  the 
case  of  Roman  Catholic  schools,  the 
parish  priest),  who  appoints  or  dis- 
misses him  at  pleasure.     Against 
the  injustice,  or  caprice,  or  mistake 
of  this  functionary,  who  has  never 
contributed  a  penny  to  his  support, 
hat  has  simply  permitted  him  to  do 
work  for  which  he  was  paid  by  the 
State,  the  unfortunate  teacher  has 
no  appeal.   It  matters  not  what  the 
reason  of  his  dismissal  may  be :  if 
he  is  dismissed,  he  can  but  go.     K 
he  Bofiers  wrong,  he  must  endure ; 
if  not  in  silence,  at  least  without 
hope  of  redress.     The  liability  to 
arbitrary  eviction,   which  was  the 
curse   of    the    Irish  peasant,  still 
hangs  over  the  head  of  the  Irish 
schoolmaster :  and  the  one  class  of 
public  servants  in  Ireland  who  hold 
office,  not  on  good  behaviour,  but 
on  the  will  of  a  private,  irresponsible 
individual,  are  the  teachers  of  the 
Irish  people. 

It  can  hardly  be  a  matter  of  sur- 
prise that  this  state  of  things  has 
called  forth  remonstrances  and  com- 
plaints   from    the   teachers.     The 


wonder  is,  that  it  has  been  endured 
so  long  by  the  State.  One  would 
think  that  the  State,  which  trains 
the  teacher  and  pays  the  greater 
part  of  his  salary,  should  have  some- 
thing to  say  in  his  dismissal,  and 
should  take  some  care  to  protect 
him  against  injustice  and  wrong. 
And  one  would  think  that  special 
care  should  be  taken  to  secure  the 
independence  of  a  class  whose  effi- 
ciency and  usefulness  depend  so 
much  on  the  amount  of  respect  they 
can  conmiand  from  those  among 
whom  they  live.  No  man  whose 
place  and  emoluments  are  at  the 
mercy  of  a  single  individual  can  be 
regarded  as  occupying  a  very  inde- 
pendent or  dignined  position;  and 
no  schoolmaster  whose  position 
makes  him  an  object  of  pity  or  con- 
tempt to  his  neighbours  can  exer- 
cise his  proper  influence  either 
within  or  without  his  school. 

The  *  managerial  grievance  '  (as 
it  is  called)  has,  accordingly,  been 
much  agitated  among  the  Irish 
teachers,  and  has  always  been  a 
prominent  subject  of  complaint  at 
the  meetings  they  have  held  to  dis- 
cuss their  condition  and  prospects. 
Such  meetings  have,  of  late  years, 
been  numerous;  and  not  without 
reason.  The  condition  of  the  na- 
tional teachers  of  Ireland  is  most 
unsatisfactory  in  more  respects  than 
one.  They  are  poorly  paid :  they 
have  no  retiring  allowance:  they  are 
subject  to  arbitrary  dismissal  with- 
out appeal  or  redress:  and,  after 
a  hard  life  of  toil  in  the  service  of 
the  State,  they  are  often  cast  adrift 
in  their  old  age,  with  nothing  before 
them  but  the  pauperis  home  and 
the  pauper's  grave.  The  hardships 
and  grievances  of  men  without  poli- 
tical weight  or  influence  are  long  in 
attracting  the  notice  of  politicians  ; 
but  by  dint  of  public  meetinfirs, 
deputations,  and  memorials,  the  Irish 


886 


The  Irish  Schoohnaster  and  the  Irish  Priest 


[MBXC\i 


ieacliers  at  length  succeeded  in  in- 
teresting  several  Members  of  Par- 
liament in  tbeir  case,  and,  finally, 
in  convincing  the  present  Govern- 
ment that  some  change  in  their  con- 
dition was  imperatively  required. 
At  the  close  of  last  session  the 
Marquis  of  Hartington  applied  for 
and  obtained  an  additional  grant  of 
ioo,oooZ.  to  be  expended  in  raising 
the  salaries,  and  otherwise  improv- 
ing the  position  of  Irish  national 
teachers.  Part  of  this  extra  grant 
was  employed  in  raising  uncondi- 
tionally the  salaries  of  second  and 
third  class  teachers ;  part  was  set 
aside  to  be  used  in  supplementing 
the  salaries  of  all  teachers  on  tlie 
principle  of  *  payment  by  results.' 
A  considerable  step  being  thus  taken 
"towards  removing  the  grievance  of 
low  salaries,  the  attention  of  the 
Oovemment  was  next  directed  to 
the  other  grievance — the  uncon- 
trolled power  vested  in  the  manager 
of  summary  and  arbitrary  dismissal. 
Lord  Hartington  promised,  in  the 
name  of  the  Government,  that  some- 
thing would  be  done  to  improve 
the  position  of  the  teachers  in  this 
respect  also. 

The  step  tfikken  in  redemption  of 
this  promise  will  hardly  seem  a 
revolutionary  one.  A  form  of  agree- 
ment was  issued,  to  be  entered  into 
between  the  manager  on  the  one 
part  and  the  teacher  on  the  other. 
^y  this  agreement  the  manager 
employs  the  teacher  subject  to  dis- 
missal at  three  months*  notice.  The 
manager  retains  power  to  dismiss 
the  teacher  at  any  time  without 
notice  on  paying  him  three  months' 
salary.  The  manager  can  dismiss 
the  teacher  at  any  time  without 


either  notice  or  salary  on  proving 
to  the  Board  of  Education  Chat  the 
dismissal  is  for  'sufficient  cause.' 
The  teacher,  on  the  other  hand,  eu- 
gages  to  give  three  months*  notice 
before  quitting  his  employment,  or 
to  forfeit  all  salaiy  and  emolaments 
duo  to  him  at  the  time  of  leaving. 
In  order  to  enforce  this  form  of 
agreement,    the    Government  pro- 
vided that  until  it  was  signed  no 
moneys  accruing  to  the  teacher  from 
the  results  of  examination  in  his 
school  should  be  paid. 

One  would  think  that,  if  either  of 
the  parties  had  a  right  to  complain 
of  the  terms  of  this  agreement,  it 
was    certainly    not    the    manager. 
The  power  of  arbitrary  dismissal  on 
condition  of  giving  three  months* 
notice  or  three  months*  pay,  and  the 
power  of  dismissal  without  either 
notice  or  payment  '  for  misconduct 
or    other    sufficient    reason'    (the 
Board  of  Education  being  judge  of 
the   sufficiency  of   the   reason  as- 
signed),  would  seem  as  much  as  auj 
manager  could  reasonably*  ask,  and 
to  most  persons  will  seem  more  than 
the  State  is  quite  justided  in  giving. 
But  it  was  not  enough  for  the  Catholic 
priests.     Whilst  all  the  other  school 
managers  in  Ireland  have  cheerful!/ 
accepted  the  new  agreement,  the 
priests  have  all  but  unanimously' 
refused  to  sign  it.     They  will  not 
surrender  one  particle  of  their  power 
over  the  teacher ;  he  must  still  be, 
as  he  has  hitherto  been,  absolutelj 
dependent  for  his  place  and  salaij 
on  their  uncontrolled   wiU.     The 
consequence    is,   that    the    monej 
earned  on  results  by  the  teachers  of 
schools  over  which  Catholic  priests 
preside  has  not  yet  been  paid. 


'  Not  quite  unauimously.  '  A  Kerry  Priest'  has  signed  the  agreement,  aod  vritsfto 
the  Freeman*8  Journal  giTing  his  reasons.  They  are  sufScientlj  cogent,  as  the  foUovii^ 
samples  will  show:  *  l.  I  am  one  of  those  who  denounce  as  tyrannical  the  squibui? 
«Yiction  of  tenants,  and  who  approve  of  that  provision  of  the  Land  Bill  which  xinpo«e» » 
heavy  fine  on  evicting  landlords.  ....  2.   I  cannot  discharge  one  of  my  domestki 

servants  without  notice,  or  the  payment  of  a  quarter's  salary Is  the  instnK^o^ 

of  youth  ....  not  to    have   rights  which  the   law  gives  to   my  stable  boy  or  b^ 
scidlery  maid?' 


187S] 


The  Irish  Schoolmaster  and  the  Irish  Priest 


887 


Thus,  then,  tihe  matter  stands. 
The  Qoyemment,  desirous  in  some 
measure  to  improye  the  teacher's 
position,  and  to  pnt  a  slight  check 
apoQ  the  manager's  power  of  arbi- 
trary dismissal,  proposes  that  in 
cases  where  misconduct  or  ineffi- 
ciency cannot  be  proved  against 
the  teacher  to  the^  satisfaction  of 
the  Board  of  Education,  the  mana- 
ger shall  not  dismiss  the  teacher 
withont  either  three  months'  notice 
or  three  months'  salary.  The 
Catholic  priests,  who  are  managers 
of  schools,  absolutely  refuse  to  ac- 
cept this  proposal — the  Government 
insists — a  dead  lock  ensues,  and  in 
the  mean  time  the  unfortunate 
teachers,  who  have  earned  the  *  re- 
sults '  money,  and  are  sorely  in  need 
of  it,  see  no  prospect  of  its  being 
paid,  and  ruefully  contemplate  the 
possibility  of  its  finding  its  way 
back  after  the  ist  of  April  to  the 
safe  custody  of  Mr.  Ix>we. 

The  public  in  Ireland  who  take 
ao  interest  in  education,  and  espe- 
cially those  Trho    understand  the 
aims  and  pretensions  of  Ultramon- 
tanism,  are  eagerly  watching  the 
result  of  the  present  struggle.    That 
there  is  a  straggle  at  all  is  a  new 
thing  in  the  history  of  Irish  educa- 
tion; but  it  is  owing  to  the  fact 
that  it  is  the  Government  and  not 
the  Education  Conunissioners  who 
have  framed  and  imposed  the  con- 
tested form  of  agreement.    No  one 
in  Ireland  expects  the  Commission- 
ers of  Education  to  do  anything  but 
what  the  priests  bid  them,  and  the 
case  of  Father  O'Keefe,  the  parish 
priest  of  Callan,  shows  that  they  are 
ready  to  evict  not  only  the  teacher, 
but  the  school  manager  himself,  at 
the  bidding  of  ecclesiastical  autho- 
rity.   At  a  meeting  of  the  National 
Teachers*  Congress  in  Dublin  last 
December,   Dr.   Joyce  assured  the 
public,  most  superfluously,  that  the 
difficulty  about  the  agreement  did 
not  origmate  'with  the  Commission- 
ers.   *  He  would  assure  them  that 


the  Commissioners  had  no  more  to 
do  with  that  than  he  had ;  the  con- 
dition attached  to  the  payment  was 
received  by  the  Cormmssioners  with 
great  urmiUingness;  the  condition 
and  the  money  were  offered,  and 
they  had  to  take  both  or  take 
neither. '  If  the  difficulty  had  ari  sen 
with  the  Commissioners  the  pubUc 
would  have  taken  little  interest,  in 
the  matter,  for  the  conclusion  would 
have  been  easily  foreseen.  The 
Commissioners  have  never  shown 
any  disposition  to  protect  the  teacher 
against  the  manager,  or  to  fight  the 
Catholic  priests  on  any  point  what- 
ever. But  now  that  the  priests 
have  to  deal,  not  with  the  irrespon- 
sible Board  of  Commissioners,  but 
with  the  Irish  Government,  which 
is  responsible  to  Parliament  for 
honestly  carrying  out  the  conditions 
of  the  increased  grant,  the  public 
ought  to  look  with  some  interest, 
and  not  a  little  hope,  to  the  result 
of  the  struggle. 

This  struggle,  though  the  point 
in  dispute  may  seem  a  small  one, 
really  involves  the  whole  question 
of  the  future  relations  of  the  State 
and  the  Catholic  Church  respec- 
tively to  education  in  Ireland.  The 
ground  the  priests  take  in  justifica- 
tion of  their  refusal  to  sign  the  pro- 
posed agreement  is,  that  they 
cannot  consent  to  refer  to  a  secu- 
lar authority,  like  the  Board  of 
Education,  the  decision  of  disputes 
which  may  involve  points  of  faith. 
That  is  to  say,  they  claim  the  right 
to  dismiss  the  teacher  on  grounds 
which  a  secular  body  would  not 
understand,  or  would  not  recognise 
as  vaUd,  if  it  did.  This  claim  is 
sufficiently  preposterous,  seeing  that 
the  teacher  is  a  secular  functionary, 
and  is  paid  by  the  State  for  doing 
secular  work.  But  no  thoughtful 
person  can  suppose  that  this  is  the 
sole  ground  of  the  priests'  action. 
For,  under  the  proposed  agreement, 
the  manager  can  dismiss  the  teacher 
for  any  reason  he  pleases,  or  for  no 


38& 


The  Irish  Schoolmaster  and  the  Irish  Priest, 


[}Am\ 


reason  at  all  if  it  please  bim  better, 
on  the  simple  condition  of  three 
months'  notice  or  three  months* 
salary  ;  and  it  is  hard  to  suppose 
that  this  condition  appears  so  bur- 
densome as  to  be  of  itself  worth  a 
struggle  which  is  bringing  odium 
on  the  whole  priestly  body.  It 
appears  to  us  that  the  real  reason 
of  the  r?iusal  on  the  part  of  the 
priests  to  sign  the  agreement  lies 
deeper.  They  see  whither  this  new 
measure  tends.  They  regard  it  as 
a  first  step  towards  making  the 
teacher  a  fiervant  of  the  State,  and 
they  are  determined  that  he  shall 
remain  the  servant  of  the  Church. 
The  Government,  in  the  act  of 
making  a  large  increase  to  the 
teacher's  salary,  puts  forward  this 
new  agreement  as  a  mild  sugges- 
tion that  the  State,  which  mainly 
pays  the  teacher,  has  the  right  to  a 
voice  in  his  destiny,  and  cannot 
consent  to  commit  him  to  the  un- 
controlled and  irresponsible  dis- 
cretion of  any  individual.  The 
priest,  however,  has  a  different 
theory.  He  thinks  it  is  the  duty  of 
the  State  to  pay  the  teacher,  and 
the  right  of  the  Chxirch  to  control 
him  ;  and  that  this  control  may  be 
effectual,  the  teacher's  position  and 
emoluments  must  be  absolutely  de- 
pendent on  the  will  of  the  clerical 
manager.  He,  therefore,  declines 
to  take  any  step,  however  unob- 
jectionable in  itself,  which  may 
appear  to  recognise  the  claim  of  the 
State  to  interfere  between  himself 
and  the  teacher  who  is  subject  to 
him.  'This  proposal  to  give  the 
teacher  three  months'  notice  before 
dismissal,'  he  probably  argues, 
*  is  a  very  reasonable  one,  and,  ex- 
cept for  gross  misconduct,  I  should 
never  think  of  dismissing  a  teacher 
on  shorter  notice.  But  the  fact 
that  it  is  put  forward  by  the  Govern- 
ment implies  a  claim  on  the  part  of 
the  State  to  interfere  between  the 


teacher  and  me ;  and  if  once  that 
claim  be  admitted,  how  can  I  tell 
where  it  will  stop  ?  The  State  maj 
next  determine  that  the  teacher 
shall  not  be  dismissed  at  all  except 
for  proved  inefficiency  or  raig- 
conduct ;  and  then  what  becomes 
of  the  authority  and  power  of  the 
manager  ?  What  means  will  be  left 
whereby  the  Church  can  direct  or 
control  the  instrnction  given  in  the 
school  ?  ' 

The  very  same  reasons  which 
make  the  priests  look  with  dislike 
and  fear  on  this  apparently  insig- 
nificant measure  of  the  Government 
lead  the  friends  of  freedom  and 
of  education  in  Ireland  to  re- 
ceive it  with  gratitude  and  hope. 
They  do  not  look  upon  it  as  an  ade- 
quate remedy  for  the  teachers' 
grievance,  nor  as  an  adequate  vin- 
dication of  the  rights  of  the  State, 
But  they  receive  it  as  an  indication 
that  the  State  is  not  inclined  to  let 
its  claims  in  this  matter  be  alto- 
gether forgotten :  they  look  on  it  as 
a  first  step  towards  placing  the 
teachers  in  their  proper  position  as 
public  servants;  and  they  hope 
that,  if  successful,  it  will  be  speedily 
followed  up  by  measures  more 
vigorous  and  complete.  For  these 
reasons  it  is  to  be  regretted  that 
some  of  the  teachers  and  their 
friends  (and  among  these  manj 
who  have  hitherto  been  loudest  in 
their  complaints  about  the  '  mana- 
gerial grievance')  seem  now  ii^- 
clined  to  think  that  the  measnre  of 
redress  offered  them  in  the  new  fonn 
of  agreement  is  hardly  worth  %hting 
for,  and  especially  is  not  worth  the 
pecuniary  loss  which  the  stmgglo 
involves  to  themselves.  These  men, 
who,  in  the  words  of  one  of  their 
most  prominent  representatiW 
have  *  for  the  past  five  years  hscn 
sending  deputations  and  memoriila 
from  teachers'  associations  in  all 
parts  of  Ireland,  praying,  pressingij 


•  Mp.  Vere  Foater,  in  a  speech  at  the  Teachers'  Congress,  Dublin,  December  30, 187:. 


1873] 


The  Irish  Schoolmaster  wnd  Hie  Irish  Priest 


•889 


and  imploring  the  Government  to 
coDStitate  a  tribunal  of  appeal  in 
cases  of  summary  dismissal,'  "^ovr 
complain  that  the  increase  of  their 
salan'es  was  made  conditional  on 
the  redress  of  their  grievance,  ask 
tha,t  the  form  of  agreement  be  re- 
called, and  assert  that  managers  of 
schools    &r    more    generally    err 
through  over-indnlgence  than  over- 
severity.     (The  conventional  apo- 
logy  for  despotic  power  has  always 
been  the  benevolence  of  the  despot.) 
It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  Catholic 
teachers  generally  will  have  more 
spirit  and   more  foresight  than  to 
follow    these    penny-wise    ponnd- 
foolish  counsels  :  that  they  will  see 
all  that  is  involved  in  the  present 
straggle,  and  be  ready  to  incur  a 
present  pecuniary  loss  in  order  to 
secnre  the  fature  comfort,  dignity, 
and  independence  of  their  class. 

In    the    meantime,  it  is  to  be 
hoped  that  the   Government  will 
firmly  maintain  the  position  they 
iiare  assumed,  and  resolutely  refuse 
to  withdraw  the  new  form  of  agree- 
ment.     The    conviction    of  those 
who  have  the  best  means  of  know- 
ing is,  that  if  the  Government  be 
firm,  the  priests  will  yield  rather 
than  incnr  the  odium  of  depriving 
the  teacher  of  the  reward  he  has 
80  hardly  earned.     It  is,   indeed, 
unfortunate    that  the   Government 
should  have  made  the  payment  by 
results  for  work  already  done  de- 
pendent on   the  acceptance  of  the 
new    form      of    agreement.      The 
teacher    has     undoubtedly    earned 
the  money ;  it   is  no  fiskult  of  his 
that  the  agreement  is  not  accepted : 
and  it   is    clearly  unfair   that  hel 
should  be  punished  for  the  fault  of 
others.     The  Oovemment  ought  to 
leave  the  manager  no  option  in  the 
matter:    the    agreement  ought  to 
be  absolutely  enforced  as  the  neces- 
sary condition  of  continued   State 
support   to    the  school:    and  any 
manager    wlio  insists  on  having  a 
teacher  absolutely  subject  to  his 


will  and  authority,  should  be  left 
to  provide  such  a  teacher  for  him- 
self. 

But  the  enforcement  of  this  new 
form  of  agreement  will  be  but  a 
small  step  towards  the  rectification 
of  the  relations  between  the  State, 
the  teacher,  and  the  school  mana- 
ger. Its  direct  results  will  be  in- 
finitesimal. Taken  by  itself,  it 
will  leave  the  teacher  very  much 
where  he  was.  A  reform  that  would 
really  improve  the  teacher's  posi- 
tion must  be  something  much  more 
sweeping  and  radical.  It  seems  to 
us  that  the  real  cure  for  the  evil 
is  to  make  the  Irish  teachers  a 
branch  of  the  Civil  Service,  and  to 
treat  them  in  all  respects  as  the 
servants  of  the  State.  Their  ap- 
pointment might  still  be  left  in  the 
hands  of  the  local  managers,  but 
they  should  hold  their  office  on  good 
beluiviour,  and  should  be  liable  to 
summary  dismissal  only  for  gross 
misconduct  In  all  other  cases  they 
should  be  dismissed  only  after 
proper  notice,  and  on  the  joint 
representation  of  the  manager  and 
the  district  inspector  of  schools: 
and  in  eveiy  case  they  should  have 
the  right  of  appeal,  to  the  Board  of 
Education.  The  national  teachers 
being  thus  recognised  as  a  public 
service,  their  claim  to  retiring 
allowances  would  be  admitted  as  a 
matter  of  course ;  and  thus  a  de- 
serving body  of  men,  who  have 
done,  and  are  doing,  good  service 
to  their  country,  would  be  placed 
in  a  position  of  comfort  and  inde- 
pendence that  would  enable  them 
to  do  still  better  service,  and  to 
exercise  more  ftiUy  and  freely  the 
legitimate  influence  that  belongs  to 
education  and  character. 

The  '  education  of  the  Irish  gen- 
tleman '  is  a  matter  of  great  im- 
portance ;  but  the  education  of  the 
Irish  peasant  is  one  that  demands  the 
most  careful  attention  of  the  nation. 
The  educating  influences  under 
which  the  gentleman    comes    are 


390 


Ths  Irish  ScKoohnasier  and  the  Irish  Priest,    [Marcli  187^ 


many  and  varions ;  but  the  educators 
of  the  peasant  are  principally  two 
— the  schoolmaster  and  the  priest. 
Whether  the  schoolmaster  is  to  be 
an  independent  influence,  or  is  to 
be  a  mere  representative  and  tool 
of  the  priest^  is,  therefore,  a  matter 
of  vital  moment  to  the  future  of 
Ireland.  That  question  is  at  issue 
in  the  present  contest.  We  hope 
that  English  statesmen  will  see  the 
significance  of  the  struggle,  and 
will  have  the  courage  and  the  poli- 


tical virtue  to  make  a  stand  for 
once  on  behalf  of  fireedom  and 
civilisation.  To  govern  Ireland 
through  the  priests  has  been  the 
favourite  method  with  English  poli- 
ticians. It  has  its  conveniences; 
but  it  always  ends  in  the  perplex- 
ing question.  Who  is  to  govern  the 
pnests?  To  govern  Ireland  in  the 
mterests  of  the  people,  through  the 
intelligence  and  the  virtue  of  the 
people,  would  be  a  new  method, 
and  might  be  worth  a  trial. 

J.  J.  8. 


FRASER'S    MAGAZINE. 


SDITED  BT 


JAMES  ANTHONY   FROUDE,  M.A. 


New  Sbkies.  APEIL  1873.         Vol.  VII.— No.  XL. 


CONTENTS. 

tJiQM 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  DEATH  OF  THOMAS,  EARL  OF  STRAFFORD.— 

Bt  RaoiNALD  F.  D.  Palosate 391 

OUQST  GOVERNMENT  TO  BUY  THE  RAILWAYS? 409 

EPISODES  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  A  MUSICIAN.— By  M.  Bbtham-Edwabds    422 
STANLEY'S    LECTURES    ON    THE  CHURCH    OF   SCOTLAND.— Bt 

Albxamdeb  Faloombb 442 

ON  SOME  GRADATIONS  IN  THE  FORMS  OF  ANIMAL  LIFE 468 

THE  LATE  LADY  BECHER 477 

MR.  BUCKLE'S   CONTRIBUTION  TO  THE  NEW  PHILOSOPHY  OF 

HISTORY.— By  J.  S.  Stdabt-Glemnib 482 

A  PEEP  AT  ANCIENT  ETRURIA  500 

THE  IRISH  UNIVERSITY  QUESTION 514 


LONDON: 
LONGMANS,    GREEN,    AND    CO. 
1873. 


FRASER'S  MAGAZINE  for  MAECH  1873 


CONTAINS 

THE  TRANSFER  OF  LAND.— Bt  Abthub  Abnold. 

A  PLEA  FOR  BLACK  BARTHOLOMEW.— By  James  Macdonbll. 

CAUSES    OF   THE   FRICTION  BETWEEN    THE    UNITED    STATES  AND 

ENGLAND. — ^Bt  the  Authob  of  '  Fbbkibb  asd  Pbbsidbnt.' 
A  FEW  WORDS  ON  PHILOLOGY. 

THE  COMING  TRANSIT  OF  VENUS.— By  Richabd  A.  Pboctob,  BA. 
OUR  SEAMEN. 

THE  PEKING  GAZETTE.    Pabt  II.— By  Sib  Ruthebfobi*  Alcooc,  KCJ. 
BRAMBLEBERRIES. 

THE  PARIS  COMMUNE  OF  1871.— By  Gbkebal  Clusebet, 
THE  IRISH  SCHOOLMASTER  AND  THE  IRISH  PRIEST. 


NOTICE   TO    CORRESPONDENTS.  I 

Correapondents  are  deeired  to  observe  that  all  OommunicaHons  must  &t 
addressed  direct  to  the  Editor,  i 

Bejected  ContribuHcna  cannot  be  returned.  \ 


FBASER'S    MAGAZINE. 


APEIL   1873. 


THE   STORY  OF  THE  DEATH  OF  THOMAS,  EARL  OF 
STRAFFORD.     a.d.  1641. 


r  needs  some  courage  to  tell  again 
the  oft-told  story  of  the  deatli 
of  the  Earl  of  Strafford ;  by  an  easy 
Btretcli    of    memory    twenty-two 
narratiyeB  describing  the    closing 
months   of   that    statesman's    life 
may  be  reckoned  np.    And  though 
these  many   story-tellers  vary  in 
ability,  from  Macanlay  to  Oldmixon, 
and   i^ongh    accor(^ng    to    some 
Strafford  was  both '  good  and  great,' 
and  to  others  'that  wicked  Earl/ 
still  all  so   far    agree,   that   they 
ascribe  his  death  to  the  overpower- 
ing anthority  of  Pym  and  his  associ- 
ates, all  ascribe  the  passage  through 
the  House   of    Lords    of  the  At- 
tainder Bill  to  threats  from  a  Lon- 
don mob;  all  aver  that  Charles  L 
did   what    he    could   to  save  his 
minister.       Instead,    however,     of 
attempting  another  version  of  Straf- 
ford's trialy  and  with  absolute  in- 
difference about  his  guilt,  we  pro- 
pose to  show  that  these  two-and- 
twenty  narratives  are  throughout 
untrue,   that  the  impeachment  of 
Strafford  was  a  fiulure,  his  Attainder 
Bill  a  blunder,  and  that  his  con- 
demuation  bj  ihe  Upper  House  was 
due  solely  to  the  King;  that  he,  and 
he    alone,    brought  death  on   his 
fiedthful  aervant. 


Our  story  is  not  a  pleasant  one  5 
it  is  not  agreeable  to  an  English- 
man to  tarnish  the  renown  of  the 

*  popular  party '  in  the  Long  Parlia- 
ment, or  to  add  gloom  to  the 
shadows  upon  the  character  of 
Charles  I.  It  is  distressing  to 
think  that  such  a  man  as  Strs^ord 
fell  before  the  intrigues  of  those 

*  old  subtle  foxes '  he  justly  called 
'the  Court  vermin.'  Still  this  is 
the  impression  forced  on  us,  almost 
against  our  will,  by  a  long-con- 
tinued study  of  idl  the  authorities 
at  the  Rolls  Office  and  in  the  British 
Museum,  both  in  MS.  and  in  print, 
relating  to  the  years  1639-41  ;  and 
arising  especially  from  the  ex- 
amination of  diaries  which  Sir  S. 
D'Ewes  and  his  brother  note-takers 
in  Parliament  scribbled  on  their 
knees,  descriptive  of  events  which 
took  place  before  their  eyes.^ 

As  our  story  is  not  based  on  mere 
surmise,  or  on  the  comparison  of 
one  received  account  with  another, 
but  is  what  may  be  called  '  self- 
contained'  and  self-supported,  we 
shall  not  contradict,  step  by  step, 
the  statements  of  our  predecessors, 
or  show  how  they  were  misled;  nor 
shall  we  venture  on  a  minute  in- 
vestigation into  the  King's  motives 


'  Among  these  snthoriticts  I  include  '  A  Brief  and  Perfect  RdaHon  of  the  Trial  of 
Thomas,  Earl  of  StrajfbrdJ  Though  pnhlished  in  1647,  evidently  this  pamphlet  was 
written  in  1641,  and  hy  one  in  the  Earl's  service.  This  JRdaiion  is  the  stock  from 
which  the  compileis  of  the  State  Trials,  and  of  Rushworth's  and  Nelson's  Collections, 
drew  their  narratives :  passages  from  it  are  inserted  in  Heylin's  Laud,  and  Ratdifie's 
Memoirs  of  Strafford ;  this  Selation  is,  in  fact,  the  sole  origin  of  all  the  descriptions  of 
the  cbfiiiig  scenes  of  that  statesman's  life.  Befexence  will  be  made  to  it  as,  Narrative, 
1647. 

VOL.  YIJ.— -NO.  XL.      NEW  SERIES.  E  B  2 


392 


The  Story  of  the  Death  of  Thomas^  Earl  of  Shufford.        [April 


as  regards  Strafford.  First  shall  be 
exhibited — and  it  must  be  at  some 
length — the  tme  position  occupied 
by  the  popular  party  between 
November  ii,  1640,  and  May  12, 
1 64 1,  the  dates  of  Strafford's  arrest 
and  execution ;  then  it  will  be  shown 
.  that  the  Attainder  Bill  but  increased 
the  chances  of  his  safety ;  and  then, 
that  the  King^s  actions,  dictated  by 
Strafford's  enemies,  overthrew  all 
prospect  of  his  escape,  at  the  very 
time  when  his  acquittal  was  con- 
-fidently  expected. 

A  false  impression  has  been  cre- 
ated about  the  opening  scene  of 
this  tragedy.  King  Charles,  it  must 
be  remembered,  renewed  in  1640 
his  attempt  to  force  the  Scottish 
nation  to  a  conformity  in  Church 
government,  and  the  failure  of  that 
attempt  must  be  recalled :  the  royal 
army  being  stationed  in  Yorkshire, 
and  the  English  frontier  wholly 
unguarded,  the  Scottish  army  ad- 
vanced, defeated  a  small  body  of 
our  troops  at  Newbum,  occupied 
Newcastle,  and  all  the  northern 
counties.  This  took  place  in 
August.  September  was  spent  in 
negotiation  ;  the  Long  Parliament 
was  summoned;  and  on  the  26th  of 
October  a  cessation  of  arms  between 
England  and  Scotland  being  agreed 
to,  the  final  settlement  of  peace  was 
adjourned  to  London.  During  this 
lull  in  public  events  Strafford  re- 
turned to  his  Yorkshire  home — *  Old 
Wentworth  Woodhouse.'  He  was 
full  of  general  anxiety,  he  noticed 
the  *  rare  art  and  malice '  of  the  Earl 
of  Bristol  and  his  other  associates, 
and  their  evident  intention  to  make 
him  the  scapegoat  for  the  wide- 
spread misery  of  the  year  of  1640. 
He  also  was  aware  of  the  fierce 
malignity  of  his  enemies,  and  ap- 
prehensive about  *the  great  mat- 
ters '  against  him  they  expected  to 
h?ar  *  out  of  Ireland  ;'  and  though 
unwilling  to  leave  Yorkshire,  not 


because  he  dreaded  quitting  tlie 
shelter  of  the  army,  but  b^nse 
he  wished  to  fulfil  the  dufy  there 
entrusted  to  him;  still,  according 
to  his  own  description,  he  was 
'  hastened  up '  to  London,  by 
fellow -councillors  whom  he  evi- 
dently  distrusted.  But  he  never, 
it  would  seem,  shrank  from  meet- 
ing his  adversaries ;  certainly  be 
was  not  ordered  up  from  York- 
shire by  the  King.  He  was  sent  for 
to  correct  a  blunder  made  by  the 
Lord  Keeper,  told  *  that  there  was  a 
great  want'  of  him  at  Westminster, 
and  that  if  he  '  had  been  there  that 
folly  had  not  been  committed.'  And 
his  last  impression  was  one  of  cheer- 
frilness,  he  thought  that '  to  the  best 
of  my  judgment,  we  gain  much 
rather  than  lose.  .  .  .  The  Lish 
business  is  past*,  and  better  than  I 
expected,  their  proofs  being  scant. 
.  .  .  All  will  be  well,  and  every  hour 
gives  more  hope  than  the  other.'' 

These  are  Strafford's  words  and 
feelings,  expressed  in  a  letter, written 
the  very  night  before  he  quitted 
Yorkshire  for  London,  to  his  intimate 
friend,  Sir  G.  Eatcliffe ;  and  they 
make  it  impossible  to  believe  the 
statements  of  the  sham-contem- 
porary chronicler,  who  asserts  that 
the  Earl  was  forced  by  the  King  to 
place  himself  within  the  power  of  his 
enemies,  and  that  he  journeyed  to 
London  expecting  certain  death, 
trusting  for  safety  to  his  monarch's 
solemn  pledge.  This  gives  a  &r  more 
picturesque  idea  for  an  opening 
chapter  in  Strafford's  impeachment 
than  the  reality,  which  was  that  he 
quitted  the  army  reluctantly  *but 
not  very  unwillingly ; '  that  he  came 
up  in  good  hope,  merely  on  the  call 
of  his  official  colleagues.  The  object 
of  the  invention,  however,  is  plain  : 
it  is  to  create  the  feeling,  that  from 
the  very  beginning  Strafford  foresaw 
the  scaffol<^  and  looked  to  the  King 
alone  as  his  protector. 


*  Letter  to  Sir  0.  Ratcliffe,  begun  November  5,  and  ended  Sunday,  November  8^  164a 
Ralcliffe  Correspondence,  214-223. 


187S]      The  Story  of  the  Death  of  Thomas,  Earl  of  Strafford. 


303 


And  80  again,  to  create  the  im- 
pression that  unthinking  haste  and 
over-masterfnl  power  governed  Par- 
iiament  at  the  very  outset  of  Straf- 
ford's trial,  we  are  told  that  Pym, 
rising  suddenly  from  his  seat  in  the 
House  of  Commons,  the  doors  being 
locked,  drove  them,  by  a  long-con- 
tinned  blast  of  invective  directed 
against  the  Earl,  to  accuse  him  of 
high  treason:  and  that  the  Lords 
were  surprised,  by  equal  rapidity  of 
action,  into   his   committal.     The 
Commons,  in  truth,  acted  on  pro- 
ceedings extending  over  four  days, 
and  on  the  report  of  a  select  com- 
mittee.^    They  even  pre&ced  the 
impeachment  at  the  bar  of  the  Upper 
Hoose  by  a  previous  message,'  touch- 
ing things    against    the    Earl    of 
StraflTord.**      Nor  had  that  charge 
been  justified  by  an  enumeration 
of  his  '  high  and  imperious  actions 
in  England  and  Ireland,'  and  his 
*  passionate  advices  :'^  that  was  ex- 
pressly reserved.     The  accusation 
was  founded  on  '  my  Lord  Mount- 
norris  his  cause,  and  papists  suffered 
in  England  to  increase  under  arms.'^ 
These  were  the  sole  charges :  the 
first  was  an  act  of  severity,  perhaps 
of  injustice,  committed  in  1635  upon 
a  subordinate  in  the  Irish  Govern- 
ment; the    second,    as    might  be 
expected  from  its  vague  character, 
was '  set  aside '  in  Westminster  Hall. 
Strafford,  tben,  was,  on  the  nth 
of  November,  1640,  impeached  of 
high    treason,    on    the    deliberate 
verdict  of  Parliament,  for  actions 
which,  supposing  they  were  crimes, 
certainly  were  not  treasons.     But 
these  petty  charges  were  only  the 
excuse  for  his  arrest.     He  was,  in 
tmth,  placed  at  the  bar  that  day  as 
the  author  of  the  quarrel  between 


the  King  and  his  people,  of  the  dis- 
solution of  the  Short  Parliament, 
the  injuries  caused  by  the  prepara- 
tions for  war  with  Scotland,  and  of 
the  disasters  of  that  war.  On  him 
was  charged  England's  disgraceful 
defeat  by  the  Scots,  the  shame  that 
this  disgrace  rested  unavenged,  and 
the  triumphant  occupation  of  our 
northern  counties  by  a  hated  and 
despised  invader. 

But  if  Strafford  came  to  London 
trusting  that  nothing  more  would 
be  heard  from  Ireland,  not  fearing 
a  capital  charge,  and  not  relying  on 
any  special  promise  of  protection  from 
his  master ;  and  if,  when  he  appeared 
in  the  House  of  Lords,  he  was  sud- 
denly arrested  on  the  charge  of 
high  treason,  a  charge  based  on  no 
proof  at  all,  but  entertained  because 
he  was  odious  to  the  community, 
then  it  will  be  felt,  that  as  time  went 
on,  when  the  tale  of  all  his  evil  acts 
and  thoughts  against  our  three 
nations  had  been  told,  that  the  fate 
of  that  '  wicked  Earl '  was  certain. 
This  is  the  natural  expectation :  the 
contrary,  however,  was  the  fact. 
He  was  in  March  'favoured  by 
not  a  few '  among  the  men  who  im- 
peached him  in  November  on  such 
trivial  charges,  and  by  a  'great 
party  in  the  Upper  House ;  *  and  he 
was  regarded  by  a  large  and  in- 
fluential mass  of  his  fellow  country- 
men with  admiration  and  regard.^ 
Such  was  the  power  of  the  man, 
and  the  force  of  circumstances.  The 
attack  on  him  was  foiled :  the  blow 
directed  against  him  returned  upon 
his  accusers.  Their  strength,  and 
then  their  weakness,  to  place  this 
fact  before  our  readers,  must  be 
estimated  with  precision.  And  this 
estimate,    as    it    has    never    been 


*So  little  was  secrecy  attempted,  that  Sir  W.  Pennyman,  an  intimate  friend  of 
Strafford's,  was  placed  upon  this  Committee,  November  7,  1640.  D*£wes,  Harleian  MS8. 
(162),  4. 

*Nor.  II,  1640.    D'Ewes,  Harleian  MSS.  (162),  p.  5,  6. 

*  Clarendon,  ed.  1838,  p.  73. 

*  November  11,  1640.    jyBwes,  Harleian  MSS.  (162),  4-7. 

'  Earl  qf  Strn^ord  CharaeteriKd.    Written  during  April  1 641.    Somers'  Tracts^  iv. 
231 ;  May's  History  of  ike  Parliammt,  62. 


894  TJie  Story  of  the  Death  of  Thomas,  Earl  of  Strafford.        [April 


attempted  before,  must  be  set  out 
in  full. 

Strafford's  accusers,  at  the  outset 
of  their  *  great  business,'  derived 
assistance  from  that  blast  of  popular 
wrath  which  sent  liim  to  prison ; 
and  then  turning  to  more  material 
aid,  they  had  under  their  thumb 
that  most  important  witness,  Sir 
H.  Vane,  the  Secretary  of  State. 
In  that  capacity,  obeying  the  King's 
commands,  immediately  after  the 
dissolution  of  the  Short  Parliament, 
he  signed  warrants,  under  which 
messengers  searched  the  rooms, 
even  the  coat  pockets  of  Pym  and 
E[ampden,  and  carried  off  their 
papers.  And  though  Hampden  lost 
by  this  seizure  only  some  letters,^ 
and  Pym  a  trunk  full  of  parlia- 
mentary journals,  *  which  can  do 
him  little  hurt  *  ;^  still  Vane  had 
committeda  breach  of  parliamentary 
privilege,  punishable,  perhaps  by  a 
fine,  certainly  by  imprisonment. 
And,  'as  Mr.  Speaker  had  the 
warrants,'*^  that  punishment  might 
be  both  swift  and  heavy.  At  any 
moment  Vane  might  be  taken  from 
the  Treasury  Bench  in  the  House, 
and  placed  at  its  Bar;  and  then 
where  would  be  the  *  daily  diet' 
from  the  Court  he  drew  for  his 
household,  as  Secretary  of  State, 
and  his  fees  and  official  gains  ? 
And  hence  arose  that  tenacity  of 
memory,  as  well  may  be  supposed, 
which  enabled  Vane,  unlike  the 
rest  of  his  fellow-councillors,  to 
prove  at  the  trial  Strafford's  sugges* 
tion  to  the  King — ^that  by  the  Irish 
army  England  might  be  reduced  to 
obedience. 

Willing  helpers,  also,  to  the 
work  in  Westminster  Hall,  were 
found  among  Strafford's  subordi- 
nates in  the  Irish  Government, 
greedy  to  profit  by  his  downfall. 


They  furnished,  accurately  penned, 
the  charge  that  he  quartered  sol- 
diers on  peaceable  subjects,  to 
starve  them  into  submission  to  his 
decrees.  This  offence  ultimately 
secured  his  conviction;  the  eznlt- 
ing  words  of  the  draftsmen  on 
their  completion  of  that  article, 
*  now  the  bird  is  our  own,'  "  were 
fully  justified. 

And  from  some  members  of  the 
House  of  Lords  co-operation  against 
Strafford  might  be  expected;  for 
their  pecuniary  interest  was  bound 
up  with  his  fate.    To  stay  the  ad- 
vance  of  the  victorious  Scots  during 
the  last  September,  an  immediate 
loan  from  the  City  of  20o,oooZ.  h&d 
been  required;   and  the    Earl  of 
Bristol,  and  a  few  other  members 
of  the    Great    Council    of  Peers, 
were  constrained  to  give  the  security 
of  their    bonds  for  repayment  of 
the  loan.  1*    Whilst  Strafford  was  in 
prison  they  were  fr«e  fi^m  anxiety ; 
but  he  at  large,  amid  the  altered 
circumstances    that   might    arise, 
those  bonds  would  certainly  assume 
a  most  unpleasant  aspect.     And  it 
is  a  singular  conjuncture  of  events 
to  find  that  the  Commons  voted 
a  resolution  pledging  the  State  to 
repav  that  loan  for  which  the  Peers 
had  bound  themselves,  on  the  very 
day  which  witnessed  the  passage  of 
the  Attainder  Bill  through  tbe  Upper 
House.  *^ 

For  help  outside  the  walls  of 
Parliament,  Strafford's  opponents 
would  rely  on  that  'sink  of  all 
the  ill-humour  of  the  kingdom,' 
the  Ciiy  of  London.  Were  it 
needed,  an  effectual  hold  was  placed 
on  the  then  Lord  Mayor,  because 
he,  as  Sheriff,  was  mixed  up  in  one 
of  the  worst  cases  of  oppression 
committed  by  the  Star  Chamber 
Court  ;'^  but  the  hatred  of  his  com- 


'  Lambeth  Library  was   thus  enriched  by  MSS.  Ko.  1030,  108.    Bishop   Williaai's 
Remembrances  to  Mr.  Hampden. 
*  Newsletter,  Ma^  12,  1640.    Rolls  Office.    Clarendon,  ed,  1839,  77* 
'•  Com.  Joum.,  li.  26.        "  JRatcliffe  Correspondence^  232.      '•  Rushworth,  iii.  1281. 
"  May  8,  1641.     Com.  Joum,  ii.  139;  D^fiwes,  Harleian  MSS.  (164),  1,003. 
'*  Br.  Leighton's  Case,  orders  for  his  reparation.     Com.  Joum.  ii.  124. 


1873]        The  Story  of  the  Death  of  Thomas,  Earl  of  Strafford. 


895 


munify  against  Strafford  needed  no 
stimulus.  The  bench  of  aldermen 
did  not  forget  their  appearance 
before  the  King's  Conncil  during 
the  previous  autumn,  or  who  it 
was  that  *  burst  out '  with  the  pro- 
posal *  to  hang  up  some  of  them/ 
And  the  whole  City  was  moved  by 
the  alarming  change  that  had 
come  over  the  Tower  of  London. 
Hitherto  unarmed :  now '  sakers  and 
basiliscs'  pointed  fix)m  the  battle- 
ments against  London  Bridge  and 
Tower  Street;  case  and  round 
shot  lay  heaped  on  the  batteries ; 
soldiers  kept  guard  behind  earth- 
baskets  and  planks  set  with  pikes, 
with  *  granadoes,  dark-fire  beacons, 
spoons,  and  lynstocks,'  ready  to 
hand.**  Even  while  Parliament 
was  sitting,  the  men  were  seen 
^training  cannon'  and  mounting 
*  many  other  guns '  upon  the  Tower 
waB8.»« 

These  ominoas  appearances  were 
ascribed  to  Strafford ;  and  rumour 
played  its  part  to  confirm  this  im- 
pression. Somebody  declared  that 
he  heard  that  London  would  short- 
ly be  battered  down,  and  another 
that  his  master  Strafford  'would 
subdue  the  Ci^.'»^  And  the  Ciiy 
could  make  &  resentment  felt ; 
as  sole  money^holder  it  was  an  es- 
tate in  the  realm  equal  in  power  to 
Parliament. 

AH  the  helpers  on  which  Pym 
and  his  associates  could  rely  have 
been  m^itioned  save  two ;  the  King 
was  one — ^the  other,  themselves;  they 
were  *the  inflexible  party,'  this  was 
the  title  they  bore  theb,"  nor  will 
the  justice  of  that  name  be  doubted 
now,  after  a  description  of  the  forces 
which,  opposed  them. 

As  the  very  groundwork  of  their 
policy,  they  were  compelled  to 
draw  on  themselves  odium,  to 
resist  popular  instincts,  even  to  in- 


flict injury  on  their  countrymen. 
For  they  were  driven  to  make  com- 
mon cause  with  the  Scotch  invaders ; 
and  to  procure  the  postponement 
of  their  claims  till  after  Strafford's 
trial.  On  these  terms  alone  could 
be  obtained  the  protection  of  the 
Scottish  army,  and  the  checkmate 
which  it  placed  on  the  royal  forces  ■ 
afforded  the  sole  chance  of  ob- 
taining the  offender's  trial.  But 
this  was  a  policy  offensive  to  na- 
tional feeling,  and  productive  both 
of  serious  danger,  and  of  positive 
injury  to  the  country.  To  keep  the 
Covenanters  in  England,  peace 
could  not  be  concluded  between  us 
and  Scotland.  We  had  to  endure 
the  sight  of  a  victorious  enemy 
upon  our  soil,  living  on  us,  thread 
ening  us,  humiliating  us,  and 
causing  protracted  anxiety  during 
a  most  anxious  time.  And  this  de- 
batable time  of  strife  was  full  of 
imminent  risk;  the  conquering 
army  had  to  be  opposed  by  our 
army,  the  one  stationed  over  against 
the  other;  temptation  to  outbreskk 
of  hostility  was  constant,  a  ready 
field  was  opened  to  the  intriguer 
against  the  State. 

Much  pecuniary  injury,  also,  was 
inflicted  by  that  policy  upon  us. 
As  neither  army  could  be  dis- 
banded till  Strafford  was  dis- 
patched, the  cost  of  8o,oooZ.  a 
month ^^must  be  incurred  forthe  pay 
and  maintenance  of  those  *  foreign 
contemned '  troops  and  of  our  own 
army,  hardly  less  obnoxious ;  and 
this,  though  the  king's  debts  were 
'  huge,'  the  militaty  arrears  daily  on 
the  increase,  and  the  royal  navy  abso- 
lutely non-existent,  though  panic  o 
foreign  invasion  then  was  rife,  even 
beyond  our  power  of  fellow-feeling* 
These  distracted  times,  also,  had 
paralysed  the  industry  of  England ; 
the    condition    of    the     northern 


>*  Official  Minutes,  October  lo  and  20,  1640.    Bolls  Office. 

>*  November  11,  1640.    D'Kwes,  Harleian  MSS.  (162),  5. 

**  Somen'  TnutU,W,  210;  D'Ewee,  Harleian  MSS.  (162),  5. 

"  Strafford  Characterised:  Somen'  Tracts^  iy.  232.  *"  Clarendon,  ed.  1839,  113. 


396  The  Story  of  the  Death  of  Thomas^  Ewrl  of  Strafford.        [April 


counties  was  pitiable,  owing  to  the 
brutality  and  pillage  of  our  troops, 
and  to  exactions  from  the  hnngrj 
Scot.  And  the  cry  of  a  distressed 
people  naturally  provoked  the  de- 
mand to  get  rid  of  the  invader 
either  in  peace  or  by  war ;  a  pro- 
posal that  destroyed  the  prospects 
of  the  '  inflexible  party.'  Nor  could 
they,  in  place  of  the  tempting 
hope  of  seeing  'wholesome  days 
again/  or  of  the  gratification  of 
revenge,  set  Straflbrd  at  the  bar 
of  trial.  This  they  could  not  do ; 
time  every  way  fought  against  them. 

In  the  first  place,  that  sight  was 
prevented  by  the '  great  concurrence 
of  business*  in  Parliament,  con- 
cerning *  the  very  being  of  three 
kingdoms.'  To  us,  an  over-bur- 
thened  Legislature  is  an  accustomed 
evil.  Not  so  to  Englishmen  of  164 1. 
Parliament,  then,  was  a  wonder- 
working machine,  able  to  do  every- 
thing, all  at  once;  and  they  de- 
manded instant  judgment  on  many 
an  ofiender  besides  Strafford,  and 
instant  attention  to  many  a  matter 
besides  his  trial. 

Obedient  to  their  command, 
the  Commons  called  before  their 
bar,  one  archbishop,  and  two 
bishops,  one  lord-keeper,  and  six 
judges,  one  Secretary  of  State  and 
many  minor  officials.  That  band 
of  human  locusts,  the '  thievish  pro- 
jectors,' was  dispersed,  who  with- 
held from  thirsty  English  souls 
their  wine,  blisteridd  women's  fin- 
gers by  execrable  soap,  and  who,  by 
monopolising  the  sale  of  cloth, 
hides,  salt,  gold  lace,  and  even  pins, 
had  '  marked  and  sealed  the  people 
from  head  to  foot.'  Monstrous  in- 
flictions, like  the  Courts  of  High 
Commission,  and  the  Star  Chamber, 
were  abolished,  and  reparation  made 
to  the  victims  of  those  tribunals. 
The  Commons,  also,  were  obliged 
to  meet  that  ever-growing  difficulty, 
the  supply  of  money,  to  protect  the 


State  by  passing  the  Trienniftl 
Parliaments  Bill,  and  to  conciliate 
those  most  importunate  suitors,  the 
men  of  Scotland. 

And  this  mass  of  business,  ob- 
structed by  party  passion,  dead- 
weighted  by  formalities,  was  also 
delayed  by  that  odd  uncertainty  of 
action  inherent  to  any  large  col- 
lection of  men.  Then,  as  now,  the 
Commons  made  holiday  when  work 
was  most  needed ;  and  one  day's 
'discourse'  was  stopped  because 
'  the  Earl  of  Strafford  came  in  hi& 
barge  to  the  Upper  House  from  the 
Tower,  and  divers  ran  to  the  east 
windows  of  the  House,  who,  with 
them  that  sat  by,  looked  out  at  the 
said  windows,  and  o^ned  them; 
and  others  quitted  their  seats  with 
noise  and  tumult ; '  and  another 
sitting  was  in  like  manner  broken 
off,  in  the  very  crisis  of  national 
anxiety,  because  *  such  numbers ' 
preferred  *  the  play-houses  and 
bowling-alleys'  to  the  committee 
of  Supply.«o 

Much  delay  also  arose  from  the 
very  nature  of  the  impeachment. 
Stiafford  was  accused  of  high  trea- 
son, on  the  ground  that  ne  had 
attempted  the  overthrow  of  the 
Constitution  itself;  and  the  proof 
of  this  charge  lay  in  showing  that 
his  words  and  actions,  during  four- 
teen years  of  public  life,  temed  to 
that  end.  But  of  the  chief  portion 
of  his  career,  his  accusers  absolutely 
knew  nothing.  Nobody  could  leave 
Ireland  without  official  license ;  and 
BO  the  women  his  officers  maltreated 
to  enforce  his  system  for  the  manu- 
facture of  yam,  the  fieunners  pillaged 
by  his  soldiers,  and  the  lanaowners 
he  had  ousted,  could  not  make  heard 
their  wrongs  till  the  ports  were 
opened.  And  consequently  the  ar- 
ticles of  impeachment  were  modelled 
^d  re-modelled;  and  though  the 
draftsmen  met  early,  and  sat  np 
late,^*  the  book  of  200  sheets  of  paper 


*•  February  17,  and  April  27,  1641.    FEwes,  Harleian  MSS.  (161).  233  ;  (164),  001. 
"  Mr.  Pym's  Statement.    D'Ewes,  Harleian  MSS.  (162),  178. 


1873]      The  Story  of  the  Death  of  Thomas,  Earl  of  Strafford.  3i)7 


containing  a  catalogne  of  Strafford's 
crimes  was  not  deliyered  to  the 
House  of  Lords  until  January  30. 
And  even  then,  eight  weeks  passed 
away  before  the  trial  began.  The 
defendant's  replies  were  received  and 
considered ;  repeated  conferences 
took  place  to  settle  both  the  essentials 
and  formalities  of  procedure,  such  as 
the  legal  aid  allowed  to  the  accused, 
an  important  question  whether  or  no 
the  Commons  might  wear  their  hats, 
or  be  mioovered,  and  the  time  and 
place  for  the  tribunal. 

Before  the  trial  began,  delay — and 
the  initationand  anxiety  it  provoked 
—soured  the  minds  of  men.  *  Impa- 
tient people'  were  turned  againstPar- 
Hament,  and  the  House  of  Commons 
against  the  Lords;  whilst  Strafford's 
friends  became  'insolently  confi- 
dent.'" This  discontent  was  themore 
bitter  because  that  delay  had  not  been 
anticipated.  Dispatch  was  to  the 
interest  of  the  nation,  therefore  the 
dispatch  of  Strafford,  the  disper- 
sion  of  the  armies,  and  the  paci- 
fication of  the  Scots,  were  events 
expected  in  quick  succession.  Bail- 
He,  their  Commissioner^  at  the  close 
of  Pebmary  hoped  to  see  Kilwin- 
ning *in  a  Uttle  time ';  and  Uvedale 
expected  a  relief  from  the  unpleap 
wnt  post  of  Army  Treasurer  to 
a  bankrupt  Treasury,  at  the  very 
beginning  of  that  month." 

And  so  reasonable  a  hope  was 
luird  to  extinguish.  When  the  trial 
ftt  last  began,  *  some  thought  that 
the  process  would  be  short,'**  but 
the  mere  hearing  of  evidence  con- 
«nmed  a  fortnight :  and  every  day 
in  Westminster  Hall  revealed  more 
clearly  the  disposition  of  the  Lords 
to  protract  the  proceedings.  On  the 
fourth  sitting  of  the  impeachment, 


D'Ewes  was  '  astonished  at  the 
many  delays  of  this  day,'  and  urged 
that  Strafford  should  be  compelled 
to  '  avoid  impertinences  ' ;  indigna- 
tion, also,  was  expressed  at  the 
readiness  the  horda  showed  to 
discuss  every  point  of  order  he 
raised,  adjourning  for  that  pur- 
pose, from  the  hiedl  to  their  own 
chamber.** 

And  as  the  trial  began,  so  it  went 
on:  an  article  expected  to  take 
half  an  hour,  occupied  the  whole 
day ;  another  sitting  was  6ut  short 
by  one  of  those  unseasonable  ad- 
journments; another  appeal  for 
delay,  though  negatived,  consumed 
an  hour  and  a  half;  and  Strafford 
came  late,*^  and  then,  evidently  a 
pre-arranged  step,  he  did  not  come 
at  all,  sending  only  his '  foot-boy '  to 
give  notice  that  his  master  was 
sick  in  bed.'*^ 

The  day  of  this  occurrence, 
Friday,  April  9,  is  a  turning  point 
in  the  story  of  Strafford's  death. 
The  'inflexible  party'  that  after- 
noon reviewed  their  position ;  and 
it  looked  most  hopeless.  All  the 
evidence  thev  dared  to  use  was 
exhausted ;  tney  had  prosecuted  or 
abandoned  all  their  chiarges :  every 
possible  method  had  been  sought 
to  exhibit  Strafford  as  an  oppressor, 
and  as  the  man  who  worked  the 
ruin  of  his  fellow-countrymen  by 
the  dissolution  of  Parliaments,  by 
inciting  the  King  to  war,  and  by 
his  evu  advice.  But  all  in  vain. 
Strafford's  insolent  non-appearance 
in  Westminster  Hall  proved  his 
strong  reliance  on  Mendship  from 
the  House  of  Lords  and  on  public 
favour :  reliance  justly  placed.  The 
majority  of  the  Peers,  his  judges^ 
were  on  his  side  :^  so  was  the  out- 


"Baillie's  Lettert,  i.  309 ;  May's  History,  64. 

'  Baillie's  Letterg,  i.  300 ;  Uredale  to  Bndl^,  Febmazy  2,  1641.    Bolls  Office. 

**  Baillie's  Letters,  i.  313.        *»  Maxch  2$,  104.1.    D'Ewes,  Harleian  MSS.  (162),  359. 

"  jyEweB,  Harleian  KS&  (i62}»  362,  368 ;  Husband's  JHunud,  April  S,  p.  74 ;  Baillie,  i. 
319.  3^  **  April  9,  1641,    D'Ewes,  Harleian  MSS.  (162),  416. 

**  *SiT  B.  Rudyatd:  that  he  thinketh  the  Lords,  by  the  notes  they  have  taken,  will 
ooc  judge  it  treason  in  my  Lord  of  Strafford.'  April  12,  1641 ;  Gandy's  notes.  Add.  MSS. 
i4i«27,  Brit  Mas. ;  Clarendon,  ed.  1839,  96;  Heylin's  Laud^  449. 


398 


The  Story  of  tlie  Death  of  Thomas^  Ea/rl  of  Strafford,       [April 


side  world:  the  general  opinion 
of  the  criminal  by  '  art  and 
time '  was  converted  from  hostility 
to  pity,  even  to  admiration.  Corses 
attended  Strafford  through  Palace 
Yard  in  February ;  in  March  he  re- 
ceived respectful  salutations;  and 
the  •  Black  Tom  Tyrant'  of  Ireland, 
the  '  grand  apostate,'  was  '  cried  up 
as  an  accomplished  instrument  of 
State/ ^^  The  longer  the  impeach- 
ment lasted,  the  more  this  popula- 
rity increased:  the  odiousness  of 
ransacking  a  man's  life  to  find  cause 
to  put  him  to  death,  was  enhanced 
by  Strafford's  heroic  power  both  of 
endurance  and  resistance.  To  use 
Denham's  words,  the  trial  was  a 
scene  where 

Private  pity  strove  with  public  hate, 
Reafion  with  rage,  and  eloquence  with  fate ; 

and  to  all  appearance  pity,  reason, 
and  eloquence  were  victorious. 
It  was  also  thought,  at  that 
moment,  that  confidence  might 
be  placed  in  the  King,  and  even  in 
the  Queen.  On  two  occasions, 
thanks  from  the  House  of  Commons 
were  proposed  to  her  for 'furthering 
the  call  of  the  Parliament,  and  the 
passing  the  Triennial  Bill ;'  ^^  pro- 
posals that  signify  much  to  those 
acquainted  with  the  English  nund 
of  1641. 

And  this  altered  state  of  public 
opinion  affected  the  position  of  par- 
ties in  Parliament  to  a  degree  that 
must  have  t^roubled  Pym  and  his 
associates.  The  continuance  of  the 
Treaty  with  Scotland  was  their  main- 
stay— that  abruptly  closed,  and  the 
trial  would  be  closed  also— yet  on 
that  very  day,  Friday,  April  9,  de- 
featon  that  vitalquestion  was  but  nar- 
rowly avoided.  Appeals  to  national 
and  pecuniary  interests  must  have 


influenced  the  debate :  the '  cessation 
of  arms '  was  held  up  as  both  dis- 
honourable to  the  Commons,  and 
costly  to  the  Nation,  and  the  pro- 
longation of  the  truce,  so  natorally 
'disliked  and  opposed  by  manj/ 
was  only  carried  by  a  majority  of 
thirty-nine.'^ 

The  inflexibility  of  Strafford's  op- 
ponents was  now  tested.  Ql-wiU 
and  odium  fell,  not  on  him,  but  on 
them:  they  were  held  responsible  for 
the  cost  of  the  trial,  6oo,ooo2.— ac- 
cording to  the  popular  estimate'^— 
for  the  precious  time  it  had  wasted, 
and  for  the  discontent  aroused 
against  Parliament ;  and,  after  all, 
they  had  not  brought  high  treason 
home  to  the  criminal ;  they  had  not 
proved  *  the  hinge  upon  which  that 
charge  was  principally  to  hang : '  ^ 
namely  Strafford's  suggestion  to  Ihe 
Eang  in  Council  &at  England 
might  be  brought  to  obedience  by 
the  Irish  army. 

One  proof,  however,  of  that '  pas- 
sionate advice '  for  long  had  been 
in  their  possession^  the  tran- 
script of  the  notes  which  Vane 
took  down  of  the  deliberations  of 
the  Council  meeting,  when  that 
suggestion  was  made.  That '  £atal 
scrip  of  paper '  proved  Strafford's 
very  words,  that  '  loose  and  ab* 
solved  from  all  rulesof  Government)' 
the  King  might  'employ  here' 
that  army  in  Ireland  to  *  re- 
duce this  Kingdom.'  It  also  prored 
the  time,  place  and  manner  of  these 
'  wicked  counsels,'  that  they  had  pro- 
voked discussion,  and  that  t^« 
politic  forgetfulness  of  Vane's  fellow- 
councillors  must  be  near  akin  to 
perjury.'* 

Such  a  disclosure,  affecting  botk 
king  and  council,  obviously  was  ft 
last  resource,  not  to  be  used  sare 


••  Strafford  Characterised ;  Somers'  Tracts,  iv.  231 ;  May's  History^  62 ;  Clarendon. 
ed.  1839,  96. 

^  Febmaxy  17,  March  15,  1641 ;  FEwes,  Harleian  MSS.  (162),  230;  (164),  959- 

'*  N.  Tomkins  to  Sir  J.  Lambe,  April  12,  1641,  BoUb  Office ;  Com.  Joum.  ii.  iiS. 

•'  Favrfax  Correspondence,  ii.  105.  «"  Clarendon,  ed.  1839,  9$. 

'^Thifi. document  is  among  the  Archives  of  the  House  of  Lc^s,  Hist.  MSS.  Con- 
mission,  3rd  Report. 


1873]      The  Story  of  the  Death  of  Tlumas,  Earl  of  Strafford, 


399 


upon  *a  case  of  necessity.^  Thafc 
case  now  they  'conceived  was 
clear  * :  **  *  Vane*8  notes  '  must  be 
exhibited  in  WestminsW  Hall. 
Accordingly  the  managers  of  the 
trial,  when  the  next  day  (Saturday, 
April  lo)  brought  the  tribunal 
again  together,  claimed  liberty  to 
examine  one  or  two  witnesses  re- 
specting *  the  main  article  of  their  . 
charge  touching  the  Earl  of  Straf- 
ford's advices  to  his  Majesty  after 
the  dissohition  of  the  last  Parlia- 
ment.* He,  of  course,  resisted  the 
proposal,  and  urged,  if  it  were 
granted,  Hhat  the  Lords  would 
also  show  so  much  £GkVour  to  him, 
being  a  Peer  of  the  realm,^  as  to 
allow  him  to  adduce  evidence  on 
some  articles  whichhe  had  omitted.*^ 
And  a  claim,  urged  on  grounds 
so  offensive  to  the  Lower  House, 
in  itself  most  objectionable,  was 
granted.  Naturally  enough  Hhia 
the  Commons  stormed  at ; '  the 
proceedings  closed  in  tumult ;  *  the 
King  laughed,*  and  Strafford  was 
'  so  well  pleased  that  he  could  not 
hide  his  joy.'  '^ 

Good  canse  he  had  for  joy.  K 
the  trial  proceeded,  though  that 
seemed  most  unlikely,  delay  almost 
to  any  extent  was  by  that  decision 
placed  in  his  power :  the  g^wing 
ill-will  between  the  two  Houses  was 
now  at  a  head ;  and  every  expres- 
sion of  that  ill-will  drove  the  Lords 
more  and  uKire  to  adopt  Strafford's 
cause  as  their  canse.  This  '  feeding 
Btorm '  a£  discord  spread  over  the 
Commons ;  his  Mends  ibere  could 
tmst  to  assured  support  from  the 
other  House;  his  opponents  also 
became  divided :  anyhow  the  publi- 
cation of  that  '  fatal  scrip  of  paper  ' 
^  prevented.  The  Peers  remained 
inn:  the  power  they  had  given 
Strafford  to  re-open  the  impeach- 


ment rendered  pubHc  use  of  that 
document  impossible.  So  Pym 
turned  •  Vane's  notes '  to  the  best 
account  he  could  :  on  the  afternoon 
of  that  Saturday  he  read  them  aloud 
to  the  Commons,  then  they  were 
sent  to  the  Lord!s  'for  their  con- 
sideration.' '* 

Such  evidence  naturally  produced 
a  strong  impression ;  but  the  result 
was  not  a  unanimity  of  feeling 
about  Strafford's  guilt,  but  the 
division  of  the  *  inflexible  party '  and 
an  aggravation  of  the  quarrel  be- 
tween the  two  Houses  by  the  intro- 
duction of  the  Attainder  Bill.  For 
the  chief  object  of  that  measure 
apparently  was  to  retort  upon  the 
Lords  for  their  adoption  of  Straf- 
ford's cause,  and  to  assert  that  though 
he  was  a  Peer  the  Commons  might 
be  his  judges.  Even  to  make  it  clear 
that  Parliament  was  'severed' 
upon  the  question  whether  or  no 
a  Peer  was  guilty  of  high  treason, 
it  was  intended,  if  the  Bill  was 
rejected,  to  make  public  protesta- 
tion against  the  House  of  Lords  for 
their  denial  of  justice.  It  was  for 
this  vexy  reason  that  Pym  so  ear- 
nestly resisted  the  step.^^  And  the 
wording  of  the  Bill  reveals  that 
this  was  its  object;  it  is  not  based  on 
the  inherent  right  of  Parliament  to 
pass  an  Act  of  Attainder,  but  is 
framed  as  a  statutory  conclusion  to 
the  impeachment.  It  begins  with  a 
recital  of  the  proceedings  at  the 
trial,  then  follows  a  declaration  that 
Strafford's  crimes  were  proved  bythe 
evidence,  and  an  enactment  that  he 
is  therefore  guilty  of  High  Treason. 
The  Bill  thus,  from  its  very  form, 
was  an  intrusion  into  the  province 
solely  reserved  to  the  Peers,  of 
sitting  in  judgment  on  an  impeach- 
ment, and  especially  on  the  trial  of 
one  of  their  own  order.     The  mea- 


**  D*£wes,  Harleian  MSS.  (163),  420-422. 
Rolls  Office. 


»  Baillie.  i.  345. 

"  Mr.  Tomkins'  Letter,  April  12,  1641. 

*  Com.  Joum.,  ii.  1 18,  1 19. 

^ Earlof  Strajjf&rd  Characterised;  Somers*  Tracts,  ir.  232;  Baillie,  i.  346 ;  Sanfoid's 
Great  RebeUiou,  337.  Though  this  is  the  only  reference  to  this  work,  a  warm  acknowledg- 
ment must  be  made  of  its  great  value. 


400 


The  Btory  of  the  Death  of  Thomas,  Earl  of  Strafford.        [ApA 


Bare  also  amonnted  to  a  declaration, 
that  as  they  had,  whilst  thej  sat  as 
jndges,  indirectly  protected  Straf- 
ford, the  Commons  took  upon  them- 
selves to  give  their  verdict. 

This  course  had  its  strong  points: 
but  if  on  the  27th  of  February,  when 
it  was  open  to  the  Commons  to 
select  their  method  of  procedure, 
*  we  all  declined  a  bill,'*®  it  was  far 
more  imperative  on  them  to  do  the 
like  in  April,  when  they  had  so 
fuUy  committed  themselves  to  an 
impeachment.  And  as  might  be 
expected,  the  progress  of  the  mea- 
sure and  the  conclusion  of  the 
trial  came  into  constant  collision. 
The  Bill  itself  also  involved  the 
House  in  ceaseless  complication. 
The  debate  on  Monday,  April  12, 
was  ominous  to  all  who  desired 
Strafford's  speedy  execution:  twelve 
hours  passed  by  before  the  Bill  was 
read  a  second  time  ;  the  main  ques- 
tion having  been  kept  from  solution, 
by  suggestions  that  now  the  im- 
peachment was  superseded,  by  pro- 
posals to  lay  the  Bill  aside  and  to 
return  to  the  trial,  and  by  formal 
doubts  whether  or  no  the  clauses 
should  be  considered  either  by  a 
select  committee,  or  a  committee  of 
the  whole  House.  So  irritated  did 
the  Commons  become,  that  when  a 
member  desired  *to  know,  Mr. 
Speaker,  whether  I  have  spoken 
to-day,  or  not|'  '  the  House  taketh 
that  for  a  jeer,  and  cry  to  the  bar, '  ** 

The  Attainder  Bill,  at  last  com- 
mitted, fresh  difficulty  sprang  up  ; 
it  was  the  first  contested  piece  of 
legislation  ever  referred  to  a  com- 
mittee of  the  whole  House ;  and  so 
novel  was  this  mode  of  procedure, 
that  questions  arose,  whether  during 
this  stage,  'a  man  might  speak 
against  the  body  of  the  Bill,  or  no  P' 


or  whether  the  committee  could  add 
to,  take  from,  or  *  destroy'  the  Bill  f 
and  such  was  their  uncertain^, 
that  it  was  deemed  expedient  to 
re-vote  in  the  House,  before  tbe 
final  report,  one  of  the  leading 
clauses  of  the  Bill.*'  How  zealowsl^ 
a  member  now-a-days,  anxious  to 
effect  delay,  would  have  improved 
80  fair  an  occajsion :  nor  were  his 
predecessors  in  the  Long  Parlia- 
ment by  any  means  remiss. 

A  *  talk  out,'  however,  cannot 
be  esteemed  a  'witty  invention;' 
and  though  the  debates  between  the 
12th  and  the  2  ist  of  April,  1641,  are 
curious  as  the  first  example  of  tbe 
kind,  they  reveal  traces  of  the  same 
dull  absurdity  too  oflen  exhibited 
in  the  present  parliament.  Then, 
as  now,  from  pretended  zealots  for 
rapid  progress,  came  the  suggestion 
of  impossibilities,  such  as  the  re- 
port  of  the  Attainder  Bill  piece-meal 
to  the  House ;  the  ingenuous  seeker 
after  truth  meets  a  proposal  to  vote 
that  Strafford  sought  the  overthrow 
of  our  '  ancient  and  fundamental 
laws,'  by  the  question,  *what  is 
a  fundamental  law  ?  '  ** — a  trulj 
conscientious  soul  cannot  rest  till 
the  depositions  used  at  the  trial 
are  r^ul  aloud  to  tbe  Honse; 
and,  of  course,  adjournments  are 
often  demanded,  'because  morning 
thoughts  are  best,'  or  that  'we 
might  have  time  to  study  these 
points.'  D'Ewes,  acting  ijie  part 
of  indignant  chorus,  is  amazed 
that '  on  the  debate  of  so  few  lines 
we  had  lost  so  many  hours,'  at  the 
trifling  objections  raised,  and  the 
art  with  which  *  divers  kkwyers  of 
the  House '  re-thrashed  out  ererj 
question,  from  a  legal  point  of 
view.  *• 

The  Attainder  Bill  was  not  then 


«•  D*£wefl,  Harl.  MSS.  (162)  268. 

*'  Gaudv'B  IfoteSt  April  12,  1641.    Add.  MSS.  14,827. 

**  More'g  Journal,  April  14,  1641.     Harl.  MSS.  476. 

«*  April  16,  1641.    FEwei,  Harl.  MSS.  (163),  446. 

**  The  poet  Waller,  April  1641.     More's  MSS,  Journal, 

*»  April  12-21,  1641.    D'Ewea,  Harl.  MSS.  (163),  437-446;  (164)  966-^75. 


1873]      The  Story  of  the  Death  of  Thomas,  Earl  of  Strafford. 


401 


received  by  the  House  of  Commons 
with  *  wonderful  alacritjr,**®  and  in- 
deed it  seems  surprising   that  it 
passed  at  all.     A  majority  of  39  on 
the  last  critical  vote  showed  that 
the  popular  party  had  no  surplus 
strength ;  and  the  long  continuance 
of  a   Parliamentary    contest    un- 
marked  by  a  division,  is  a  sure  sign 
that    opposing    parties    are   very 
even.    This  was  the  case  with  the 
Attainder  Bill;  though  in  length 
only  about  a  couple  of  pages,  ten 
sitting  days   elapsed  between  the 
first  and  third  reaudings.     And  then, 
at  last,  the  Speaker's  decision  was 
chaZ/eDged,  and  the  Bill  passed,  on 
April  21,    b J  a   majority  of   143 
votes.     But   this  was  no    trium- 
phant majority;    only    263    were 
mastered  to  the  division,  out  of  a 
HoQse  composed  nominally  of  510 
members.^^     The  success  of  Straf- 
ford's enemies   resulted  from  the 
defection  of  his  friends.     The  pro- 
bable cause  of  that  defection  will 
be  hereafter  explained.^' 

The  delay  and  difficulty  caused 
hy  the  Attainder  Bill  have  been  ex- 
hibited ;  even  as  a  question  of  policy 
it  was  open   to  serious  objection. 
The  Bill  of  necessity  assumed  the 
aspect  of  a  retrospective  law,  an 
aspect  naturally  revolting ;  and  as 
it  had  been  the*  ill-luck  of  the  '  in- 
flexible party'  to  offend  the  instincts 
of  human  nature  by  their  attempt 
to  ensnare  a  man  by  the  review  of 
his  whole  life,   so  now  an  odious 
character  was  again  stamped  upon 
their  efforts.     And  if  regarded  from 
a  technical  point  of  view,  suppos- 
ing, as  was  urged  during  the  pro- 
gress of  the   measure,  the  Lords 
gave  immediate  judgment  on  the 
impeachment,  which  was  quite  in 
their  power,  what  then  would  be 
the  position    of  the  Bill?      Or  if 


they  chose  the  safer  course  of 
amending,  not  rejecting  it  alto- 
gether ;  Strafford's  punishment, 
short  of  death,  would  have  been 
acceptable  to  many.  What,  then, 
would  be  the  effect  of  that 
threatened  appeal  to  the  country 
against  the  Upper  House?  The 
Bishops  also  might  vote  upon  the 
Bill ;  here  was  another  risk. 

Above  all,  it  was  dangerous  to 
widen  the  breach  between  Lords 
and  Commons,  and  to  convert  the 
question  of  Strafford's  guilt  into 
a  class  question  between  rival 
branches  of  the  Legislature.  And 
this  took  place.  A  Bill  offered  by 
the  Commons  as  the  conclusion  ot 
an  impeachment,  instead  of  a  de- 
mand for  judgment,  enabled  the 
Lords  to  challenge  their  right  to 
pass  sentence  on  a  Peer.  They 
could  also  argue  that  as  the  verdict 
of  the  Lower  House  was  '  guilty  of 
high  treason,'  the  Lords  being  pre- 
cluded from  considering  what  lesser 
crime  had  been  committed,  must  re- 
ject the  Bill,  on  the  technical  point 
that  Strafford,  though  perhaps  an 
offender,  was  not  a  traitor  against 
the  State ;  and  to  the  end  the  Peers 
were  'resolute,  because  they  find  that 
they  have  no  authority  to  declare  a 
treason  in  a  fact  already  past.'^' 
The  presumption,  also,  of  the  Lower 
House  deeply  moved  the  whole 
House  of  Lords.  Strafford  knew 
well  when  he  addressed  them  for 
the  last  time,  the  force  of  these 
words,  *  You,  and  you  only,  are  my 
judges ;  under  fiEtvour,  none  of  the 
Commons  are  my  Peers,  nor  can 
they  be  my  judges.''^ 

The  Lords,  thus  tempted  to  link 
the  life  of  Strafford  with  the  life  of 
their  order,  'some  went  so  high 
in  their  heat  as  to  tell  the  Commons, 
that  it  was  an   unnatural  motion 


) 

^  Clarendon,  ed.  1839,  96. 

*'  This  was  the  smallest  hovae  eoilected  smoe  the  beginning  of  the  Farlismrat  to  vote 
)n  an  important  occnsion ;  the  Ittrgcst  to«k  pUca  on«](axch  i,  Dr.  Chaffin's  case,  when 
J79  were  collected  together. 

«  &«  p.  15.  \Narrative,  164?.  p.  77-  *•  ^-t  ^647,  p.  59 


402 


The  Story  of  the  Death  of  Thomas,  Earl  of  Strafford.      [April 


for  the  head  to  be  goyerned  by  the 
tail ; '  and  they  declared  on  another 
occasion,  '  that  they  themselves,  as 
competent  judges,  would  by  them- 
selves only  give  sentence'  upon 
Strafford.^  ^  During  moments  the 
most  tranquil,  open  collision  be- 
tween the  estates  of  the  realm  is  a 
disquieting  event :  how  deeply  so 
when  all  were  distracted  by  every 
species  of  anxiety.  And  the  alarm 
this  civil  war  in  Parliament  then 
provoked,  is  best  illustrated  by 
words  then  used.  It  is  stated  in  a 
news-letter,  that  at  a  conference 
Hr.  Hollis  addressed  to  the  Lords '  a 
terrible  speech,  wishing  the  curse  of 
God  might  light  upon  all  those  which 
sought  to  divide  the  Houses.'*^ 

What  more  couldStrafibrd desire? 
regarded  with  a  favour  that  spread 
even  to  the  army,  that  formerly 
detested  him,^^  his  cause  united 
with  the  existence  of  the  nobility,  and 
his  opponents  weakened  by  a '  great 
defection  of  their  pariy,'**  disunited, 
and  committed  to  a  line  of  action 
beset  with  danger,  not  only  from 
the  very  nature  of  the  Attainder 
Bill,  but  from  the  delay  it  caused. 
And  this  delay  added  'fear  upon 
fear;*  the  world  outside  Parlia- 
ment was  perplexed,  the  Commons 
were  *  misrepresented,'**  mistrusted 
even  by  the  Londoners.  This  soon 
was  proved ;  a  formidable  deputa- 
tion came  to  their  House  door, 
crowds  of  citizens  bearing  a  peti- 
tion signed  '  by  many  thousands,' 
demanding  instant  justice  upon 
Straflrord.*8  Even  'that  worthy 
man  Mr.  Pym '  fell  into  disgrace. 


Heated  by  fierce  anxieiy,  pro- 
voked by  the  state  of  the  impaid 
armies,  he  threatened  in  most 
Strafibrdian  language,  that  Tarha- 
ment  might  compel  the  Londoners 
to  lend  money,'  much  to  the  offence 
and'marveil'of  hishearers.^^  Even 
his  honesty  of  purpose  became  open 
to  suspicion,  and  Lord  Digby  could 
venture  to  hint,  that  the  trans- 
mission of  documents  affecting 
Strafford  into  the  hands  of  his 
partisans,  was  the  act  of  '  some  mi- 
worthy  man  who  had  his  eye  npon 
place  and  preferments,  wherein  he 
was  supposed  to  allude  to  Mr.  Pym 
himself.' 5« 

And  thesewere  days  when  offences 
needs  must  come;  the  men  who 
formed  the  main  support  of  the  '  in- 
flexible party  *  became  discredited ; 
the  months  they  spent  in  London, 
gave  the  Scottish  Commissioners  an 
opportunity  of  giving  offence,  and 
they  offended  everybody.  First, 
they  were  suspected  '  to  be  so  fer 
broken  by  the  King,  that  they  were 
willing  to  pass  IVoni  pursuit'  of 
Strafford  and  Episcopacy;*^  then 
they  irritated  the  whole  nation  by 
an  attack  on  the  English  Church— 
then  they  fell  into  *  a  new  pickle  ' 
by  a  supposed  recantation  of  that 
attack.  And  no  diversion  cooldbe 
more  happy  to  enemies  of  Pym  and 
his  fellow  workers,  than  a  shake 
given  to  our  social  fabric,  such  as 
the  threatened  demolition  of  Episco- 
pacy by  the  hands  of  the  Scottish 
Covenanters.  Even  the  London 
citizens  were  *  troubled '  by  their 
anti-prelatic  pamphlet.*** 


1467- 


"  Narrative,  1641,  69.  "  May  4,  1641.    Add.  MSS.  Brit.  Mns. 

•■  Fairfax  Corregp.,  ii.  65.  **  Narrative,  1647,  67. 

»» April  16  1641.     lyEwea,  Harl.  MSS.  (163),  446. 

*•  April  21,  1641.  D'EwPS,  Harl.  MSS.  (164),  985.  It  suited  the  chronicler^s  pnip** 
to  pass  over  examples  of  popular  pressure  put  on  ttie  Lower  as  well  as  the  Upper  Uosst. 
This  turn  for  omission  has  kept  out  of  signt  the  fact  that  public  anger  was  excited,  o-x 
only  against  the  *  Straffordians,'  who  vot^  for  him,  but  that  a  *  catalogue '  was  pLi£:^Ki^ 
on  the  walls  of  London  containing  the  names  of '  divers '  who  voted  against  i^nSoe^ 
under  the  title  of  *  The  Jews,  Anabaptists,  and  Brownists  of  the  House  of  Comniosis-' 
Mr.  Tomkins'  Letter,  April  26,  1641.    Bolls  Office. 

*^  Februaiy  20,  1641.    D'Ewes,  Harl.  MSS.  (162},  245. 

*•  Mr.  Tomkins  to  Sir  J.  Lamb,  April  26,  1641.    Rolls  Office. 

*•  Baillie,  i.  305.  . .  «•  February  27,  1641.    Gaudy's  Noiet,  Brit  Mas. 


1878]      The  Story  of  the  Death  of  TJiomas,  Earl  of  Strafford. 


403 


Time  also  revealed  the  Scotchineii 
in  the  light  of  sturdy  beggars.  To 
the  neyer-ending  demands  for  pay- 
ing their  soldiers,  to  restitution 
money  claimed  for  ships  taken  by 
OUT  cruisers,  they  added  *  the  pretty 
snm  *  oi  3oo,oooZ. — as  a  '  brotherly 
gift'  from  England  to  her  con- 
qnerors.  The  '  discord '  the  King 
hoped  that '  vast  proposition'  would 
excite,  did  not  arise.  Although 
the  Commons  were  reminded '  what 
a  dishonour  it  was  to  our  ancient 
and  rraiowned  nation,'  and  although 
Speaker  Lenthall,  the  House  being 
in  Committee,  '  spake  as  any  other 
member'  in  opposition  to  the  grant,^^ 
ihe  grant  was  made.  But  when 
the  vote  had  passed,  speedy  national 
tranquillity  was  expected:  that  now 
seemed  further  off  than  ever;  in 
April  *  Gramercy '  could  hardly  be 
felt  towards  the  *  good  Scot,'  who 
during  that  season  of '  horrible  con- 
fusion' urged  constant  demands  for 
a  'brotherly  gift'  of  300,000?. 

Amidst  this  clash  of  intereste,  one 
caase  alone  seemed  to  prosper,  and 
that  was  Strafford's.  The  confidence 
of  his  friends,  strong  in  March,  was 
in  April  still  stronger.  The  news 
from  Yorkshire  ran,  that  there, 
*they  were  all  hopeful;'  that  ac- 
cording to  the  '  general  opinion,  he 
will  escape  the  censure  of  treason.'  ^^ 
A  well-wisher  from  Paris,  wrote, 
*I  am  very  glad  to  hear  that  my 
Lord  of  Strafford  is  like  to  speed  so 
well ;'  the  Court  whisper  was,  *that 
the  King  will  not  let  him  go,  and 
that  the  Parliament  is  not  likely  to 
be  long-lived.'  ^ 

That  rumonr  about  Parliament 
contains  the  secret  of  Strafford's 
death.     That  month  of  April  that 


seemed  to  promise  to  him  so  well, 
in  truth  revealed  indications  of  his 
fiate.  Two  important  appointments 
were  made  during  that  month;  in 
each  case  his  enemies  were  flavoured. 
Oliver  St.  John,  the  ablest,  cer- 
tainly his  bitterest  legal  opponent 
in  Parliament,  received  from  the 
King  the  post  of  Solicitor-Gene- 
ral ;  «^  and  to  the  Earl  of  Holland, 
who  for  years  hated  Strafford,  and 
was  hated  in  return,  at  Court  his 
most  successful  rival,  and  among 
the  Scots  '  our  good  friend,'  ^^  was 
given  chief  command  over  the 
Boyal  army ;  and  this  appointment, 
made  at  a  time  when  it  was  essen- 
tial for  Strafford's  sake  that  King 
and  people  should  be  on  good  accord, 
created  alarm  and  distrust  Iboth 
among  the  Scotch  and  English.*^ 

Whatever  was  Strafford's  sus- 
picion, when  power  was  thus  be- 
stowed upon  his  enemies,  that 
suspicion  was  soon  converted  into 
certainty.  On  the  23rd  of  April 
he  received  by  letter  an  explanation 
from  the  King  himself.  With  fer- 
vent expressions  of  regret,  he  fore- 
warned his  minister,  that  owing  to 
the  '  strange  mistaking  and  con- 
juncture of  the  times  ...  I  must  lay 
by  the  thought  of  imploying  you 
hereafter  in  my  affairs.' ^^  That 
letter  seemed  an  act  of  tender  care : 
but  the  true  meaning  was,  that 
Charles  was  not  able  to  act  with  the 
House  of  Lords ;  they  were  resolute 
to  acquit  Strafford :  the  King  was 
about  to  condenm  him,  though  not 
to  death.  And  he  did  so.  Acting 
on  the  advice  of  Lord  Savile  and 
Ae  Earl  of  Bristol,^®  he  went  on 
Saturday,  the  ist  of  May,  to  the 
throne  in  the  Upper  House,  sum- 


"  lyEwes,  Harl.  MSS.  (162).  140,  149. 

**  April  10,  and  ^,  1641.    Faiffax  Carresp.^  ii.  104,  207. 

**  Mr.  Bead's  and  Hr.  Tomkins'  Letters,  April  26,  1641.    Bolls  OfSce. 

^  D'Ewes,  Harl.  MSS.  (164),  993.  *  Mr.  O.  St.  John,  lately  made  the  King's  solicitor.' 
April  29,  1 641.  •»  Baillie,  i.  306. 

*"  Ajml  2,  1641.    Daliymple's  M^moriaU  qf  State,  118;  Clarendon,  ed.  1839,  116. 

•'  Rtrafard  Letters,  ii.  416. 

**  Letter  from  Father  Philips,  read  to  the  Commons  by  Fjrm,  June  25,  1641.  Bush- 
worth,  IT.  257. 


404  The  Siary  of  tie  Death  of  TJumas,  Earl  of  Strafford.       [April 


moned  before  him  the  House  of 
Commons,  and  assuming  throngh- 
ont  his  speech  that  the  Lords  were 
prepared  to  pass  the  Attainder  Bill, 
he  pleaded  guilty  in  behalf  of  Straf- 
ford, not,  indeed,  of  high  treason, 
bat  of  a  misdemeanor. 

Like  all  acts  of  doable  dealing, 
this  speech  was  capable  of  most 
contradictory  interpretations,  all 
mysterioas.  To  those  who  knew 
that  the  Bill,  coldly  received  by 
the  Lords,  had  lain  four  days  nn- 
toached  npon  their  table,  and  there- 
fore expected  its  rejection,  an  ex- 
pectation justified  by  the  practice  of 
that  time,  and  to  those  who  knew 
*  that  it  was  both  possible  and  pro- 
bable '  that  the  '  declaration '  or  the 
Upper  House  would  be  given  in 
Strafford's  fistvour,^^  it  seemed  as  if 
Charles,  braving  the  anger  of  Parlia- 
ment, had  illegally  interfered  in  its 
proceedings,  to  bring  punishment 
on  a  criminal  the  Lords  were  dis- 
posed to  acquit. 

But  the  Peers  were,  on  the  con- 
trary, addressed  by  ihe  King  as 
if  they  were  all  about  to  vote 
Strafford  guilty  of  High  Treason, 
though  it  was  notorious  that  'of 
the  four-score  present  at  the  trial, 
not  above  twenty'  held  that  opi- 
nion, and  as  if  they  were  readv 
to  agree  to  the  Attainder  Bill, 
although  then  '  there  was  little 
suspicion  that  it  would  pass.'^®  Nor 
was  that  address  to  them  only  an 
offensive  proof  that  Charles  *  feared 
their  inconstancy,'^*  or  a  breach  of 
privilege  :  it  interrupted  the  quarrel 
between  the  two  Houses,  and  spoilt 
the  fight  the  Lords  hoped  to  wa^. 
They  saw  that  they  now  must  retract 
the  haughty  tone  they  had  assumed 
towards  the  Lower  House :  that  as 
Charles  himself  had  declared  Straf- 
ford to  be  a  criminal,  certainly 
deserving  civil  death,  they    were 


driven  from  the  technical  legal 
question  of  high  treason,  into  the 
moral  bearing  of  his  offences.  And 
if  compelled  so  &r  to  accept  the 
decision  of  the  Commons,  what 
course  was  open  but  to  pass  the 
Attainder  Bill  ? 

The  effect  of  that  speech  does  not 
end  here :  the  Lords  and  Commons 
and  all  classes  in  society  were  deeply 
moved  by  this  perplexing  feature  in 
the   King's  conduct:  it  exhibited 
those  terrors  of  a  stricken  conscience 
which  make  '  the  wicked  flee  when 
no  man  pursueth.'  The  whole  tenor 
of  his  speech  to  the  House  of  Lords 
implied  that   there   was   extreme 
danger,  even  in  saving  alive,  though 
stripped  of  honour  and  es^te,  uie 
man  whom  the  Peers  were  prepared 
to  set  free;  and  in  the  assumed 
character  of  intercessor  with  judges 
resolved  on  their  victim's  death,  he 
begs  them  '  to  find  out  a  way  to 
satisfy  justice,  and  their  own  fears,' 
And  the  same  strain  of  argument 
runs  through  the  letter  to  Strafford ; 
Charles    ascribes    his    inability  to 
employ  him  hereafter,  to  the '  stnmge 
conjuncture   of   the    times.'      Yd 
neither  on  the  23rd  of  April  or  on 
the  ist  of  May,  had  any  special  crisis, 
either  in  Strafford's  fate,  or  in  pub- 
lic  affairs,  taken  place :  the  times 
were  stormy;    but  no   storm  had 
broken  forth:   without  thought  of 
'  fears,'  it  seemed  *  very  likely,'  evai 
then,  that  he  *  might  have  passed 
free  by  the  voices '  ^^  of  the  Upper 
House. 

No  wonder  that  the  King's  use 
of  such  unaccountable  words  made 
all  men  suspect  that  something 
even  more  tdarming  was  behind. 
For  weeks  vague  rumours  of  designs 
against  the  State  had  floated 
through  London  ;^^  and  now,  warned 
from  the  throne  itself,  it  became 
known  that  there  was  a  plot.    And 


■•  Narrative,  1647,  82.  "  Clarendon,  ed.  1839,  96,  108. 

"  Ibid.y  79.  n  Narratiw,  1647,  82. 

"  Dalryniple'B  Memorials  of  State,  March  3,  and  April  2,  1641,  114,  117. 


18TS]      The  BUny  of  the  Death  of  Thomas,  Earl  of  Strafford. 


405 


so  there  was :  Charles  hadsanotioned 
and  promoted,  fiom  the  beginning 
of  April,  the  project  of  bringing 
the  royal  army  from  Yorkshire  to 
London,  to  overawe  both  City  and 
Parliament;  and  it  was  evidently 
/or  that  pnrpose  that  he  placed  it 
nnder   the   charge  of    Strafford's 
enemy,  the  Earl  of  Holland.    The 
King  also    knew    that  the    pro- 
ject had  been  betrayed,^*     "WTien 
he  wrote  that  letter  to  Strafford, 
on  the  23rd  of  April,  Parliament 
had  acted  on  that  information  ;  ou 
the  19th  of  April,  the  Commons 
made  an  order,  staying  the  officers 
who  were  Members  of  the  House, 
from  obeying  the  command  of  their 
General,  the  Earl  of  Holland,  '  to 
go  do¥m  to  their  charges  in  the 
anny  very  snddenly  ;'^*  one  of  the 
leaders  in  the  conspiracy  being  by 
name  connected  with  tiiat  order. 
And  forty-eight  honrs  after    the 
Kin^s  speech    in   the   Honse    of 
LotcLb,  the  Army  Plot  was  folly  re- 
vealed to  Parliajnent.    Then  it  be- 
came clear    what    *  fears*    might 
justly  arise  if  Strafford  was  not  sent 
out  of  this  world,  and  what  was  the 
Bonrce    of    that   nndercorrent    of 
alarm  which  drove  Charles  to  nse 
that  word. 

The  disclosnre  of  the  Army  Plot 
was  &tal  to  Strafford ;  yet  the  im- 
mediate canse  of  his  death  was  the 
King's  visit  to  Parliament  on  the 
ist  of  May.  For,  to  quote  a  very 
good  anthority,  that  speech  '  pnt 
the  Lords  to  such  a  stand,  who 
were  before  inclinable  enough  to 
that  Tinforhinate  gentleman  (Straf- 
ford), that  a  mnltitude  of  rabble  '''^ 
beset  the  doors  of  Parliament,  de- 
manding bis  execution.  They  ap- 
parently were  not  acquainted  with 


the  language  the  King  had  used 
from  the  tlm)ne,  and  that  he  had 
made  an  appeal  for  his  servant's 
life.  On  the  contrary,  they  sup- 
posed, not  that  he  deemed  the  Lords 
to  be  too  ready  to  condenm  Straf- 
ford, but  not  ready  enough;  and 
they  thought  that  they  must  imitate 
the  King,  and  show  themselves  be- 
fore the  Upper  House  to  prevent 
their  acquittal  of  the  criminal. 
And  so,  'inflamed  by  the  King's 
speech,'^^  early  in  the  morning  of 
Monday,  3rd  of  May,  before  anv  re- 
velation c^  the  Army  Plot  had  oeeoi 
made,  a  crowd  of  citizens  filled 
PaJace  Yard,  and  saluted  the  Peers 
as  they  arrived  there  with  cries 
demanoing  Strafford's  execution. 

Historians  give  a  most  exagge- 
rated account  of  this  event,  and 
ascribe  the  consent  of  the  Lords  to 
the  Attainder  Bill  to  panic  terror, 
and  the  dictation  of  a  mob.  This 
was  not  the  case.  The  crowd  was 
not  composed  of  rabble,  but  of 
wealthy  merchants:  their  threate 
were  only,  'that  to-morrow  they 
will  send  their  servante,  if  the 
Lords  did  not  expedite  justice 
speedily.'^*  This  they  did  not  do. 
The  rumour  that  an  escape  of  the 
prisoner  from  the  Tower  was  immi- 
nent, brought  next  day  another, 
but  a  smaller  gathering  to  Pa- 
lace Tard,  which  soon  dispersed;^' 
the  demonstration  of  Monday  was 
not  repeated.  And  the  Attainder 
Bill  certainly  did  not  pass  under 
the  inmiediate  threat  of  mob  vio- 
lence ;  not  touched  by  the  Lords 
on  that  Monday,  though  undiscussed 
since  the  27th  of  April,  ite  third 
reading  only  took  place  on  the  8th  of 
Mav,  fSter  seven  stages  of  debate. 

And  a  contemporary  authority 


^'Karmdve  by  Queen  Henrietta  Maria,  Mdme.  de  MotteTille'e  Jnne  of  Austria^ 
VoL  i.  207. 
'*  Com,  J(mm.  iL  123.  ^  Heylin's  Life  ofLaudt  449. 

"  NarreHve^  1647,  84. 

"  Uredale  to  Bradley,  May  3,  1641.    BOII0  Office. 
**  NarraUm^  1647,  89. 
VOL.  Vn. — ^HO.  XL.      KIW  SXBIIS*  F  F 


406 


The  Story  of  the  Death  of  Thomcu,  Earl  of  Strafford.       [April 


confirms  our  assertion.  At  the  very 
moment  of  the  event,  the  demon- 
stration of  the  3rd  of  May,  was  not 
regarded  as  a  spontaneous  expres- 
sion of  public  feeling,  but  as  an 
oi^anised  affair,  arranged  by  the 
same  agency  which  had  urged  the 
King  to  mike  his  address  to  Par- 
liament. Both  events  are  ascribed 
to  the  working  of  Strafford's  *  seem- 
ing Mends,'  but  *  real  enemies,'  who 
^put  the  King  upon  this  way, 
hoping  thereby  that  the  Lords 
should  find  occasion  to  .pretend  ne- 
cessity of  doing  that  which,  per- 
haps, in  regard  of  common  equity, 
or  the  King's  displeasure,  they  could 
not  durst  have  done.'  And  appa- 
rently that  pretended  necessi^  was 
furnished  by  the  crowd  in  Palace 
Tard ;  for  we  are  told  by  the  same 
authority,  that  on  the  final  stage  of 
the  BiU,  '  the  greatest  part  of  ^raf- 
ford's  friends  absented  themselves, 
upon  pretence  (whether  true  or 
supposititious)  that  they  feared  the 
multitude.'  ®®  It  was  not,  however, 
to  the  third  reading  of  the  bill,  that 
Strafford  attributed  his  death,  but 
because,  to  use  his  own  words,  by 
that '  declaration '  of  the  King's,  'on 
Saturday,'  '  the  minds  of  men  were 
more  incensed  against  him,'  and 
because  Charles  had  not  'intirely 
left  him  to  the  judgment  of  their 
lordships.'®* 

The  motives  that  prompted  that 
untoward  act,  we  do  not  attempt  to 
fathom:  but  that  ideal  being,  the 
historic  Charles  I.,  must  part  with 
an  invented  justification  of  his  con- 
duct. It  has  been  assumed  that 
the  Army  Plot  was  designed  for 
Strafford's  release  from  prison,  and 


that  his  friend,  Lord  Say,  misled 
the  King  into  making  that '  declara- 
tion.'®* But  supposing  that  Charles 
could  be  ignorant  of  the  intentions 
of  the  Upper  House,  and  blind 
to  the  effect  of  his  interference,  he 
must  have  known  the  dispositions 
of  his  advisers,  that  Savile  had 
*  particular  malice  to  Strafford, 
which  he  had  sucked  in  with  his 
milk,'®3  and  that  the  Earl  of  Bristol 
was  foremost  in  that  group  of  Peers, 
who  by  giving  security  for  the  loan 
of  2oo,oooZ.,  had  given  security 
against  Strafford's  acquittal,  and  that 
he  had  been  throughout  the  '  Mer- 
cury' of  the  Scottish  Commis- 
sioners.** 

But  there  is  no  doubt  whatever 
about  the  Army  Plot:  the  King 
set  that  on  foot,  with  the  full  know- 
ledge of  the  risk  it  caused  his  pri- 
soner, and  that  it  was  a  design  of  his 
enemies  to  profit  by  his  ruin.  Nor 
was  Charles  tempted  by  the  proffer 
of  a  hopeful  project  fully  matured 
without  his  consent ;  he  caught  at 
the  hasty  tender  of  an  obviously 
desperate  attempt.  One,  wiser 
than  he,  gave  him  ample  warning : 
it  was  the  Queen.  At  first  *  over- 
joyed' with  him  at  the  prospect 
thus  opened  out,  reflection  told  her 
that  jealousy  among  the  conspir- 
ators would  provoke  disclosure  of 
the  plot :  and  as,  '  if  the  secret  was 
once  blown,'  Strafford  would  be  de- 
stroyed, she  decided  *  not  to  do  it ' ; 
but  the  King  resisted  the  Queen's 
playful  reiteration  of '  No,  no  no,— 
it  shall  not  be,'  and  her  more 
serious  persuasions ;  he  initiated  the 
plot,  and  at  once  it  was  revealed 
to  Pym  and  his  associates.*^    Nor 


*»  Narrative,  1647,  82,  89. 

"  Strafford's  Letter  to  Charles.  I.    May  4,  1 641. 

"^Clarendon,  ed.  1839,  108.  It  seems,  from  a  passage  in  Father  Philips'  Letter,  that, 
at  the  time  of  the  event,  Lord  Say  was  supposed,  though  wrongly,  to  hare  given  tlut 
ad\nce. 

"  Clarendon,  ed.  1839,  396. 

•*  Strafford's  own  expression.     Batcliffe  Corr.  216. 

**  Narrative  by  Queen  Henrietta  Maria.  Vol.  i.,  202.  Goring's  deposittons,  JrcHmy 
House  of  Lords, 


287$]       The  Story  of  the  Death  of  Thomas,  Earl  of  Strafford. 


4G7 


GOTild^iekave  supposed  that  Straf- 
ford's W6]£eure  formed  any  portion 
of  that  design :  the  object  of  the 
conspirators,  Wihnot  and  Goring, 
was  to  obtain  the  post  Strafford 
filled  of  Lientenant-G^eneral  of  the 
English  Army :  nor  could  they  be 
his  *good  willers,'  as  they  were 
among  the  *  merry  lads,'  who  de- 
pended on  the  Earl  of  HoUand.^^ 
And  one    final    blow    must    be 

fVen  to  that  false  image  of  Charles 
tbai  historians  have  set  up.  It 
is  represented  that  when  '  wrestled 
breathless '  into  giving  his  consent, 
the  King  signed  the  Commission 
to  pass  the  Attainder  Bill,  '  com- 
forted even  with  that  assurance, 
that  his  hand  was  not  in'  the 
document  itself.  If  so,  it  is  strange, 
that  not  using  a  common  form  ap- 
propriate to  the  occasion,  the  Lord 
Privy  Seal,  acting  under  the 
authority  of  that  Commission, 
should  have  declared  to  both 
Houses  of  Parliament,  'that  his 
Majesty  had  an  intent  to  have  come 
himself  this  day,  and  given  his 
Eojal  Assent  to  these  two  Bills,' 
of  which  one  was  Strafford's  At- 
tainder.'^ 

Speculation  whether  or  no  King 
Charles  deliberately  intended  by 
his  speech  of  the  ist  of  May  to 
sacrifice  his  minister  in  order  to 
avert  the  consequences  of  the  dis- 
closure of  the  Army  Plot,  is  not 
within  our  province.  Clarendon 
admits  that  those  events  alike  were 
fatal  to  StrafiTord  :  our  argument  is 
fiilfiUed  by  an  explanation  of  the 
true  meaning  of  the  royal  inter- 
ference with  Parliament,  by  showing 
that  the  Earl's  enemies  were  lead- 
ing spirits  in  those  transactions, 
and  that  the  King  could  not  have 
supposed  that  Strafford's  benefit 
was  designed,  either  by  the  speech 


or  by  the  plot,  Socompletely,  indeed, 
did  that  conspiracy  play  into  the 
hands  of  the  'inflexible  party,'  and 
justify  their  unpopular  policy,  that 
Sir  P.  Warwick  suggests  tihat  the 
*  leading  men  in  Parliament '  were 
the  secret  authors  of  the  scheme.** 
And  without  laying  too  much  stress 
on  a  surmise,  it  is  to  the  informa- 
tion that  must  have  influenced  the 
Commons  to  make  that  order, 
staying-  the  officers  from  obeying 
their  general's  commands  to  repair 
imme£ately  to  the  army,  that 
we  attribute  the  defection  of 
Strafford's  friends  on  the  third 
reading  of  the  Attainder  Bill :  that 
proceeding,  at  least,  took  plp^  two 
days  after  the  order  was  v^^,  and 
it  is  evident  that  up  to  jb^  time 
the  popular  party  had,  duriiig  a 
protracted  contest,  shrunk  from 
testing  their  numbers  by  the  crite- 
rion of  a  division. 

Yet,  though  a  positive  judgment  on 
the  motives  that  guided  the  Eang 
in  his  conduct  towards  Strafford 
is  not  to  our  taste,  and  though  we 
have  refrained  from  reference  to 
those  repeated  actions — such  as 
the  refusal  to  disband  that  veiy 
Irish  army  that  had  threatened, 
and  still  threatened,  England — ^by 
which  Charles  indirectly,  yet  most 
effectively,  prejudiced  Strafford's 
cause.  Still,  if  it  be  the  case  that 
through  all  the  many  days  which 
held  his  fate  in  suspense  the  utmost 
disregard  of  his  safety  was  exhi- 
bited by  the  King,  who  certainly 
hated  Parliament  more  than  he 
loved  the  servant  in  jeopardy  for 
his  sake,  it  is  well  that  this  should 
be  known.  For  it  is  but  just  that  'the 
vile  person  be  no  more  called  liberal,' 
and  that  Bang  Charles  be  no  longer 
credited  with  efforts  that  he  did 
not   make,    and    with    tenderness 


■•  Warwick's  Memoirs,  147. 

•'May  10,  1641.    Journal  House  of  Zor<?*,  vi.,  243.    These  words  were  not  used  on 
the  pn^vioas  Commission,  July  1 1, 1625,  op  on  the  next,  January  15,  1642. 
"  Warwick  Memoirs,  179. 

F  F  2 


408 


The  Story  of  the  Death  of  ThonuUf  Earl  of  Strafford.        [April 


be  did  not  show  towards  his 
poor  prisoner  in  the  T^ower.  It  is 
there  that  the  '  bonntifol  man/  the 
tmly  royal  man,  was  to  be  fonnd, 
and  not  at  Whitehall.  Onr  story 
of  Strafford's  death  enhances 
the  majestic  compassion  he  ex- 
tended to  his  master:  with  the 
language  of  a  humble  suppliant  he 


besought  that  the  Attainder  Bill 
might  be  passed,  that  'a  blessed 
agreement'  might  be  established 
in  the  realm;  and  then,  'as  a 
king  gives  unto  the  king,'  Strafford 
gave  to  Charles  *  the  life  of  this 
world,  with  all  the  cheerfalojBss 
imaginable/  ®^ 

Reginald  F.  D.  PALOEAVE.i 


^  Stzaffoid's  Letter  to  Charles  I.,  May  4,  1641. 


1873] 


409 


OUGHT  GOVERNMENT  TO  BUT  THE  RAILWATS? 


THE  sjBtem  on  which  the  raQ- 
ways  of  England  have  been 
oonstracted  and  worked  has  been 
frequently  the  snUect  of  discnssion, 
and  of  late  this  discussion  has  as- 
sumed more  practical  importance. 
•  It  has  been  argued  by  some  persons, 
and  assumed  by  many  others,  that 
<e  possession  of  the  carrying  trade 
tho  country  by  private  corpora- 
uonsdoes  not  affora,  or  will  not  con- 
tinue to  afford,  all  the  advantages 
which  the  public  reqtdre,  and  that 
these  woxild  be  better  secured  by 
the  transfer  of  the  whole  system 
into  the  hands  of  the  Government. 
The  recent  course  of  railway  legis- 
lation and  the  policy  of  the  com- 
panies themselves  has  encouraged 
this  discussion.     The  tendency  of 
this  policy  has  been  by  amalgama- 
tion gradually  to  absorb  the  smaller 
lines  mto  a  few  g^reat  systems ;  even 
oompanies  of  considerable  magni- 
tude find  it    to  their  interest  to 
unite  in  that  way,  and  it  is  difficult 
to  say  to  what  extent  this  policy 
may  be  carried.     Last  year    the 
question  of  amalgamation  was  sub- 
mitted to  a  Joint  Committee  of  the 
two  Houses,  and  very  thoroughly 
investigated.      It  was  urged  that 
the  progress  of  these  amalgamations 
woold  hand  large  districts  over  to 
the  uncontrolled  monopoly  of  single 
companies  ;  that  the  protection  to 
public  interests  which  was  given  by 
competition  would  cease  to  exist, 
and  that  it  was  necessary  for  the 
protection   of  the  public  to  give 
to  Government  a  further  control 
than  it  at  present  possesses  over 
the  working  of  the  railways.     This 
Committee    in    a    careful    report, 
while  admitting  the  advantages  of 
amalgamation  in  certain  cases,  did 
iu>t  suggest  any  practical  means  of 
contromng  the  companies  without 
unduly  interfering  in  their  manage- 
imentf  although  they  suggested  Uie 
appointment  of  a  Commission  for 


regulating  traffic  with  powers  so 
indefinite  that  it  can  hardly  be 
called  a  practical  proposal. 

It  has,  however,  been  urged,  as  a 
means  of  avoiding  the  conflict 
which  is  supposed  to  exist  between 
the  interest  of  the  companies  and 
of  the  pubHc,  that  the  railways 
should  be  purchased  and  worked  by 
the  State.  Though  the  Committee 
expressly  declined  to  enter  into  this 
question,  they  printed,  along  with 
other  evidence,  a  report  by  Captain 
Tyler,  dwelling  strongly  on  the 
defects  of  the  present  system,  and 
suggesting  this  solution  of  the 
difficulty.  The  same  idea  was 
urged  in  several  speeches  and 
pamphlets  during  last  y^'^  ud  it 
will  be  brought  pr*  .    before 

the  public  by  the  ikction  of  the 
Government  in  the  case  of  the  Irish 
railways.  The  Government  inti- 
mated the  intention  of  Qonsider- 
ing  the  pui*chase  of  the  Irish  lines, 
and  though  some  more  recent  cor- 
respondence seems  to  indicate  that 
that  intention  was  announced  rather 
hastily,  and  that  a  study  of  the 
details  of  the  measure  shows  it  to 
be  much  more  difficult  in  practice 
than  it  appeared  at  first,  it  is  proba- 
ble that  the  matter  will  be  brought 
before  Parliament,  and  give  rise  to 
grave  discussion. 

If  the  Government  is  to  work  the 
Irish  lines,  it  will  be  very  difficult 
to  adjust  its  relations  as  a  carrier  in 
Ireland  with  the  English  lines 
which  have  an  interest  in  that 
country  ;  and  if  it  is  economically 
judicious  to  buy  railways  in  Ireland, 
some  of  which  are  said  to  be  un- 
remunerative — although  much  ex- 
aggeration prevails  on  this  subject 
— it  would  appear  sound  policy  to 
buy  the  lines  in  Great  Britain, 
which  are  in  general  more  important 
and  more  elastic ;  and  that  question 
cannot  fail  to  be  brought  into  the 
discussion.     Captain  Tyler,  whose 


410 


Ought  Ooveniment  to  Buy  the  Baihoays  ? 


[April 


report  is  meant  rather  as  soggestire 
of  forther  discussioii  than  as  an  ex- 
hanstiye  argument,  brings  certain 
charges  against  the  companies  of 
neglect  of  the  public  interest  for 
their  private  advantage,  and  con- 
trasts their  management  with  that 
I  of  apublic  department,  which  would 
I  not  only  be  thoroughly  master  of 
I  the  details  of  working,  but,  haviz^ 
'  no  other  interest  than  the  public 
good,  would  avoid  all  the  mistakes 
and  all  the  injustice  with  which  the 
companies  are  credited.  But  this 
description  of  a  public  department 
is  somewhat  too  ideal. 
I      In  discussing  this  question  we 
I  have  to  consider  not  what  public 
I  servants    might  theoretically   do, 
but  how  they  do  in  fact,  with  the 
best  intentions,  manage  the  depart- 
ments with  which  they  have  to 
deal ;  and  whether  they  show  in 
practice  that  readiness  to  advance 
with  the  requirements  of  the  age, 
that  elasticity  in  meeting  the  wants 
of  the  public,  and  that  economy  of 
management  with  which  they  are 
sometimes  credited,  and  which  the 
interests  of  .the  companies  does  to 
some  extent  secure. 

But  before  entering  into  the  de- 
tails of  the  question  it  would  be 
well  to  consider  the  great  imports 
ance  of  the  change  which  is  thus 
suggested,  and  its  bearing  on  the 
constitution  and  habits  of  this 
country. 

The  change  involves  the  substi- 
1  tution  of  direct  Government  man- 
I  agement  for  private  enterprise,  and 
of  a  complete  monopoly  for  at  least 
i  qualified  competition  in  the  greatest 
^  commercial  undertakings  in    this 
country ;  and  from  its  adoption  there 
would  follow,  among  odier  conse- 
quences, an  addition  to  the  National 
Debt  of  a  sum  about  equal  to  its 
present  amount,  with  a  revenue  to 
meet  it  depending  on  the  profits  of 
a  commercial  adventure ;  the  inter- 
ference of  Government,  through  its 
agents,  with  all  the  details  of  trans- 
port, and  consequently  with  the 


great  mass  of  commercial  affairs ; 
and  the  transfer  into  Government 
employment  of  a  very  large  number 
of  skilled  artisans  and  labourers  dis- 
tributed through  all  parts  of  |the 
country. 

It  has  not  hitherto  been  the 
habit  of  the  Government  of  Eng- 
land to  undertake  such  responsibi- 
lities, or  to  interfere  in  such  mat- 
ters. With  the  exception  of  the 
Post  Office,  which  will  be  discussed 
tether  on,  the  functions  of  the 
Executive  have  been  principally 
confined  to  providing  for  the  repre- 
sentation and  defence  of  the  nation 
abroad,  and  to  the  collection  of 
revenue  and  police  duties  at  home. 

It  has  manufactured  the  ships 
and  materials  required  for  its  own 
use,  though  even  in  these  it  has 
relied  largely  on  private  enterprise, 
and  has  never. of  late  years  esta- 
blished a  monopoly  in  its  &vonr  in 
such  products ;  but  it  has  not  to  any 
large  extent  assumed  the  initiatiTe 
in  stimulating  or  regulating  com- 
merce, or  developing  the  resources 
of  the  nation — a  tesk  which  has 
been  left  to  individuals,  with  the 
result  of  producing  the  greatest 
extension  of  commercial  enterprise 
and  the  largest  accumulation  of 
national  wealth  which  the  world 
has  ever  seen.  The  revenue  has 
been  raised  by  a  system  of  taxation 
intended,  according  to  the  ideas  of 
the  time,  to  press  as  lightly  as 
possible  on  the  industry  of  the 
country,  but  drawn  from  sources 
which  are  so  well  known  that  pro- 
visipn  can  almost  certainly  be  made 
at  the  end  of  one  year  for  the  re- 
quirements of  the  next.  It  has 
never  entered  into  speculations 
which,  however  promising,  would 
be  subject  to  fluctuations^  a^  might 
be  most  deficient  at  the  very  time 
at  which  there  was  the  greatest 
pressure  on  the  resources  of  the 
nation^  and  it  has  thus  avoided 
excessive  changes  in  the  amount  of 
regular  taxation,  except  for  national 
objects.      This  policy  has  secured 


1873] 


Ought  Oovemment  to  Bmj  the  Railways  ? 


411 


for  the  British  funds  a  position  of 
strength  and  a  oomparatiTe  absence 
of  yiolent  finctnations,  which  is 
withont  example  in  any  other  secu- 
rity of  large  amount. 

In  its  relations  with  the  people, 
the  English  Oovemment,  unhke 
the  Governments  of  the  Continent, 
has  always  avoided  as  much  as 
possible  any  direct  interference, 
except  for  purposes  of  revenue. 
The  Executive  can  exercise  no  per- 
ceptible pressure  on  the  popula- 
tion outside  of  the  Oovemment 
officials,  who  are  few  in  nnmber  ; 
and  there  is  no  doubt  that  the 
absence  of  Ot>vemment  interference 
is  an  important  element  in  main- 
taining  the  freedom  with  which 
the  institutions  of  this  country 
are  worked,  while  its  presence  is 
one  of  the  main  reasons  for.  the 
comparative  failure  of  such  insti- 
tutions on  the  Continent.  But  this 
state  of  things  would  be  materially 
changed  by  the  adoption  of  the 
proposal  which  we  are  now  con- 
sidering. Under  that  proposal  not 
only  would  Oovemment  be  able 
to  exercise  considerable  pressure  on 
particnlar  localities,  by  the  power 
it  would  possess  of  restricting  or 
extending  railway  accommodation, 
hut  it  would  have,  in  every  part  of 
the  country,  officers  placed  in  a 
position  to  influence  most  of  the 
inhabitants.  Although  these  powers 
might  not  produce  here  the  re- 
sults which  flow  from  them  in 
countries  which  are  more  accus- 
tomed to  the  interference  of  the 
Executive,  they  could  not  fail  to 
introduce  a  new  and  important 
element  into  English  political  life. 

Thei^  is  another  matter  of 
growingimportancein  which  the  po- 
sition of  the  Oovemment  would  be 
materially  altered  by  the  adoption 
of  this  scheme.  It  has  now  m  its 
employment,  besides  its  soldiers 
and  saOors,  who  are  under  an  ex- 
ceptional legislation  and  separated 
from  the  civilian  labourers,  a  con- 
siderable number  of  clerks  drawn 


from  the  class  amongst  whom, 
beyond  all  others,  the  supply  of 
labour  is  greater  than  the  demand, 
and  of  artisans  in  the  Oovemment 
fieictories  and  dockyards,  who  are 
hardly  numerous  enough  to  exer- 
cise much  pressure  on  their  em- 
ployers. But  if  the  Oovemment  is 
to  take  into  its  service  all  the  men 
employed  by  the  railway  com- 
panies, to  the  number  of  above 
20,000  skilled  artisans  and  200,000 
labourers  of  all  classes,  many  of 
them  living  in  the  great  towns  and 
mostly  affiliated  to  the  unions  of 
their  respective  trades,  most  for- 
midable difficulties  might  arise  in 
questions  in  which  the  rights  of 
labour  are  concerned.  The  railway 
companies  have  difficulty  enough 
in  dealing  with  them,  though  they 
are  to  some  extent  divided,  and 
though  the  question  with  the  com- 
panies is  not  complicated  by  poli- 
tical and  other  considerations  ;  but 
if  they  were  under  one  system  and 
supported  by  all  the  political  influ- 
ence they  could  undoubtedly  bring 
to  bear,  they  might  cause  serious 
difficulties  to  the  Oovemment  Bail- 
way  Administration,  so  as  to  make 
it  practicaUy  impossible  to  carry 
on  the  work  except  at  a  great  sacri- 
fice. 

There  are  many  other  conse- 
quences which  might  be  discussed 
as  following  from  so  momentous  a 
change ;  but  those  which  have  been 
stated  are  important  enough  to 
make  it  desirable  to  examine  the 
question  generally. 

It  is  necessary  for  this  purpose 
to  consider  shortly  the  history  and 
present  position  of  railway  enter- 
prise in  this  country,  and  some  of 
the  points  which  have  been  raised 
in  reference  to  the  subject. 

In  the  early  days  of  the  railway 
system  it  was  frequently  proposed 
to  regulate  its  development,  and 
place  it  under  the  control  of  the 
Executive,  so  as  to  ensure  a  regu- 
lar plan  of  railway  communica- 
tion controlled  by  the  Oovemment 


412 


Ought  OovemmerU  to  Buy  the  BathooA/s  ? 


[April 


and  secnred  against  competitioD. 
These  plans  would  have  prodaced 
a  more  or  less  perfect  system  at  a 
cost  very  much  below  what  has  been 
incnrred  since ;  but,  whatever  they 
might  have  done,  they  were  never 
followed  long  enough  to  influence 
seriously  the  course  of  railway  le- 
gislation, and,  in  fact,  a  system  of 
almost  unlimited  freedom  was 
adopted.  Nearly  every  line  was 
sanctioned  which  could  show  any 
support  or  any  prospect  of  being 
completed  ;  and  if,  from  time  to 
time,  a  scheme  was  rejected  for  one 
year,  on  the  ground  of  competition 
with  some  existing  line,  it  was 
almost  sure  to  be  sanctioned  in  the 
long  run.  This  plan  entailed  very 
great  and  unprofitable  expense  in 
the  promotion  and  defence  of  rival 
schemes,  which  were  brought  for- 
ward in  every  direction ;  but  it  re- 
sulted in  a  systemof  railways  very  ex- 
tensive and  complete;  too  complete 
for  the  requirements  of  the  country 
at  the  time  they  were  made,  but 
which  is  now  not  more  than  suffi- 
cient for  the  wonderful  increase  of 
traffic  which  it  has  itself  in  a  great 
measure  created.  At  first  the  rail- 
way system  was  associated  with  a 
great  deal  of  reckless  speculation, 
and  great  losses  were  experienced 
by  persons  who  went  rashly  into 
these  schemes,  but  for  some  years 
past  this  speculation  has  turned 
into  other  channels,  and  the  rail- 
way extensions  which  are  now 
carried  on  are  mostly  promoted 
by  existing  companies,  who  make 
branches  in  themselves  not  remu- 
nerative, but  which  give  a  return  to 
them  by  the  traffic  thrown  on 
the  main  lines ;  or  contractors* 
lines,  devised  and  carried  out  by 
professional  gentlemen,  in  the  hope 
that  some  neighbouring  company 
may  buy  them  to  keep  out  its 
neighbours.  Certain  lines,  particu- 
larly in  Scotland,  have  been  carried 
out  by  landowners  for  the  benefit  of 
their  estates ;  but  this  can  hardly  be 
done  except  where  there  are  pro- 


prietors of  great  wealth  and  pabhc 
spirit,  and  must  be  very  exceptional. 
In  general  any  railway  extension 
now  carried  on  is  the  result  of  com- 
petition between  existing  compa- 
nies. Although  the  present  system 
of  railways  is  far  in  excess  of  what 
the  most  sanguine  person  would 
have  considered  necessary  in  the 
early  times  of  railway  construction, 
when  it  was  proposed  to  regulate  its 
course,  and  though  it  is  still  ex- 
tending itself  in  many  places  which 
were  at  first  neglected,  it  does  not 
seem  to  outstep  the  development  of 
traffic,  and  it  appears  that,  notwith- 
standing the  great  increase  of  mile- 
age since  1858  by  the  construction 
of  what  were  considered  at  the  time 
unproductive  branches,  the  average 
return  on  the  capital  invested  in  raU- 
ways  is  larger  now  than  it  was  then. 
On  the  other  hand,  these  extensions 
have  given  to  the  railway  system 
in  general  a  firm  grasp  of  the  traffic 
of  the  country ;  and  as  that  traffic 
increases  in  a  much  greater  propor- 
tion than  the  capital  expenditure  of 
the  companies  now  does,  and  as  it 
is  hardly  possible  for  any  new  trunk 
line  to  interfere  with  those  which 
exist,  their  property  stands  on  a  firm 
basis,  and  they  have  an  almost  sure 
prospect  of  steady  increase. 

It  may  be  interesting  to  compare 
these  results  with  those  arising 
from  a  system  of  Grovernment  con- 
cession in  France — the  only  Euro- 
pean country  which,  both  by  extent 
of  surface  and  of  industrial  activity, 
can  bear  any  comparison  with  Eng- 
land. There  certain  main  lines  were 
laid  down  partly  constructed  by  the 
Government,  and  then  conceded  for 
a  term  of  years  to  private  companies 
to  finish  and  work.  These  conces- 
sions were  supposed  to  be  of  great 
value,  and  the  shares  in  the  com- 
panies generally  rose  to  a  high 
premium,  while  large  dividemls 
were  paid.  But  it  soon  became 
apparent  that  the  orig^al  scheme 
of  railways  was  quite  insufficient 
for   the    country;    the    companies 


1873] 


Ought  Oovemment  to  Buy  the  BaUwaya  ? 


413 


olriected  to  new    Bchemes   which 
mif^ht   be   competitive,    and   the 
GoTemment^  having  granted  them 
a  monopoly,  was  forced  to  support 
them,  and  a  scheme  of  branch  hnes 
was  imposed    on    the    companies 
in  retom  for  farther  Government 
concessions,  although    their    divi- 
dends were  far  in  excess  of  the 
price  at  which  money  could    be 
raised  by  independent  undertak- 
ings. The  (Jovemment  was  obliged 
to  gnarantee  the  bonds  issued  by 
the  companies  for  the  construction 
of  their  branch  lines,  and  an  annual 
subsidy  of  nearly  i,ooo,oooZ.  was  at 
one  Ume  paid  to  the  railways  to 
meet  these  bonds,  although  their 
own  shares  were  at  a  large   pre- 
mium.   In  addition  the  temptation 
of  raising  money  by  extending  the 
time  of  the    concession  was    too 
strong  for  some  Finance  Ministers 
in   difficulties.      In    the    end  the 
French  nation  has  for  many  years 
been    paying    in   the  shape  of  a 
dirfdend  for   a    Ecrvice  which    is 
utterly  insufficient  a    sum  which 
''^ould    have     provided     a    much 
more  complete  service  of  railways ; 
and  although  the  property  reverts 
to  the  State,   it  obly  does  so  at  a 
date  far  too  remote  to  interest  the 
present  or  even  the  next  generation. 
The  loss  incurred  from  an  insuffi- 
cient railway  service,  and  the  con- 
sequent cramping  of  trade  during 
so  many  years,  is  far  in  excess  of 
&p J  prospective  gain  from  the  rever- 
sion of  the  railway  propeity. 

The  question  before  the  public 
does   not,    however,    concern  the 
actual    constmction    of   railways, 
which  in  this  country  at  least  are  j 
mainly  completed,  so  much  as  the  i 
workiiig  of  the  existing  system  for 
the  future ;  and  it  turns  mainly  on! 
a  question  which  is  distinctly  mised, 
though  not  exhausted,  in  Captain  Ty- 
ler*8  report — whether  the  manage- 
ment of  these  vast  undertakings  by 
separate  boards  of  directors,  bound 
by  the  strongest  motives  to  act  for 
the  benefit  of  their  shareholders, 


is  more  advantageous  to  the  nation 
than  the  control  of  a  Government 
department  having  the  whole  rail- 
way system  under  its  charge,  and 
acting  solely  for  the  public  good. 

The  question  so  put  gives  a  cer- 
tain advantage  to  tlie  opponents  of 
the  present  management.  In  so 
vast  a  system,  which  has  constantly 
to  meet  new  demands  and  to  devise 
new  means,  there  must  frequently 
be  defects  and  mistakes,  and  these 
are  easily  seen  and  criticised,  while 
enthusiastic  persons  may  suppose 
that  an  untried  Government  de-, 
partment  would  not  be  liable  to 
such  shortcomings.  Those  who 
know  how  Government  affairs  are 
managed  in  those  departments 
which  have  anything  to  administer 
will  probably  be  differently  im- 
pressed. Besides,  the  objects  of 
the  two  systems  of  management 
would  be  substantially  the  same. 
It  is  the  clear  interest  of  the  com- 
panies to  get  all  the  traffic  they  can 
by  meeting  the  requirements  of  the 
public,  and  that  is  what  any  de- 
partment acting  for  the  public  in- 
terest would  have  to  aim  at.  It 
might  be  carried  out  by  one  system 
more  successfully  than  by  the  other, 
but  there  is  no  public  interest 
different  from  that  which  the  com- 
panies have  to  consult 

In  its  general  results  the  English 
railway  system  has  nothing  to  fear 
from  comparison  with  any  system  on 
the  Continent.  The  passenger  trains 
are  more  numerous  and  faster  than 
those  on  any  foreign  railway, 
where,  if  there  be  on  any  line  trains 
approaching  the  English  expresses 
in  speed,  they  are  so  few  in  num- 
ber as  to  give  little  accommodation 
to  the  travelling  public.  The  prac- 
tice of  filling  the  carriages  as  &r  as 
possible  prevails  almost  universally 
on  the  Continent,  and  is  extremely 
disagreeable  in  long  journeys.  There 
are  constant  changes  of  carriage  at 
the  junctions  of  branch  lines,  and 
great  loss  of  time  both  in  arriving 
at  and  leaving  the  stations  from  the 


414 


Oiight  Oovernment  to  Buy  the  Railways  'i 


[April 


practice  of  registering  luggage  and 
Bbntting  passengers  up  in  waiting- 
rooms  ;  and  even  where  the  £eu:es 
are  lower  for  single  jonmeys,  the 
less  liberal  nse  of  retam  and  ex- 
cursion tickets,  and  the  habit  of 
charging  rigoronsly  for  baggage, 
greatly  neutralise  this  advantage. 
Besides,  the  express  trains  on  the 
Continent,  by  which  alone  long 
jonmeys  can  be  accomplished  in  a 
reasonable  time,  are  almost  entirely 
confined  to  first-class  passengers, 
whereas  here  they  universally 
.carry  second,  and,  with  a  few  ex- 
ceptions, third-class  traffic.  The 
service  of  the  goods  trains  is  still 
worse  in  comparison,  and  the  delays 
on  the  best  foreign  lines  in  the 
delivery  of  goods  are  a  serious 
drawback  to  commerce. 

On  the  main  lines,  although  no 
sleeping  carriages  have  been  pro- 
vided, as  though  many  models  have 
been  tried,  none  has  ever  been  made 
which  would  give  the  comparative 
privacy  required  by  English  travel- 
lers and  be  available  for  night  and 
day  services,  the  night  trains  are 
seldom  so  crowded  that  the  travellers 
cannot  lie  down  in  comfort,  and 
through  carriages  are  provided  for 
almost  all  the  principal  points  to 
which  the  train  runs.  Again,  in  the 
goods  service  traders*  goods  are  for- 
warded between  all  the  principal 
towns  in  England  on  the  day  on 
which  they  are  received.  The  speed 
and  regularity  of  this  service  is  of 
incalculable  advantage  to  trade; 
but  this  involves  the  constant  run- 
ning of  half-empty  carriages  and 
halSloaded  trucks,  and  entails  great 
expense.  It  is  not  done  at  all  on 
the  Continent  and  would  not  be  done 
here  if  the  railways  had  no  compe- 
tition to  fear. 

In  convenience  to  the  travelling 
public  and  in  service  to  the  trade  of 
the  country,  there  is  no  system  which 
has  produced  so  feivourable  results 
as  the  English  system,  whatever  it 
may  have  done  for  its  shareholders ; 
and  this  result  has  been  produced 


mainly,  if  not  entirely,  by  the  stimu- 
lus which  competition  has  given  to 
each  line  to  do  all  it  can  to  attract 
the  patronage  of  the  public.  Im« 
provements  in  the  construction  of 
rolling  stock,  both  as  to  speed  and 
comfort,  are  constantly  tried,  and 
adopted  if  they  prove  soccessful; 
and  the  best  mechanical  talent j  is 
engaged  in  the  service  of  the  com- 
panies, in  order  that  each  may  be 
able  to  keep  abreast  of  its  rivsdfl  in 
these  matters.  The  expenseinvolred 
in  these  changes  and  improvements 
is  very  large,  and  would  hardly  be 
incurred  except  under  the  stimulus 
of  this  motive. 

There  is  a  very  prevalent  notion 
on  the  subject  of  competition  whicli 
it  may  be  as  well  to  meet.  It  is 
very  commonly  assumed  that  com* 
petition  only  acts  directly,  as  when 
two  lines  are  made  to  the  same  town ; 
and  it  is  said  with  much  truth  that 
in  such  cases  the  rival  companies 
soon  come  to  an  understanding,  and 
by  a  division  of  the  traffic  at  that 
place  the  competition  ceases,  and 
that  in  consequence  as  ndlwaj 
systems  increase  and  understand 
each  other,  competition  no  longer 
operates  as  an  incentive  to  the  com* 
panics  or  as  a  protection  to  the 
public.  This,  indeed,  is  one  of 
the  principal  arguments  employed 
against  the  present  system  of  rail- 
way management,  which,  it  is  urged, 
has  ceased  to  give  the  pubhc  the 
advantage  of  competition,  while  it 
does  not  act  in  the  interest  of  the 
public,  as  a  Government  department 
would  do.  But  this  is  a  very  imper- 
fect view  of  the  effect  of  competition. 
It  is  true  that  when  rival  companies 
serve  a  particular  place  they  gene- 
rally agree  as  to  their  rates  tiiere, 
perhaps  afber  a  short  contest  in 
which,  by  an  excessive  reduction  of 
rates,  they  give  an  unnatural  stunn- 
lus  to  trade  ;  but  they  nev«r  oease  to 
compete  in  the  accommodation  they 
give  to  the  trade  of  the  place.  What- 
ever may  be  their  agreements,  each 
does  its  best  by  better  aooommoda* 


1873] 


OugJd  Oovemment  to  Buy  the  EaUwaya  ? 


416 


tion  to  secare  for  itself  the  largest 
portion  of  the  trade,  and  as  long  as 
independent  companies  exist  the 
public  get  the  adyantage  of  this 
rivalry. 

Bat  there  is  a  competition  in  ai 
wider  sense,  which  acts  over  the! 
whole  of  the  railway  system,  and ) 
really  governs  the  greater  part  of 
their  arrangements  ;  it  is  the  com- 
pletion not  of  different  railways 
in  one  particular  place,  bnt  of 
different  railways  which  convey 
from  different  places  a  similar  class 
of  merchandise.  There  are  several 
lailway  systems  which  have  each 
the  monopoly  of  a  particular  dis- 
trict, bat  they  have  not  the  absolute 
control  of  the  trade  carried  on  in 
that  district,  and  in  order  to  keep 
that  trade  they  must  reg^ulate  their 
rates  and  accommodation  so  as  to 
allow  the  district  they  serve  to 
compete  witli  others  in  which  the 
same  industry  exists,  but  which  are 
serred  by  other  companies.  It  is 
this  principleof  indirect  competition 
which,  more  than  anything  else, 
checks  the  abuse  of  the  monopoly 
which  may  be  enjoyed  by  particular 
companies,  and  forces  each  of  them  to 
work  not  only  for  its  own  advantage, 
hat  for  the  promotion  generally  of 
the  trade  of  the  country.  As  this 
is  a  principle  of  the  very  greatest 
importance,  it  may  be  as  wellto  give 
some  instances  of  its  operation. 

TheNorth-EastemBailway,one  of 
the  most  powerful  and  richest  of  our 
railway  corporations,  has  a  monopoly 
of  the  traffic  of  the  great  mineral  dis- 
tricts of  Northumberland,  Durham, 
and  the  north  of  Yorkshire,  but  it 
most  reg^nlate  the  rates  it  can 
charge  for  the  conveyance  of  these 
minerals  to  the  principal  markets 
Koording  to  the  rates  ruling  in 
Derbyslmre  or  in  Wales,  or  in  any 
>ther  part  of  the  country  in  which 
nineral  traffic  exists,  and  which  are 
rat  of  its  system.  In  another  very 
lifferent  district,  and  on  a  smaller 
Kale,  but  as  an  illustration  of  the 
uune  principle,  the  Highland  Bail- 


way  has  an  absolute  monopoly  of 
the  large  country  through  which  it 
passes.  No  direct  competition  can 
interfere  with  the  rates  it  may 
charge  for  the  principal  articles  of 
produce ;  but,  for  example,  it  must 
nevertheless  convey  fish  from 
Sunderland  at  rates  which  will 
enable  it  to  be  sold  in  London  in 
competition  with  fish  brought  from 
the  south  coast  or  from  Yarmouth; 
and  the  north  country  cattle,  which 
figure  so  advantageously  at  agri- 
cultural shows,  must  be  brought  to 
London  at  a  cost  not  materially 
exceeding  that  charged  for  the 
conveyance  of  beasts  from  the  home 
counties.  In  fact,  every  section  of 
the  railway  system,  however  ab- 
solute apparently  in  its  own  district, 
must  govern  its  rate  and  its  accom- 
modation with  reference  to  what 
is  done  in  other  parts  of  the  country 
by  other  companies.  There  is  a 
necessity  for  each  company  to  do 
what  it  can  to  develope  the  traffic 
in  its  own  district,  and  at  the  same 
time  there  is  a  natural  rivalry  be- 
tween them  ;  and  where  any  traffic 
exists  it  is  not  likely  to  be  neglected, 
unless  it  would  entail  an  absolute 
loss.  This  is  a  most  powerM 
restriction  on  what  is  called  the 
monopoly  of  the  large  companies^ 
and  a  stimulus  to  the  encouragement 
of  trade ;  but  were  the  whole  rail- 
way system  merged  into  one,  it 
would  in  a  great  measure  cease  to 
exist.  It  would  not  be  worth  the 
while  of  an  administration  possess- 
ing all  the  lines  to  carry  traffic  for 
long  distances  at  a  very  reduced 
rate  in  competition  with  that  for 
which  it  would  get  a  better  rate. 
The  rates  which  can  be  charged  on 
traffic  are  a  subject  of  great  com- 
plexity. They  cannot  be  reduced  to 
any  general  system,  depending  as 
they  do  on  the  condition  of  trade  in 
each  locality — ^the  value  of  the 
material — ^the  quantity  available, 
and  a  number  of  otner  circum- 
stances. For  instance,  a  simple  mile- 
age system  would  destroy  a  great 


'416 


Ought  Oovemmeni  to  Buy  the  Radways  ? 


[April 


part  of  the  trade  of  the  conntrj,  by 
confining  the  centres  of  consamp- 
tion  to  certain  particnlar  sources  of 
supply,  to  the  exclusion  of  those 
which  are  more  distant ;  and  it  is 
not  in  itself  a  fair  basis  of  calcula- 
tion, as  the  expense  of  carrying 
goods  over  long  distances  is  pro- 
portionally much  less  than  oyer 
short  ones.  The  result  of  the 
present  system  has  been  to  open  to 
eveiT  centre  of  consumption,  all 
available  sources  of  supply,  and  to 
destroy  as  far  as  possible  the  mo- 
nopoly which  was  formerly  possessed 
by  particular  places  in  any  one 
article. 

This  has  more,  perhaps,  than  any- 
thing else  given  a  stimulus  to  the 
trade  of  the  country  by  developing 
the  resources  even  of  the  most  re- 
mote districts. 

For  the  purpose  of  administering 
this  branch  of  their  business,  the 
companies  employ  a  large  number 
of  officers  carefoUy  selected  and  well 
paid,  who  are  required  to  make 
themselves  thoroughly  acquainted 
with  the  wants  of  their  respective 
districts,  and  who  exercise  neces- 
sarily a  large  discretion.  The  con- 
stitution of  the  ■  boards  of  the 
directors  is  also  of  great  service  in 
this  respect.  The  boards  consist 
generally  of  gentlemen  who  have 
large  interests  in  the  localities 
served  by  the  line,  and  who,  what- 
ever share  they  may  take  in  the 
management  of  the  railway,  are 
pretty  sure  to  hear  any  complsdnts, 
and  to  know  what  is  required  to 
meet  the  necessities  of  those  places. 
Their  intimate  experience  and 
strong  individual  interest  are  a 
better  safeguard  against  any  in- 
justice being  done  by  the  companies 
than  any  abstract  desire  for  the 
public  good  which  might  be  sup- 
posed to  be  felt  by  officers  of  the 
Government. 

It  is  not  to  be  expected  that  these 
arrangements  should  satisfy  every- 
body. There  is  probably  no  place 
in  l^e  country  in  which  the  traders 


would  not  wish  to  be  placed  in  a 
better  position  than  they  are  as  re- 
gards their  rivals  in  other  places, 
but  in  general  the  strong  interests 
of  the  railway  companies  to  obtain 
all  the  business  they  can,  and  the 
intimate  local  knowledge  possessed 
by  the  managers  and  directors, 
seem  to  give  as  good  a  security  as 
can  be  obtained  that  the  general 
interests  of  the  trade  of  the  countrj 
are  not  neglected  under  the  pre- 
sent system. 

i  One  charge,  however,  is  brought 
against  railway  management  and 
repeated  so  constantly  tbat  it  maj 
have  some  impression  on  the  public 
inind ;  it  is  that  the  companies, 
in  their  desire  to  earn  dividends, 
neglect  to  take  all  the  precautions 
which  might  be  taken  for  the  public 
safety.  This  is  a  very  serioos 
charge.  The  directors  of  railway 
companies  are  at  least  equal  to 
average  English  gentlemen,  and 
they  are  served  by  managers 
of  acknowledged  ability,  and 
who  occupy  a  considerable  posi- 
tion, and  it  is  insinuated  that 
these  men  deliberately  expose  tbeir 
passengers  to  horrible  suffering  and 
death  to  save  money,  which  is  after 
all  not  their  own,  but  their  share- 
holders'; and  they  are  supposed 
to  do  this  although  it  is  well  known 
that  the  cost  of  accidents  in  com- 
pensation and  destruction  of  pro- 
perty is  greater  than  any  expense 
which  they  might  lay  out  in  means 
of  precaution.  Merely  to  state  this 
charge  is  to  answer  it,  and  no  one 
who  is  conversant  with  the  working 
of  railway  boards  would  entertaia 
it  for  an  instant.  But  it  is  not 
difficult  to  see  how  sucb  an  impres- 
sion may  have  arisen. 
/  The  working  of  a  large  railwaj 
/system  is  extremely   complicated; 


it  involves  the  maintenance  of  a 
great  deal  of  delicate  machineiy, 
constructed  often  of  very  treache- 
rous materials,  and  the  employ- 
ment of  large  numbers  of  men. 
often  far  removed  from  any  central 


1878] 


Oughi  OovemmerU  to  Buy  the  BaUwaye  f 


417 


control,  ibe  neglect  of  an j  one  of 
whom  may  prodnce  a  catastrophe. 
To  mamtain  a  service  as  rapid  and 
cooBiant  as  that  of  the  great  lines 
does  nndoabtedlj  tax  to  the  ntmost 
the  power  of  their  machinery  and 
tbe  attention  of  the  men  employed ; 
and  it  is  often  a  snlject  of  wonder 
to  those  who  understand  the  mat- 
ter best  that  there  are  so  few  failures 
among  the  thousands  of  trains 
which  ran  daily.  But  the  public 
does  not  know  uiese  things,  and  its 
attention  is  only  roused  by  the  ac- 
count of  those  terrible  disasters 
which  do  unfortunately  sometimes 
occur. 

The  officers  of  the  Board  of 
Trade,  who  probably  understand 
the  matter  b^Uer  than  anyone  who 
is  not  engaged  in  railway  manage- 
ment, have  also  their  attention 
directed  almost  exclusively  to  the 
instances  of  failure — ^not  to  those 
of  sncoessful  working.  They  look 
afier  the  one  sheep  which  is  lost, 
not  the  ninety-nine  which  remain 
safe ;  and  their  reports,  written  as 
^<sj  often  are  in  a  somewhat  dog- 
matic style,  deal  with  the  occasional 
£iilares — ^not  with  the  general  suc- 
cess of  railway  management. 

Whenever  a  serious  accident 
nmses  public  attention,  companies 
are  deluged  with  suggestions  as 
^a  how  it  might  have  been 
averted,  and  are  accused  of  indiffer- 
ence or  worse  because  they  do  not 
at  once  adopt  some  plan  which 
would  probably  interfere  with  the 
necessities  of  traffic  and  create 
mndi  greater  danger  than  it  is  sup- 
posed to  avert.  It  is  constancy 
alleged  by  the  Board  of  Trade  In- 
spectors amongst  others  that  cer- 
tain methods  of  working,  such  as 
the  Block  system,  would  prevent 
accidents,  and  whenever  any  calam- 
ity occurs  the  companies  are  re- 
proached for  not  having  adopted 
that  system.  No  doubt  it  would 
prevent  actndents  if  the  men  em- 
ployed carried  it  out  exactly;  so 
would  any  other  rational  system; 


.s. 


but  the  companies  have  to  work  by*^^ 
human  agency,  which   is  fallible,^' ^^ 
whatever  system   it  may  have  to*^*/[^^ 
work;    and    very  often   they  are'!/,t 
condenmed  for  blunders  which  are  .;    .< 
not  those  of  their  system  but  of.   ^ 
their  instruments.     In   an  admi-   ~~' 
nistration  involving   such  compli- 
cated arrangements  it  is  impossible 
to    adopt    any   suggestion   which 
might  perhaps  provide  for  one  par- 
ticular    danger  without    carefully 
trying    how    it    may  affect  other 
parts  of  the  working.    Nothing  is 
easier  than   to    criticise   in    such 
things — to  assume  that    a    given 
improvement   should   be  adopted^ 
particularly  if  the  critic  leaves  out 
of  sight  any  possibility  of  mistake 
in  those  who  have  to  carry  out  the 
improved  plan — ^but  it  is  extremely 
unjust  to  those  who  administer  the 
present  system,  and  who  have  to 
consider  the  question  not  on  one 
side,  but  on  several,  and  to  see  how 
those  new  proposals  would  work  in 
the  complexity  of  their  operations 
and  under  the  control  of  agents  no 
more   in&llible    than    those    they 
already  employ. 

It  is  also  said  that  they  are  slow 
in  adopting  novelties,  and  even  if 
adopted  it  takes  a  long  time  to 
introduce  them  generally  on  an 
extensive  system.  There  are  about 
800  patents  for  brakes  alone,  each 
of  which,  according  to  its  inventor, 
would  stop  a  train  in  an  incredibly 
short  time  and  without  a  check. 
Vast  numbers  have  been  tried,  but 
not  one  has  proved  quite  satisfac- 
tory in  practice,  or  without  some 
countervailing  drawback.  If,  how- 
ever, the  companies  have  sometimes 
been  unduly  slow  in  the  adoption 
of  improvements,  and  in  providing 
for  the  safety  of  those  entrusted  to 
them,  is  there  any  security  that 
under  Government  management 
things  would  be  better  done  ? 

The  only  Cbvemment  depart- 
ment which  could  compare  with 
the  railway  system  in  the  extent 
of  its  operation,  and  the  degree  in 


418 


(hight  Qwemment  iq  Buy  the  BaUwaya  ? 


[April 


whicli  it  is  dependent  on  mecliani. 
cal  appliances,  is  the  Admiralty. 
Now,  is  the  Admiralty  free  from 
reproach  in  these  matters  ? 

They  went  on  building  sailing 
ships  long  after  the  French  had 
adopted  screws,  and  then  converted 
I  them  at  immense  expense.  They 
built  wooden  liners  long  after  the 
French  had  taken  to  ironclads, 
which  they  aftierwards  adopted  to 
the  exclusion  of  everything  else. 
They  only  took  to  turret  ships  aft»r 
the  Americans  had  employed  them 
extensively  ;  and  then,  through  the 
jealousies  and  disorganisation  of 
the  Office,  they  brought  about  a 
catastrophe  compared  to  which 
the  worst  railway  accident  has 
been  trifling ;  so  that  it  can  hardly 
be  said  that  Government  depart* 
ments  are  always  ready  to  carry 
out  the  newest  improvements.  But 
on  more  general  grounds  there  is 
a  very  great  difficulty  in  the  work- 
ing of  Government  administration 
in  this  country,  which  seems  to 
be  the  necessary  result  of  its  con- 
stitution, and  which  would  be 
more  felt  in  railway  administration 
than  in  any  other.  The  head  of 
a  department  of  such  enormous 
magnitude,  and  so  closely  touching 
the  great  interests  of  the  country, 
must  necessarily  be  a  Cabinet 
Minister  directly  responsible  to 
Parliament,  and  it  is  impossible, 
with  the  frequent  changes  in  our 
Government,  that  such  a  minister 
could  have  any  real  knowledge  of 
the  business  he  presides  over.  To 
be  an  efficient  chairman  of  one  of 
our  large  railway  companies  re- 
quires the  training  of  years,  with  a 
close  attention  to  its  concerns,  and 
it  is  useless  to  expect  this  from  a 
minister.  The  real  management 
would  then  naturally  fall  to  the 
permanent  staff,  and  all  those  deli- 
cate questions  of  revision  of  rates 
and  facilities  for  traffic,  on  which 
the  trade  of  this  countnr  really  de- 
pends, would  be  left  to  Che  decision 
of  gentlemen  without    individual ' 


interest  in  the  subject  and  without 
any  real  responsibility.  Not  that 
the  department  would  be  exempt 
from  criticism,  far  from  it.  All  the 
pressure  of  political  interest  and 
public  outcry  would  be  brought  to 
bear  on  the  head  of  the  department 
whenever  any  locality  thought  it- 
self aggrieved  or  any  trade  wished 
an  advantage,  and  he  might  be  too 
ready  to  yield  to  such  pressure; 
but  the  shortcomings  of  his  office, 
if  they  existed,  would  be  covered 
by  the  exigencies  of  politics  and 
the  responsibiliiy  for  accident,  or 
maladministration  on  a  raiiwaj 
line  would  become  as  much  a  mat- 
ter of  party  debate  as  the  sea- 
worthiness of  the  Megcera  or  the 
stability  of  the  Gajpiain. 

This  seems  to  be  a  grave  difficulty 
in  the  administration  of  any  compli- 
cated concern  by  a  Government  so 
constituted.  The  chief  has  seldom 
time  or  experience  to  be  reallj 
master  of  his  office,  and,  even  if  he 
has,  his  administration  stands  or 
falls  not  on  its  own  merits,  hut 
according  to  the  Parliamentary  po- 
sition of  his  party.  His  immediate 
subordinates  have  no  direct  re- 
sponsibility, either  to  ParL'ament  or 
to  public  opinion;  so  that  the  office 
is  apt  to  drift  into  a  formal  discharge 
of  its  duties,  and  what  is  called  a 
system  of  red  tape,  which  would  be 
quite  unfitted  to  deal  adequately 
with  the  constant  exigencies  of 
railway  service,  as  it  is  tmderstbod 
in  England.  This  service  must  he 
carried  out  with  more  latitude  of 
discretion  on  the  part  of  the  subor- 
dinate officers,  more  practical  k- 
miliarity  with  commercial  interests 
and  local  affairs,  and  more  inde- 
pendence of  extraneous  considera- 
tions than  is  usually  to  be  found  in 
Government  officers. 

The  control  exercised  by  the 
Treasury  on  every  expenditure  of 
public  money  would  alone  prevent 
a  proper  management  of  such  mat- 
ters ;  if  every  smaU  outlay  required 
in  some  remote  district  is  to  be 


1873] 


Ought  Ocv^mmewt  to  Buy  the  BaiUvayi  ? 


419 


refeired  to  London,  and  directed 
not  bj  ihoBe  who  control  the 
machineiy,  but  bj  gentlemen  who 
know  nothing  of  the  requirements 
and  of  the  circnmstances  nnder 
which  it  has  arisen,  the  delay  thns 
caosed  would  effectnallj  prevent 
the  administration  from  dealing  ef« 
ficientlj  with  snch  questions  as  arise 
daily  in  railway  management. 

The  one  example  of  Qoyemment 
administration  which  is  quoted  as 
a  precedent  for  the  purchase  of  the 
nulways  is  the  Post  Office.    Now, 
the  Poet  Office  is  a  peculiar  institu- 
tion.    Began  as  a  monopoly,  for 
tij0  purpose,  principally,  of  carrying 
Govenunent  despatches,  it  has  de- 
veloped, in  a  long  series  of  years, 
into  its  present  shape ;  whether  it 
would  haye  done  better  had  it  been 
thrown  open  to  competition  was 
never  tried,  and  any  attempts  by 
independent  persons  to  carry  letters 
were  promptly    suppressed.      The 
i^esnlt  has  been  a  well-organised 
service  in    its     own    department, 
althongh   it  is    not  exempt  from 
cnticism,  and  in  remote  districts  and 
cro68  lines  it  is  both  parsimonious 
&nd  defectire.  The  telegraph  system 
wasa  very  natural  adjunct  to  it.  The 
exJBting  officers  and  letter  carriers 
gave  an  obyious  adrantage  to  the 
Post  Office  in  the  distribution  of  tele- 
grams over  any  other  institution, 
and,  after  great  confasion  at  first, 
It  has  got  this  system  into  work- 
ing order.     The  rates  charged  in 
London  are  higher  than  under  the 
old  companies,  and  they  are  the  same 
to  some  of  the  principal  towns.  The 
great  advantage    secured   by  the 
pnrchase  of  the  telegraphs  has  been 
the  facility  for  send^g  messages  to 
Kmote   places,   and  as  the  claims 
arising  under  the  act  are  still  to 
some  extent  unsettled,  it  is  difficult 
to  say  whether  the  Government  has 
been  a  gainer  by  the  transaction. 

Bat  what  makes  this  case  entirely 
^erent  from  that  of  the  railways 
u  that  the  Post  Office  administers 
very  little  on  its  own  account.    It 


employs  the  post-masters  and  dis- 
tributes letters  in  the  large  towns. 
This  service  is  almost  entirely  office 
work ;  it  deals  onl^  with  one  busi- 
ness— the  transmission  of  letters 
and  small  parcels — ^but  beyond  that 
it  does  nothing  for  itself.  The 
whole  service  of  the  mails  by  sea 
and  land  is  done  by  independent 
contractors,  and  the  accelerations 
and  increase  of  facilities  which  have 
taken  place  of  late  years  are  due 
not  to  the  Post  Office,  but  almost 
entirely  to  the  railway  com- 
panies. The  Post  Office  deserves  the 
credit  of  taking  advantage  of  the 
^ilities  given  by  the  increase  of 
the  railway  system,  but  all  the  ar- 
rangement^ on  which  these  facilities 
depend — the  working  of  the  trains 
and  the  conveyance  and  dropping  of 
the  bags — ^are  done  by  the  companies. 
Such  an  administration  has  no  ana- 
logy with  the  extent  and  intricacy 
of  railway  management.  At  one 
time  the  Government  did  carry  the 
letters  on  its  own  account,  when 
the  service  of  mail  packets  was 
performed  by  the  Admiralty ;  but 
this  was  found  so  wasteful  that  the 
system  was  given  up,  and  the  mails 
are  conveyed  by  sea  as  well  as  by 
land  through  the  agency  of  private 
enterorise.  It  is  not  probable  that 
the  Government  would  be  more 
successful  in  running  mail  trains 
for  itself  than  it  was  with  the  mail 
packets. 

Should  it,  however,  be  considered 
desirable,  as  a  matter  of  adminis- 
tration, to  make  this  change,  it  may 
be  worth  considering  on  what  con- 
ditions the  transfer  could  be  effected. 
It  is  not  necessary  to  go  into  de- 
tailed figures  on  the  subject,  as  the 
basis  of  decision  is  conjectural. 
The  matter  would  probably  be  set- 
tied  in  individual  cases  by  arbitra- 
tion. But  it  might  be  worth  en- 
quiring on  what  basis  an  arbitra- 
tion might  be  made. 

The  capital  of  railways  con- 
sists of  debentures  and  preference 
shares,  which  amount  in  the  aggre- 


420 


Ought  Oovemmeni  io  Buy  ths  Baihoaya  t 


[Apnl 


gate  to  £322,000,000,  and  which 
have  a  fixed  dividend,  and  of  or- 
dinary shares  amounting  to  abont 
£280,000,000,  the  dividend  on 
which  is  flactnating.  Of  the  first 
class  the  largest  proportion  is  per- 
fectly secured,  and  the  Govemment 
would  be  expected  to  give  the 
holders  securities  amounting  in 
annual  value  to  what  they  receive 
now.  No  doubt  the  capitalised 
value  of  such  securities  would  bo 
greater  than  what  the  shareholders 
now  possess,  but  it  would  be  impos- 
sible to  diminish  their  income,  and 
that  advantage  would  be  a  fair  pre- 
mium on  a  compulsory  sale.  There 
would  of  course  be  an  exception  in 
the  case  of  terminable  debentures, 
which  would  be  renewed  as  they 
fall  due  by  Govemment  at  the 
current  price  of  the  funds,  but  these 
form  a  small  proportion  of  the 
whole.  The  ordinary  stock  is  much 
more  difficult  to  deed  with,  depend- 
ing as  it  does  on  the  circumstances 
of  each  company ;  but  in  general  the 
shareholder  would  be  entitled  not 
only  to  the  present  value  of  his  stock, 
or  rather  to  the  revenue  he  now 
receives,  but  to  an  allowance  for 
future  profits,  which  in  most  cases 
would  be  very  large.  During  the 
last  few  years  the  increase  of  value 
of  railway  stocks,  including  the 
dividends  received,  has  been  very 
great.  Money  placed  in  North- 
western shares  five  ^ears  ago 
would  have  earned  smce  above 
1 3  per  cent,  per  annum.  The  Great 
Western  would  have  given  a  still 
larger  return,  and  the  great  majority 
of  we  companies  would  show  smiilar 
results.  There  is  no  reason  to  sup- 
pose that  this  increase  will  not  con- 
tinue. In  fact,  the  railway  system 
was  never  in  so  healthy  a  state  as  it 
is  now,  and  in  the  event  of  com- 
pulsory purchase  this  prospective 
increase  would  have  to  be  capi- 
talised and  added  to  the  stock 
which  might  rcTOesent  the  exist- 
ing dividends.  The  railway  com- 
panies have  done  an  immense  ser- 


vice to  this  country.  They  ha^e 
contributed  to  the  public  w^thfar 
more  than  any  other  cause  of  in- 
crease. At  the  same  time  they 
gave  for  many  years  very  small  I 
returns.  When,  as  at  present,  they 
are  entering  into  what  is  apparently 
a  period  of  prosperity,  it  would  ba 
unfair  if  the  Govemment  were  to 
seize  them  without  ample  provision 
not  only  for  their  present  value, 
but  for  that  which  they  may  rea- 
sonably be  expected  to  acquire. 
And  not  only  have  they  a  reason- 
able claim,  but  they  are  strofig 
enough  to  secure  it.  In  a  case  in 
which  all  their  shareholders  are 
interested  there  is  no  doubt  that 
they  would  obtain  liberal  terms. 

An  arrangement  on  some  such 
condition  would  be  so  advantageons 
that  it  is  not  surprising  that  many 
persons  interested  in  the  railways 
should  be  in  fiavour  of  the  opera- 
tion, but  the  creation  of  such  an 
immense  mass  of  Govemment  secu- 
rities would  seriously  affect  their 
saleable  value.  And  as  a  large  por- 
tion, representing  the  interest  of 
many  holders  of  ordinary  shares, 
would  certainly  not  be  lefl  in  the 
funds,  but  drawn  out  for  other  more 
promising  speculations,  a  heavy  fall 
m  Govemment  securities  mnst  be 
expected. 

iBesides,  the  annuities  required 
to  meet  the  existing  dividends,  to- 
gether with  the  interest  of  the 
capitalised  sum  which  might  repre- 
sent their  probable  increase,  would, 
for  the  moment^  exceed  the  returns 
of  the  railways,  and  involve  a  burden 
on  present  iax-payers  which  might 
possibly  be  met  by  a  future  deve- 
lopment of  railway  traffic,  but  not 
for  some  years,  and  the  revenue 
would  in  all  times  rest  on  the  fluc- 
tuating basis  of  the  railway  returns. 
This,  however,  would  not  be  the 
onl^  financial  difficulty  in  the  ope- 
ration. 

There  are  several  steamboata  and 
canal  companies,  besides  other  means 
of  conveyance,  which  carry  on  a  pro> 


1873] 


Ought  Ocvemnwfd  to  Buy  the  Badlwaye  ? 


421 


fitable  trade  in  competition  with 
some  railway  companies,  and  some- 
times in  alliance  with  others.  The 
onion  of  all  the  raOwaj  companies 
in  one  administration,  holding  all 
the  accesses  from  the  interior  of  the 
conntrj  to  the  sea  or  to  their  depdts, 
would  most  seriously  injure  their 
position,  and  it  wonld  be  difficult 
to  resist  the  claim  which  they  might 
make  for  compensation  if  the  State 
jusumes  the  position  of  a  trader  in 
eompetition  with  them. 

It  is  alleged  that  the  combination 
'of* the  railway  system  under  one 
hand  wonld  produce  some  economy 
in  management ;  there  would  be  a 
saving  in  Parliamentary  and  law  ex- 
penses, in  so  &r  as  they  are  caused  by 
competition  among  the  companies, 
and  the  number  of  general  managers 
might  be  somewhat  reduced,  as  the 
time  of  these  gentlemen,  which  is 
now  taken  up  with  contests  between 
ihemselves,  would  be  available  for 
watching  uid  increasing  traffic ;  but 
T^way  officials  are  generally  folly 
occupied,  and  no  great  reduction 
«oald  be  made  under  that  head. 
There  would  also  be  a  considerable 
economy  in  the  interchange  of  plant 
and  to  some  extent  in  taking  off  com- 
peting trains  on  short  lines.     The 
trains  on  long  lines  serve  so  many 
places  besides  those  at  which  they 
<rompete,  that  no  great  reduction 
could  be  made  in   them  without 
detriment    to    the    public.     There 
might  also  be  some  economy  by  re- 
ducing the  number  of  locomotive 
establishments,   although    a    large 
number  would  always  be  required 
in  different  parts  of  the  country. 
There  would  also  be  a  saving  in  the 
remuneration  of  directors  and  higher 
officials,  by  reducing  the  latter  to 
the  scale   of  Government  officers, 
and  giving  them  greater  perma- 


nency in  their  positions ;  but  no  re- 
duction could  be  made  in  the  mass 
of  servants  and  artisans,  and  the 
total  of  these  economies  would  be 
a  drop  in  the  great  ocean  of  rail- 
way expenditure. 

Li  conclusion,  and  although  these 
remarks  are  meant  rather  to  excite 
discussion  than  as  an  absolute 
statement  of  opinion  on  the  points 
mentioned,  it  may  be  maintained 
that  the  proposed  purchase  of  the 
railways  hj  the  State  would  intro- 
duce a  new  and  hitherto  untried 
element  into  the  politics  and 
finance  of  this  country,  which  would 
require,  before  it  is  adopted,  a  far 
deeper  discussion  than  it  has  yet 
received.  It  appears  also  that 
the  old  English  principle  of  leaving 
commercial  affidrs  to  private  enter- 
prise has  given  to  the  public  a  very 
complete  svstem  of  railways,  and 
one  which  has  in  itself  the  motive 
and  the  means  for  future  develop- 
ment when  required — ^that  the  man- 
agement of  these  concerns  is  so 
framed  as  to  give  in  it  a  voice  to 
all  large  interests,  and  to  provide 
for  the  accommodation  of  traffic, 
wherever  it  is  to  be  found — and 
that  this  id  the  greatest  interest 
which  the  public  has  in  railway 
management. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  constitu- 
tion of  the  Executive  in  this  country 
is  not  such  as  to  secure  the  freedom 
of  action  and  the  personal  know- 
ledge which  are  essential  for  the  con- 
trol of  a  system  so  various,  and  so 
intimately  affecting  all  the  conmier- 
cial  interests  of  the  country ;  and  in 
addition  to  these  objections  the 
change  would  entail  a  considerable 
present  sacrifice  on  the  taxpayers, 
and  introduce  a  fluctuating  element 
of  very  great  magnitude  into  the 
finances  of  the  nation. 

B. 


VOL.  VII. NO.  XL.      NEW  SERIES. 


(5  a 


422 


[April 


EPISODES  IN  THE  LIFE   OP  A  MUSICIAN. 
By  M.  Betham-Edwabps. 


CHAPTER!, 
THE  FIRST  EPISOPE   BEGINS. 


TWENTY-FIVE  years  ago  there 
wafl  no  merrier  company  in 
the  yrorld  than  the  little  knot  of 
musioians  gathered  round  the  well- 
beloved  OgUostro,  court  pianist  and 
mnsical  director  to  the  smallest 
potentate  in  Germany.  He  was  a 
planet  of  the  first  magnitude,  and 
his  sateUites  were  emM.  moons  by 
comparison ;  yet  as  the  moons  were 
all  of  a  size,  and  the.  planet  enor- 
mous, no  one  seemed  out  of  his 
proper  place.  There  was  every- 
Uiing  to  make  life  pleasant — abun* 
dance  of  music,  agreeable  women, 
ease  and  variety.  A&  were  contented 
with  poverty  from  the  sovereign 
downwards,  and  as  luxuries,  so 
called,  were  not  to  be  had,  super- 
fluous means  would  only  have  been 
an  encumbrance.  Very  likely  things 
have  changed  by  this  time,  and 
that  bloom  of  virginal  simplicity 
has  been  swept  from  the  face  of  the 
little  capital  for  ever;  but  twenty- 
five  years  ago  the  era  of  innovation 
had  not  set  in.  Then  the  world 
lived  as  it  liked  without  getting 
into  debt.  Take  our  musician  for 
example.  His  salary  was  exactly  a 
hundred  pounds  a  year,  and  when 
he  condescended  to  receive  money 
from  his  pupils,  he  accepted  a 
Prussian  thaler  for  a  lesspn,  and  no 
more.  He  gave  choice  little  ban- 
quets, recollected  his  friends'  birth- 
days, and  never  forgot  the  children's 
Chnsfcmas-trees.  He  was  always 
purchasing  new  music  and  new 
musical  instruments.  He  smoked 
cig^s  from  morning  till  night.  And, 
over  and  above  these  current  ex- 
penses, he  found  means  of  helping 
many  a  deserving  pupil  to  London  or 
Parifi.  This  is  what  a  generously  dis- 
posed— ^nay,  a  rather  extravagant- 


person  could  do  upon  an  income  of 
not  much  more  than  a  hundred  a 
year  in  this  small  German  State  a 
quarter  of  a  century  ago. 

This  stozy  opens  in  the  height  of 
the  musical  season — that  is  to  say, 
in  the  spring — ^when  life  was  pre- 
eminently gay  and  busy  in  the  htUe 
capital.  An  event  was  sure  to 
happen  at  such  times ;  either  a  new 
opera  was  brought  out  under  the 
Maestro's  auspices — for  thus  our  be- 
loved Ogliostro  was  called — or  some 
prinaa  donna  just  alighted  like  & 
bird  to  sing  away  all  hearts,  then 
fly  off,  or  the  latest  production  of 
the  musician  himself  enticed  cele- 
brated eritics  and  connoisseurs  to 
visit  us.  Each  season  seemed  more 
attractive  than  the  last,  which  vtbr 
most  likely  to  be  accounted  for  in 
the  &ct  that  it  was  the  fashion  to 
be  pleased. 

The  Maestro  was  now  thirty  years 
old.  He  looked  much  older,  as  it 
behoved  him  to  do,  firstly,  because 
the  two  young  Princesses,  daughters 
of  the  reigning  house,  were  fai> 
pupils;  and,  secondly,  because  be 
had  a  sprinkling  of  sentimental 
young  Poppenheimers  among  his 
ordinary  pupils,  in  whom  he  fouiui 
it  necessary  to  inspire  reverence 
as  well  as  affection.  So,  though  a 
vain  man,  circumstances  obliged 
him  to  disfigure  himself  by  wearing 
his  hair  long,  a  coat  of  eccentric 
pattern,  and  spectacles.  In  spite  of 
these  devices  he  was  universallj 
acknowledged  to  be  bewitching. 
And  he  was  a  little  wild.  Hitherto 
his  escapades  had  been  of  a  harmless 
nature,  but  when  a  man  is  bewit<:h- 
ing  as  well  as  wild,  what  mayor 
mi^  not  be  expected  of  him? 

So  thought  the  Grand  Duke,  who 
being  a  man  of  rigid  moralitj,  &s 
well  as  an  ardent  lover  of  art,  y>^ 
at  times  almost  distracted  by  anxietr 


1678] 


Episodes  in  the  Life  of  a  Musician, 


423 


cGDcerning  his  fayouiite.  He  prided 
Imnself  npon  his  Court  being  weseat 
ofthedomesdcyirtaes;  and  haying 
a  Dnchess  as  rigid  as  himself,  and  a 
yotmg  fmJlj  of  Princes  and  Prin- 
cesses growing  up,  he  kept  a  yigi- 
kit  eye  npon  the  Bohemia  outside 
the  palace  doors.  Now  the  ruling 
spirit  of  this  Bohemia  was  the 
Maestro,  as  the  Grand  Duke  knew 
well  enough,  and  if  he  onoe  broke 
loose  from  the  social  bonds  that  had 
hitherto  restrained  him,  there  was 
no  sajing  how  ^Eir  Bohemia  might 
encroach  upon  other  territory. 

Agam,  there  was  a  mystery  about 
the  man  which  troubled  his  royal 
master ;  he  had  sprung  from  the 
eartii  like  the  ancient  Greeks,  for  all 
anyone  knew  to  the  contrary ;  he 
owned  that  his  name  had  been  as- 
Bnned  because  of  a  certain  musical 
sDimd  he  found  in  it,  but  what  he 
was  really  called,  whence  he  came, 
and  to  what  nationality  he  belonged, 
he  had  never  said.  In  spite,  there- 
fore, of  his  personal  &scinations  and 
his  ezixaoidinarj  gifts,  the  Grand 
Dake  felt  a  little  afraid  of  him. 

Having  in  vain  -tried  various  expe* 
dients  to  tame  this  perplexing  crea- 
ture, he  at  last  hit  upon  one  which 
he  flattered  himself  was  sure  to  suc- 
ceed. So  one  day,  when  the  two 
young  Princesses,  Irma  the  Melan- 
choly and  Feodora  the  Mischievous, 
as  they  were  £Eimiliarly  called  by  the 
loyal  Poppenheimers,  had  finished 
taeir  music-lessons — Irma  in  tears 
at  her  master's  rendering  of  a  cer- 
tain piece  of  Schubert,  Feodora  fall- 
ing behind  their  attendant  governess 
to  make  her  scream  by  putting  a  pet 
kitten  on  her  neck— Ogliosl^o  was 
Munmoned  to  his  Sovereign's  pre- 
sence. 

'My  good  Herr  Direktor  (this 
was  the  way  in  which  the  Court 
always  addressed  him),  I  have  some- 
thing very  important  to  say  to  you, 
and  I  trust  that  it  vrill  not  prove  of 
a  painful  nature.'  As  if  anything  a 
^^dly  Grand    Duke    might  say 


nature !  The  Maestro  merely  bowed 
and  smiled. 

The  Prince  went  on : — 
^  When  a  man  gets  to  be  your 
age,  my  good  Herr  Direktor,  and  es- 
pecially when  he  attaches  himself  to 
a  Court  like  my  own,  which,  with- 
out self-ezaltation,  1  may  style  the 
throne  of  purity  and  the  domestic 
affections,  it  is  .his  wisest  course- 
indeed,  it  is  his  clear  duty — to 
marry.' 

The  musician  had  long  expected 
something  of  this  sort,  and  met-  the 
Duke's  scrutinising  look  with  the 
same  assenting  bow  and  smile  as 
before. 

*  Marriage,'  pursued  the  Prince, 
'  if  it  can  be  said  to  do  nothing  else, 
makes  a  man  a  respectable  member 
of  society.  It  may  make  him  the 
happiest  of  men — or  the  reverse — 
but  at  least  it  achieves  the  end  of 
making  him  respectable.  I  believe 
the  Herr  Direktor  cannot  deny  the 
truth  of  this  assertion  ?  ' 

Again  a  bow  and  a  smile  were 
Ogliostro's  only  answer. 

*And  in  choosing  a  wife,'  the 
Duke  went  on,  '  a  man's  first  duty 
is  not  to  select  the  youngest  or  the 
fiiirest,  or  the  most  charming  wo- 
man of  his  acquaintance^  but  the 
one  who,  by  virtue  of  social  posi- 
tion, age,  and  character,  most 
effectually  makes  him  respectable, 
settles  him  in  life,  in  feet,  and — ^for- 
give me  for  the  personal  allusion^ — 
when  he  is  a  genius,  corrects  thesis 
erratic  tendencies  which  are  among 
its  most  marked,  its  most  pleasing, 
but,  alas !  its  most  dangerous  cha- 
racteristics ! ' 

The  musician  knew  what  was 
coming  next,  but  did  not  betray 
his  fe^ings,  and  the  Duke  went  on 
briskly — 

'Among  the  ladies  who  have  the 
honour  of  the  Grand  Duchess's  ac- 
quaintance there  is  none  more  dis- 
tinguished for  solidity  of  mind  and 
those  charms  of  character  which 
are  not  the  less  valuable  because 
they  do  not  lie  on  the  sur&ce,  thfliii 

0  0  2 


424 


Episodes  in  the  Life  of  a  Mtuioian. 


[j^r^ 


tiieFraoleinEIainbeU-Soxmexuicliein. 
Descended  on  her  mother's  side 
from  a  good  Scotch  family,  pos- 
sessed of  an  ample  fortune,  accus- 
tomed to  the  hest  society  from  her 
infancy,  it  is  an  alliance,  my  good 
Herr  Direktor,  which  would  do  any 
man  credit.  The  lady  is  certainly 
some  years  your  senior,  but  what 
an  advantage  to  a  Mid  of  fancy, 
like  yourself  to  be  allied  to  a  wo- 
man of  experience  and  a  practical 
turn  of  mind!  whereas  a  young  and 
visionary  wife  would  undoubtedly 
be  your  ruin.' 

This  was  a  sly  allusion  to  a  lady 
whose  name  will  transpire  later. 
The  Prince  added  with  a  benignant 
smile :  '  In  token  of  my  approval 
of  this  match,  I  shall  have  great 
satisfaction  in  bestowing  upon  yon 
the  title  of  Von^  also  of  adding  to 
your  salary  a  hundred  Prussian 
thalers  a  year,  and  of  presenting 
to  you  for  your  lifetime  the  little 
villa  which  you  now  do  me  the 
honour  to  inhabit.' 

The  Grand  Duke  was  always  as 
generous  to  artists  as  his  moderate 
income  would  allow,  but  in  this 
case  he  felt  that  he  had  even 
stretched  a  point,  and  looked  for 
suitable  acknowledgment.  The 
musician's  thanks  were,  however, 
luke-warm,  and  given  in  a  thin 
voice. 

'  There  is  no  necessity  to  make  a 
prompt  decision,'  he  added,  kindly 
patting  the  crest-fitUen  Ogliostro  on 
the  shoulder.  *  We  will  talk  over 
the  matter  again  when  next  yon 
give  the  young  Princesses  tbeir 
music-lesson.' 

Thus  the  interview  ended,  and 
the  Maestro  at  least  flattered 
himself  that  he  had  preserved  a 
strict  neutrality.  But  he  felt 
wretched.  His  sovereign  was  not 
indeed  a  Louis  Qnatorze  who  could 
send  him  to  a  Bastdlle  for  disobeying 
his  wishes,  and  if  he  positively  re- 
fused to  marry  this  odious  woman — 
for  in  such  a  light  Ogliostro  re- 
garded the  lady — there  would  be  an 


end  of  the  matter.  But  to  contra. 
diet  a  person  of  exalted  rank  is  al- 
ways unpleasant^  especially  when 
he  has  been  almost  &therly  in  hig 
benevolence  and  protection,  as  was 
the  case  with  Ogliostro's  Grand 
Duke.  And  to  be  subjected  to 
the  same  sort  of  interference  again, 
was  equally  disagreeable  to  contem- 
plate. 

Two  alternatives  seemed  open  to 
him ;  either  to  please  the  Grand 
Duke  and  make  himself  miserable 
ever  after  by  marrying  the  Franlein, 
or  to  choose  a  wife  according  to  his 
own  feuicy  and  bear  the  conse- 
quences. But  the  only  wife  he 
wished  for  was  some  thousands  of 
miles  awav  just  then,  and,  tmth  t» 
say,  though  very  much  in  love,  he 
would  have  preferred  to  wait  a  lit- 
tle longer  before  becoming,  as  the 
Duke  expressed  it,  a  respectable 
member  of  society. 

Two  or  three  days  pMsed  in  a 
state  of  miserable  indecision,  and 
when  at  last  the  time  came  ronnd 
for  his  appearance  at  the  Palace,  he 
felt  farther  from  making  a  resolve 
than  before.  In  despair  he  shut 
himself  up  in  his  room,  and  sent  a 
messenger  to  the  Prinoesses'  gover- 
ness to  say  that  he  was  Si  and 
could  not  give  their  Royal  High- 
nesses their  music-lessons  as  usual. 
All  kinds  of  cordial  enquiries  came 
from  the  Palace,  with  presents  of 
flowers,  fruit,  and  dainties  from 
the  Ducal  table  to  tempt  the  inva- 
lid's appetite.  Such  self-imposed 
seclusion  was  by  no  means  nn^ 
pleasant,  for  the  Maestro's  daj3 
were  always  too  short  for  his  friends 
and  his  &ncies ;  and  it  was  as  new 
as  it  was  delicious  to  him  to  have 
the  entire  twenty-fonr  hours  to 
himself.  He  composed  from  morn- 
ing  till  night,  ate,  drank  his 
Bhine-wine  and  smoked  his  cigars, 
and  when  everyone  else  had  gone 
to,  bed  stole  ont  for  a  long  moon- 
light walk  in  the  park.  When  his 
so-called  indisposition  had  last^ 
several  days,  there  appeared  in  the 


1873] 


Episodee  in  the  Life  of  a  Musician. 


425 


Utile  moraing  paper  which  chroni- 
cled all  the  events  of  Poppenheim 
the  following  notice : — 

'  The  Conntess  Serono,  with  her 
seryants,  arrived  at  the  Borg  Hotel 
last  evening  from  Cracow/ 

The  Maestro  uttered  a  cry  of  de- 
lighted surprise,  played  three  or 
fonr  triumphant  roulades  on  the 
piano,  the^  sat  down  to  his  wri- 
ting table  with  flushed  cheeks  and 
sparkling  eyes. 

The  Countess  was  a  beautifal 
young  Viennese  lady,  a  widow, 
whose  musical  gifts  and  personal 
fiudnations  had  created  quite  an 
excitement  at  Poppenheim  a  year 
ago.  She  was  the  only  person,  he 
avowed,  who  could  learn  nothing 
from  him.  From  becoming  excel- 
lent comrades,  they  became  lovers, 
at  least  in  the  eyes  of  the  world, 
but  the  lady  had  taken  flight  just 
as  matters  seemed  coming  to  a  cli- 
max, which  looked  very  much  as  if 
she  did  not  approve  of  it.  She  had 
returned ;  and  comments  would  na- 
turally be  made  upon  the  fact 
without  loss  of  time. 

What  Ogliostro  wrote  were 
two  announcements  for  the  little 
Tageeblatt  before-mentioned.  Thus 
ran  the  first  notice : 

*  The  Herr  Direktor  Ogliostro  has 
recovered  from  his  indisposition,  and 
will  receive  his  friends  at  a  matUiee 
mimectle  to-morrow  morning.' 

Thus  ran  the  second  notice : 

'Rumours  are  afloat  that  a  mar- 
riage is  arranged  between  the  Herr 
Direktor  Ogliostro  and  the  Fraulern 
von  Elambell-Sonnenschein,  and  that 
the  betrothal  wiU,  ere  long,  be  for- 
mally annoxmced.' 

'The  news  will  be  read  by  all 
Poppenheim  to-morrow,'  he  said  to 
bimself  with  a  gesture  of  exultation, 
*  and  when  the  Countess  comes  to 
my  matinee  I  shall  know  at  the 
fbret  glance  whether  she  wishes  to 
marry  me  or  no.  If  not,  I  may  as 
well  please  the  Grand  Duke  as  go  to 
destmction  in  any  other  way.' 

He  straightway  dressed  himself 


with  the  greatest  care,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  leave  a  card  for  the 
Countess  at  the  Burg  Hotel,  not 
looking  at  all  as  if  he  were  bent  upon 
going  to  destruction,  but  very  elate, 
very  much  in  love,  and  very  hand- 
some, as  behoved  a  young  man  and 
a  genius. 

CHAPTER  U. 

PIANOFORTE    LOVE-MAKING. 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  say  that 
Ogliostro's  musical  pames  were  per- 
fect. Though  publicly  announced, 
no  one  presumed  to  go  without  an 
invitation,  firstly,  because  the  music- 
room  was  small ;  secondly,  because 
it  was  well  known  that  the  Maestro 
loved  to  arrange  his  guests  choicely 
as  he  did  his  bouquets,  assorting 
colours  and  perfumes  as  best  pleased 
his  fancy.  Beyond  abundance  of 
flowers  from  the  Palace  Gktvden, 
which  had  almost  come  to  be  re- 
garded by  the  musician  as  a  per- 
quisite, and  coffee,  thero  was  no 
kind  of  preparation.  About  eleven 
o'clock — ^for  in  Poppenheim  things 
were  called  by  their  proper  namesr 
and  a  morning  concert  ended  punc- 
tually at  one  o'clock  post  meridiem 
— ^the  musicians  entered.  A  specta* 
tor's  first  impulse  was  to  rub  his  eyes 
and  ask  himself  if  there  were  not 
four  Ogliostros  in  the  flesh  instead  of 
one  only — if  the  musician  performed 
quartets  by  the  mysterious  help  of 
tnree  doubles ;  so  curiously  alike  at 
first  sight  seemed  pianist,  first 
violinist,  second  violinist,  and  vio- 
loncellist. But  on  further  inspec- 
tion this  fancied  resemblance  be- 
tween the  Maestro  and  his  friends 
almost  vanished.  It  was  a  mere 
matter  of  imitation.  All  three  men 
had  suffered  their  hair  to  grow  long, 
wore  spectacles,  dressed  ^emselves 
exactly  like  their  adored  master, 
and,  with  a  mimetic  skill  that  did 
them  credit)  had  cau^t  certain 
modulations  of  his  voice  and  laugh, 
and  even  something  of  his  smile 
and  glance;  so  that  when  he  was 


436 


Ej^odee  in-  the  L^e  of  a,  Mruician. 


[Apra 


away  his  image  was  vividly  recalled 
*  by-  these  admiring  friends. 

In  the  wake  of  the  musicians  fol- 
lowed two  or  three  girls  in  white 
frocks  and  coloured  sashes,  with 
mnsic-books  under  their  arms. 
These  were  the  Maestro's  pupils,  of 
whom  it  is  only  necessary  to  par- 
ticularise one,  Helena  Blum,  a  wild- 
looking  creature  with  black  eyes, 
tawny  skin,  and  raven  locks  hang- 
ing down  her  back.  '  Helena  could 
play  anything,  and  she  was  to  be 
introduced  to  the  public  of  London 
or  Paris  under  her  master's  auspices 
some  day,  when  the  necessary  money 
could  be  raised  for  the  journey. 

After  the  pupils  came  the  Coun- 
tess, one  of  those  small  vivacious 
beauties  to  be  seen  in  Vienna,  and 
hardly  anywhere  else.  Dressed  in 
colours  as  brilliant  as  the  plumage  of 
a  bird,  according  to  the  fashion  of  her 
countiy  women^  she  made  a  striking 
contrast  to  the  other  ladies.  Not 
even  the  Duchess,  who  was  a  king's 
daughter,  wore  a  costume  half  so 
gay  and  costly  as  she ;  and  as  to  the 
two  young  Princesses,  they  hap- 
pened, on  this  occasion,  to  look  par- 
ticularly dowdy  in  their  shabby 
silks  and  faded  feathers. 

After  the  ordinary  salutations, 
the  music  began,  and  the  Maestro, 
in  his  ardour  to  do  justice  to  a 
quartette  of  the  great  Spohr,  all  but 
forgot  the  existence  of  even  the 
Countess.  The  masterpiece  was 
performed  in  a  masterly  manner; 
and  when  a  trio  had  been  given  and 
one  or  two  solos  on  the  violin,  he 
sat  down  to  improvise. 

Now  a  pianoforte  improvisation 
may  be,  and  often  is,  the  most  com- 
monplace performance  one  can 
listen  to,  because  almost  every  to- 
lerable musician  can  improvise,  and 
thereby  make  a  certain  show  of  ori- 
ginality without  being  in  the  least 
degree  original.  But  Ogliostro's 
improvisations  were  much  more  like 
himself^  and  had  much  more  of  him- 
self in  them,  than  his  teaching,  his 
cpnveijBatio^j^oir,  indeed,,  znany  of  his 


compositions.  He  often  composed 
carelessly,  talked  at  random,  and 
gave  lessons  whilst  his  mind  was 
occupied  with  other  things.  He  was 
always  at  his  best  when  he  impro- 
vised, which  happened  bnt  seldom. 

Before  he  sat  down  to  the  piano 
he  looked  at  the  Countess,  who  was 
standing  close  by,  and  said  in  a  low 
voice — 

*  To-day  I  am  going  to  play  to 
you.' 

He  began  by  giving  full  vent  to 
the  mixed  passions  that  had  been 
secretly  raging  within  his  heart 
during  the  last  few  days ;  first,  he 
thundered  out  his  indignation  at 
the  conventionalities  propounded 
to  him  by  his  patron,  the  Duke, 
denouncing  worldliness,  respect- 
ability, so  called,  and  other  names 
that  impose  upon  the  multitude,  and 
vehemently  protesting  on  behalf  of 
the  true,  the  beautiful,  the  ideal; 
then  he  melted  all  hearts  by  a 
thrilling  declaration  of  love;  finally, 
he  wound  up  with  the  despairing, 
almost  maniacal  outpourings  of 
a  soul  that  has  sought  refuge 
fi:om  a  contemptible  world  and 
a  contemptuous  mistress  in  the  soli- 
tude of  nature.  This  was  the  stoij 
he  told,  as  plainly  as  music  coold 
teU  it. 

He  rose  from  the  piano,  heedless 
of  the  low-murmured  applause  of 
his  listeners,  and,  looking  &t  the 
Countess  narrowly,  said  that  it  wbs 
now  her  turn  to  play. 

*  I  will  answer  you,*  she  whis- 
pered, and  he  saw  that  there  were 
tears  on  her  dark  eyelashes.  She 
bent  her  head  over  the  notes  and 
played  an  exquisite  little  im- 
promptu, that  was  only  so  j&r  origi- 
nal as  a  good  translation  is  onginaL 
She  had  heard  the  melody  she 
knew  not  when  or  where,  and, 
changed  to  the  minor  key,  it  seemed 
to  express  exactly  what  she  wanted 
to  say.  And  what  did  she  want 
to  say?  Ogliostro  sat  by  with 
quickened  pulse  and  heart  beating 
wildly.     No  nqte  was  lost  upon  his 


18731 


Episodes  in  the  lAfe  of  a  Musician, 


427 


eager  ear,  no  delicate  gradations 
npon  his  impatient  soul.  As  he 
listened,  not  only  with  the  appjre* 
ciation  of  the  musician  but  with  the 
suspense  of  the  lover,  he  gradually 
read  in  that  pathetic  melody  what 
was  at  the  same  time  a  sentence 
and  a  benediction.  She  loved  him, 
but  for  some  reason,  which  she 
could  not  or  might  not  make  clear, 
must  reject  him  as  a  lover. 

All  this  she  said,  if  not  with  the 
fire  of  the  Maestro,  at  least  with  as 
much  sincerity  and  with  pitying 
womanly  tenderness.  The  Uttle 
poem  went  straight  to  every  heart, 
though  only  one  had  read  its  mean- 
ing aright. 

The  party  now  broke  up,  and  in 
the  bnstle  of  the  Ducal  departure 
the  Countess  slipped  away  unob- 
served. Ogliostro  generally  dined 
with  some  of  his  musical  friends  at 
a  tavern  afber  his  morning  parties, 
but  to-day  he  dismissed  them  some- 
what curtly,  shut  the  door  upon  his 
last  guest  with  a  slam,  desired  his 
servant  to  admit  no  visitors,  then, 
throwing  himself  upon  a  sofa, 
closed  his  eyes  in  a  fit  of  melan- 
choly abstraction. 

When  the  sweet  sprmg  afternoon 
was  drawing  to  a  close  and  the 
servant,  hearing  him  move  about, 
ventured  to  bring  in  his  master's 
dinner,  Ogliostro  roused  himself, 
and,  having  eaten  a  little  bread  and 
soup,  sat  down  and  wrote  a  sub- 
missive letter  to  the  Grand  Duke, 
declaring  himself  ready  to  comply 
with  his  wishes.  *I  may  as  well 
make  the  most  of  the  last  days  of 
liberty  that  remain  to  me,'  he 
mused ;  '  why  not  take  some  of  the 
young  people '  (he  always  spoke  of 
his  pupils  in  that  paternal  way) 
'  into  the  forest  and  have  a  moon- 
light supper?  There  is  little 
Helena^  for  example,  who  never 
gets  a  treat ;  and  Annchen  and 
Lotte.' 

Witih  the  Maestro  a  pleasant 
thin^  said  was  as  good  as  done; 
and  in  less  than  an  hour,  a  basket 


of  provisions  was  packed,  the  guests 
were  assembled,  snd  the  carriage 
stood  at  the  door.  The  oldest  and 
most  important  guest  was  a  Kapell- 
meister from  Wiirtemberg,  an 
agreeable  but  stout  and  rather  un- 
wieldy person,  and  he  was  placed 
in  the  middle  of  the  front  seat  with 
a  slender  young  lady,  Annchen 
Baer,-  on  one  side,  and  on  the 
other  a  still  more  slender  young 
lady,  Lottchen,  her  sister ;  both  of 
them  fiur-haired,  rosy-cheeked  girls^ 
with  that  air  of  homely  sweetness 
for  which  the  beauties  of  Germany 
are  notable ;  on  the  box  was  placed 
another  of  the  Maestro's  pupils,  by 
name  Edouard  Merk,  a  sallow- 
complexioned,  feverish-eyed  youth, 
who  looked  as  if  his  soul,  in  its 
vehemence,  were  wearing  out  his 
body.  The  Maestro  himself  sat 
beside  Helena,  his  fistvourite  pupil 
of  all,  and  in  the  highest  spirits 
they  drove  away.  These  little  ban- 
quets were  always  as  choice  and 
charming  as  could  be;  sometimes 
there  was  a  dash  of  Boheniian  fla- 
vour about  them,  but  of  a  heariy, 
harmless  kind;  and  what  wine 
tastes  so  fragrant,  what  meats  so 
delicious,  as  those  we  feast  on  in 
our  youth  with  a  few  boon  com- 
panions P  We  may  grow  rich  and 
worldly-minded  in  after  years ;  but 
the  pompous  feasts  to  which  we 
then  sit  down  do  not  taste  half  so 
good  as  the  cheap  entertainmentB 
of  bygone  days. 

How  sweet  the  breath  of  the 
young  spring  as  they  drive  along ! 
After  two  hours'  ride  amid  brii^t 
green  fields  and  thriving  little  vil« 
lages,  they  reach  the  mysterious 
borderland  between  fact  and  fiction, 
prose  and  poetry ;  in  other  words, 
they  are  on  the  borders  of  the 
Thuringian  Forest.  Already  it  is 
growing  dusk,  and  one  or  two  stars 
glimmer  in  the  pale  green  d^. 
The  air  is  fragrant  with:  wild 
flowers,  and  the  nightingales  are 
singing. 

'  Delicious ! '  cried  the  Maestro 


EpidodeB  in  the  Life  of  a  Musician, 


[April 


aa  they  approached  a  little  opening 
in  the  wood.  'Here  is  the  very 
spot  we  want.  Let  ns  alight  and 
feast  ronnd  a  fire  of  pine  logs  like 
gipsies.' 

Eveiyone  acquiesced,  for  the  even- 
ing was  warm  and  balmy.  Hither 
and  thither  they  ran  in  search  of 
chips  like  children  ont  for  a  holiday, 
begoiling  the  task  with  playful  talk, 
laughter  and  snatches  of  song. 
When  the  fire  was  made,  great  mer« 
riment  prevailed  over  the  construc- 
tion of  a  rude  tent,  by  means  of 
carriage  rugs  and  a  tall  pine  stem ; 
having  spread  another  on  the 
ground  and  laid  out  their  little 
reast,  they  sat  down.  'I  never 
imitate  vagrants'  Hfe,'  began  the 
Maestro,  'without  lon^ng  to  adopt 
it  altogether.  How  littie  do  we 
obtain  in  exchange  for  what  we 
give  up  by  living  according  to  the 
rules  of  civilisation !  There  is  not 
a  day  of  my  life  upon  which  I  do 
not  commit  a  dozen  follies  or  puerile 
insincerities  because  I  have  chosen 
to  put  my  neck  into  the  yoke  of 
social  bondage.  I  hate  myself  for 
doing  it,  but  I  do  it.' 

'And  as  for  me,'  said  Helena, 
whilst  she  prepared  the  salad, 
'my  mother  scolds  me  nigkt  and 
morning  because  I  do  not  behave 
meekly  like  other  girls.  Why 
should  I  pretend  to  be  meek,  when 
I  am  by  nature  wild  and  head- 
strong ?  * 

'  Why,  indeed  ? '  cried  the 
Maestro.  'You  and  I,  my  poor 
Helena,  were  bom  to  roam  the 
world  like  a  pair  of  gipsy  minstrels, 
and  not  to  play  the  fine  lady  and 
gentleman.  What  a  life  that  would 
be  !  When  we  were  hungry,  we 
should  have  nothing  to  do  but  sing 
a  ballad  before  some  rich  man's 
door.  Out  would  come  the  pretty 
Tnamma  with  the  children  hsmging 
to  her  skirts,  eyes  and  mouth  wide 
open  at  sight  of  us.  You  would 
hold  up  your  apron  for  the  piece  of 
silver,  curtsey,  and  off  we  go  again, 
thrumming  the  guitar — ' 


Just  then  the  notes  of  a  gnitar 
were  heard  in  the  distance,  and  all 
started  up  and  clapped  their  hands, 
thinking  that  Ogliostrohadprepared 
a  surprise  for  them  in  the  way  of 
a  gipsy  concert.  He  was  a  man 
given  to  surprises.  Buthisastomsh- 
ment  was  as  unfeigned  as  their  own 
when  two  gipsies,  a  man  bearing  a 
guitar,  and  a  woman,  approached. 
Springing  from  his  seat,  he  bade 
the  new  comers  eat  and  drink  with 
them,  adding  that  the  company 
would  be  very  glad  of  some  music 
afterwards. 

'  This  is  the  best  piece  of  good 
luck  that  could  have  happened 
to  us,'  he  said  as  he  sat  down  again; 
'  our  guests'  hearts  will  be  warmed 
by  our  wine,  and  they  will  sing  and 
play  for  pure  enjoyment.  We  are 
all  musicians,  you  must  know,'  ho 
continued,  addressing  himself  to  the 
pair,  'and  we  gain  our  bread  hy 
music  as  you  do.  So  let  us  aU 
feast  together  like  brothers,  and 
amuse  each  other  affcerwardR.' 

Annchen  and  her  sister  turned 
red  with  dismay,  but  Helena  whis- 
pered to  them  that  no  harm  coold 
come  of  it ;  and,  afber  a  little  hesita- 
tion on  the  part  of  the  intruders, 
the  supper  was  resumed.  Bread, 
meat,  cheese,  fruit,  cakes,  and  wine 
disappeared  rapidly  amid  lively  con- 
versation ;  then  the  music  began. 

There  was  nothing  remarkable 
about  the  wandering  minstrels,  who 
were,  indeed,  just  such  a  pair  of 
gipsies  as  a  traveller  in  Gtermanymaj 
encounter  at  fairs  and  wakes  at  any 
time,  but  the  circumstances  under 
which  they  had  come  made  them 
doubly  interesting.  The  blaze  of  the 
pine  logs  lit  up  their  dark  faces  with 
almost  a  supernatural  glow,  and  lent 
to  their  bits  of  blue  and  scarlet  dra- 
pery apicturesque  and  even  gorgeoQS 
effect.  The  woman,  moreover,  was 
young  and  handsome,  and  with  her 
companion  entered  into  the  spirit 
of  the  occasion.  It  was  quite 
evident  that  the  two  san^  and  played 
then  more  because  they  bved  it  thas 


187S] 


BpiaodeB  in  the  Life  of  a  Musician, 


429 


because  they  looked  for  practical 
resnlts  in  the  shape  of  silrer  pieces 
at  the  end  of  their  performance. 
To  crown  the  evening's  entertain- 
ment, Ogliostro  himself  took  the 
guitar  and  plajed  a  dance-compel- 
Hng  walte  of  his  own  composition. 
The  gipsy  led  off  with  Helena,  his 
companion  with  Edonard,  Annchen 
and  Lottchen  danced  with  i^e 
Kapellmeister  by  turns.  Never  was 
music  danced  to  with  such  wild 
exuberance  of  spirit  as  Ogliostro's 
impromptu  waltz  in  that  moonlit 
glade.  When  indeed  the  little  party 
broke  up  it  was  long  past  midnight, 
and  host  and  guests  drove  home  in 
that  exquisite  hour  of  twittering 
birds  and  cool  grey  sky  that  heralds 
the  full- voiced  rosy  dawn. 

CHAPTER  in. 

THE    BEGINNINO  OF  THE    SECOND 
EPISODE. 

Fob  a  few  days  all  went  smoothly. 
The  musician  had  for  once  proved 
80  tractable  that  he  stood  on  a  pin- 
nacle of  Court  favour.  There  was 
nothing  he  might  not  say  or  do  just 
then :  and  being  very  much  of  a 
child,  and  of  a  spoilt  child  too,  he 
found  it  delightftil  to  be  petted  by 
the  Dnke,  the  Duchess,  and  the 
young  Prmcesses.  But  when  the 
day  of  betrothal  approached — in  Ger- 
many an  engagement  hardly  less 
binding  than  marriage  itseLf—- his 
courage  gave  way. 

One  morning,  therefore,  the  se- 
renity of  the  little  cit^  was  disturbed 
by  the  almost  incredible  tidings  that 
Ogliostro  was  gone — none  knew 
whitiier !  and  that  the  cauee  of  his 
going  was  the  marriage  that  the 
Duke  would  fain  have  made  be- 
tween him  and  the  elderly  Fraulein 
with  the  large  fortune.  Everyone 
had  heard  of  this  betrothal,  but  none 
believed  thatit  wouldevertake  place. 

Still  such  a  solution  of  the  diffi- 
culty was  wholly  unforeseen,  and 
afforded  a  delightful  scandal  for  the 
ladies  over  their  tea  and  the  gen- 


tlemen over  their  cigars.  Oghostro 
gone  in  the  height  of  the  musical 
season  !  and  gone  because  the  Duke, 
having  taken  fright  at  his  wild 
ways,  had  urged  bam  to  marry  one 
woman,  he  being  all  the  time  in  love 
with  another !  Gould  it  be  true  ? 
The  more  meddlesome  and  inquisi- 
tive took  it  upon  themselves  to  apply 
for  intelligence  at  the  Maestro's 
little  villa,  but  could  learn  nothing 
beyond  the  fact  that  he  was  not 
there. 

The  Duke  was  made  aware  of  his 
prot6g6's  defalcation  by  a  shorty 
impatient,  but  glowing  letter  from 
the  culprit  himself. 

Having  stated  what  steps  he  had 
taken  to  prevent  any  break  in  the  . 
musical  programme  of  the  season, 
and  apologised  profusely  for  his 
unusual  conduct,  he  wound  up 
with  the  following  rather  high-flown 
sentiments : — 

'  I  am  sure  your  Serene  Highnesa 
will  appreciate  these  irrepressible 
yeaminffs  after  the  remote  and  the 
un&miliar  which  drive  me  from  a 
life  T  have  long  felt  unsuited  to 
an  artist — ^these  inward  struggles 
between  the  lower  and  the  higher 
instincts  of  genius,  the  first  urging 
me  to  accept  the  material  advan- 
tages of  this  life  at  the  sacrifice  of 
my  individuality  ;  the  last  ccJling 
upon  me  solemnly  to  abjure  Mends, 
fortune,  and  tranquillity,  anything 
and  everything  that  stand  in  the 
way  of  my  freedom  and  self-de- 
velopment. Music  is  my  life,  my 
mistress,  my  love.  I  own — forgive 
me,  my  Prince — no  other  allegiance ; 
and  class  me,  if  among  the  most  dis- 
obedient, at  least  among  the  most 
grateful  of  your  subjects.' 

The  Duke's  first  impulse  was  to 
be  very  angry.  Nothing  more  in- 
opportune could  have  happened. 
There  was  the  impending  visit  of 
his  royal  father-in-law  to  begin 
with,  who  had  expressed  himself 
extremely  anxious  to  hear  the  re- 
nowned Ogliostro  play,  and  who 
must  now  bear  the  &te  of  common 


430 


Episodes  in  the  Life  of  a  Musician. 


[ApiA 


mortals  and  be  disappointed.  Then 
there  were  the  disagreeable  remarks 
of  his  sponse,  the  Grand  Duchess, 
to  contend  with,  that  ladj  having 
set  her  face  against  anyinterference 
with  the  musician's  marriage  from 
the  first,  regarding  him,  not  from  a 
social  point  of  view,  bnt  much  as  a 
court  jester  was  regarded  in  old 
times.  Then  there  was  the  general 
flatness  of  the  mnsical  season  to 
contemplate — an  unpleasant  &ct 
to  a  mnsic-loving  Sovereign  with 
bnt  small  business  as  Sovereign; 
and,  lastly,  the  disadvantage  to 
the  young  Princesses  of  losing  the 
very  best  pianoforte  teacher  in 
Germany.  But  his  second  impulse 
was  to  laugh,  and  he  laughed  so 
long  and  heartily,  that  when  he  had 
done  he  found  himself  in  a  good 
temper  again. 

*  The  roolish  fellow  !*  he  mused. 
*  What  a  career  he  has  thrown 
away,  for  the  sake  of  the  remote 
and  the  un&miliar !  He  will  be 
reduced  to  b^gary  if  some  one  does 
not  look  after  him.  I  wish  he  had 
left  his  address,  so  that  I  could  send 
him  his  pension  all  the  same.  Well, 
he  is  sure  to  turn  up  wheu  he  wants 
me!' 

But  weeks  and  months  elapsed, 
and  Ogliostro  did  not  turn  up.  The 
summer  passed  at  Poppenheim  as 
usual.  For  a  time  all  was  gaiety. 
The  King  came  and  went.  The 
Countess  played  away  a  good  many 
hearts  and  went  also.  Three  times  a 
week  rich  and  poor,  the  ^reat  folks 
and  the  small  folks,  flocked  to  the 
little  theatre  by  daylight  to  see  a 
play  or  hear  an  opera ;  and  when  at 
last  the  doors  were  closed,  every- 
one made  a  holiday  in  the  countiy. 
The  Maestro  had  been  missed  and 
lamented,  but  the  world  got  on 
without  him,  as  it  gets  on  without 
the  best  of  us. 

Where  was  he  P 

He  had  left  no  address,  and  he 
had  written  no  one  a  word  since  he 
went  away.  Once  Helena  received 
an    anonymous  present  of  music, 


which  she  felt  sure  must  have  oome 
from  him,  and  the  Countess  eyeiy 
now  and  then  found  a  box  of 
flowers  among  her  letters,  hansg 
the  unmistakable  fragrance  of  the 
Maestro's  bouquets  about  them. 
But  that  was  all.  Helena  went  to 
her  daily  work  with  a  kind  of  per- 
sistent recklessness  that  betrayed  a 
mind  ill  at  ease,  whilst  the  Countess, 
though  fascinating  as  ever,  was  said 
to  look  paJe  and  melancholy.  To 
these  two  women  indeed  the  Maes- 
tro's  absence  had  been  the  greatest 
loss  that  could  have  befallen  them, 
and  they  did  not  feign  indifference 
or  forgetftdness. 

And  all  the  time  he  waslinng 
an  existence  that  for  years  he  had 
pictured  to  himself  as  ideal  At 
last  he  was  free,  free  as  the  birds 
that  roam  the  heavens,  and  the 
wild  deer  that  have  the  forests  to 
themselves.  Without.a  duty, without 
a  care,  without  expectation,  and 
without  remorse,  he  enjoyed  the  day 
to  the  frdl,  alike  untroubledby  yester- 
days or  to-morrows.  If  the  remem- 
brance of  the  Countess  was  painfol 
to  him,  it  w&  also  delicions.  Who 
could  tell  but  that  some  time  or 
other  he  should  again  make  love  to 
her  on  the  piano,  and  not  then  be 
answered  by  the  word  impossilh 
spelt  as  plainly  as  music  could  spell 
it? 

It  was  in  the  glorious  days  of 
June  that  he  went  away.  Almost 
always  afoot,  carrying  bis  knap- 
sack on  his  shoulder,  after  the 
fashion  of  a  travelling  stndent,  be 
pursued  his  happy  journey. 

The  first  few  weeks  were  spent  in 
the  Thuringian  Forest.  Careless  of 
time,  and  only  anxious  to  elude  ob- 
servation, he  sought  out  the  remoter 
spots  ;  now  lingering  in  some  se- 
cluded valley,  now  on  some  moan- 
tain  top,  where  the  wind  soughed 
among  the  trees.  He  always  tried  to 
end  the  day  with  music :  often  the 
little  inn  at  which  he  slept  possessed 
a  piano;  or  he  would  fratexiiuse  wi& 
the  sacristan,  and  play  for  hours  on 


1873] 


Episodes  m  the  Life  of  a  Mtuician. 


491 


the  organ  of  the  parish  cluirch.  If 
he  happened  to  fall  in  with  feast  or 
fair,  weddiog  or  funeral,  be  was  on 
the  alert  to  catch  any  new  melody 
he  might  hear,  thns  accnmnlating 
fragments  of  music  and  song  as  he 
made  his  way. . 

Now  and  then  he  met  a  gipsy 
cavalcade,  and  that  intoxicated  him 
with  delight.  He  would  have  a 
concert  at  any  price,  and  ofben  spent 
days  in  the  track  of  some  dark- 
visaged  musician  or  danoer  who  had 
bewitched  him.  No  one  took  the 
young  musician's  advances  amiss, 
and  in  truth  he  acted  the  vagrant 
so  well  that  he  seemed  to  be  one  of 
them. 

The  gipsies'  reckless,  rollicking 
existence  &scinated  him  as  much  as 
their  music,  for  which  he  had  a 
passion;  he  would  ask  himself  if 
indeed  there  were  any  truth  in  what 
was  said  of  him,  that  he  had 
come  of  a  gipsy  stock,  stolen  from 
a  gipsy  tribe  by  some  wandering 
impresario  on  account  of  his  preco- 
cious musical  gifts.  His  own  earlj 
history  he  did  not  know ;  even  his 
Dame  wsa  of  his  own  choosing,  and 
he  felt  no  repugnance  to  the  notion 
of  having  such  wild  kinsfolk.  Well 
might  the  Grand  Duke  have  stood 
in  terror  of  his  beloved  Herr  Direk- 
tor. 

But  whilst  Ogliostro  was  amusing 
himself  after  his  own  fashion — of 
which  the  quiet  Poppenheimers  only 
tnew  years  after — JPoppenheim  it- 
self was  growing  just  a  Uttle  dull. 
When  autumn  came  round,  and  the 
theatre  opened,  everyone  in  the 
capital,  from  the  Duke  to  the  door- 
keeper, at  last  realised  how  much 
they  had  lost. 

The  Countess  came,  but  could  not 
bring  herself  to  stay.  She  talked  of 
spending  the  winter  at  Rome,  Dres- 
den, Berlin,  and  her  &iends  account- 
ed for  her  restlessness  by  the  &ct 
\  of  Ogliostro's  absence.  One  cold 
I  December  day  she  called  upon 
Helena,  wrapped  to  the  delicate 
little  chin,  in  fur,  threw  herself  in 


an  arm-chair  with  a  sigh  of  mock 
despair  and  said — 'My  good  girl, 
I  am  obliged  to  go  home  to-morrow, 
but  I  cannot  support  the  solitude 
of  the  country  ^vithout  some  one 
to  play  duets  with  me.  Will  you 
pack  up  your  clothes  and  be  ready 
to  start  for  Salzburg  in  fonr-and- 
twenty  hours  ?  ' 

Helena  opened  her  large  black 
eyes,  thought  for  a  moment^  and 
then  said — 

'  Mamma  will  set  her  £Ace  against 
it.' 

The  Countess  clapped  her  hands 
delightedly. 

'  Where  is  your  mamma  P  '  she 
asked.  '  I  can  ccmvince  her  in  two 
minutes  that  it  is  the  right  thing 
for  you  to  do.  I  want  music  les- 
sons, my  dear,  and  I  will  pay  a 
Prussian  thaler  for  each  you  give 
me.  You  are  the  very  person  I 
need.' 

*  What  can  I  teach  you  ?*  Helena 
said  with  dismay.  'That  is  the 
difficulty.  How  can  I  receive 
money  from  you  for  doing  nothing  ? ' 

'  It  is  all  settled,  my  cluld,'  replied 
the  vivacious  little  lady,  who,  like 
all  pretiy  women,  was  used  to 
having  her  own  way.  *  I  will  pay 
you  twelve  thalers  a  month  for 
being  my  dame  d'cUours,  and  we  will 
play  the  piano  and  violin  from 
morning  tUl  night.  Ah  !  what  an 
enchanting  thing  a  violin  is  !  those 
who  play  it  and  understand  it  are 
wholly  different  beings  to  the  rest 
of  the  world.' 

They  talked  of  music  and  of  mu- 
sicians till  they  were  interrupted 
by  the  entrance  of  Helena's  mother; 
a  good  woman  in  the  main,  but 
being  the  commonplace  mother  of 
uncommon  children,  she  was  rather 
apt  to  regard  them  from  a  worldly 
point  of  view.  Helena's  eldest  sister 
was  making  her  mark  as  a  vocalist  in 
Prague,  and  she  looked  upon  her 
second  daughter's  musical  talent  in 
the  light  of  so  much  money  to  be 
earned,  saved,  and  profitably  in« 
vested  for  the  oomficMrt  of  her  old  age. 


432 


Episodes  in  the  Life  of  a  Musidcm. 


[ipril 


However,  a  fiiiflciuatiiig  and  riohly- 
dressed  lady  in  a  poor  little  room 
on  the  Bixdi  storey  is  an  impos- 
ing presence,  and  the  Gonntess 
gained  her  point.  The  next  day  the 
two  started  for  Salzburg,  and  Fop* 
penheim  grew  dnller  thim  ever. 

The  Grand  Dnke,  always  an 
optimist,  mbbed  his  hands  when 
the  snow  began  to  &11,  saying  in  a 
oheerfol  voice — 

*  When  winter  really  sets  in,  the 
remote  and  unfamiliar  will  become 
uncomfortable,  and  we  shall  have 
our  spoiled  child  Ogliostro  back 
again.' 

But  the  Poppenheimers  were 
hemmed  in  by  the  snow  as  by  a 
besieging  army,  and  no  Ogliostro 
came. 

CHAPTER  IV. 

IMPRISONED   BT  THE   SNOW. 

It  was  such  a  winter  night  as 
only  those  dream  of  who  live  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  forests  and  moun- 
tains. There  had  been  a  fortnight 
of  snow  storms  already,  and  the 
trees  round  the  Schloss  of  the  Coun- 
tess were  laden  with  snow,  the 
mountains  smooth  and  glittering; 
the  valley  was  a  sheet  of  gleam- 
ing white,  the  wind  raged  unceas- 
ingly. Travelling  was  dangerous 
on  account  of  the  drifts  in  the  roads, 
and  the  Countess  and  her  com- 
panion, Helena,  had  spent  twelve 
days  entirely  in  each  other's  com- 
pany. 

They  had  sped  fast  enough. 
Music  is  a  life  and  a  world  in  itself, 
and  these  two  enthusiasts  were  ab- 
sorbed in  it,  heeding  for  the  moment 
nothing  else.  Trouble,  toil,  love, 
and  even  duty,  seemed  hidden  from 
them  by  a  veil  in  the  first  days  of 
their  well-assorted  companionship. 
Helena  lost  recollection  of  the  little 
wearing  domestic  cares  which  had 
made  her  look  old  for  her  years; 
the  Countess  forp^ot  the  family  quar- 
rels and  complications  on  her  ac- 
count, which,  for  the  time  being, 
made  any  second  marriage,  not  to 


say  marriage  with  a  poor  musician, 
impossible. 

The  two  sat  by  an  enormous  wood 
fire,  in  a  confidential  mood,  eveiy 
now  and  then  pausing,  as  some  gust 
of  wind  swept  like  thunder  among 
the  pine  trees.  What  a  oontraat 
they  made !  You  could  see  at  the 
first  glance  that  the  delieate  Httl^ 
lady,  in  ruby-coloured  velvet  and 
gold  ornaments,  had  been  accus- 
tomed from  her  cradle  to  softness 
and  luxury,  taking  even  music  and 
other  passions  with  a  certain  kind 
of  indolence ;  whilst  the  bard- 
worked,  large-featured,  yet^  in  tk 
eyes  of  the  more  discriminating, 
rather  handsome  Helena,  in  her 
gipsy's  costume  of  black  and  scarlet 
serge,  showed  not  only  in  her  de- 
meanour, but  in  her  looks,  that 
the  drudgery  of  life  was  fieimiliar 
to  her,  and  was  accepted  as  natorallj 
as  spiritual  things  and  great  ex- 
hilarations. 

*  I  would  give  anything  to  know 
where  our  poor  Ogliostro  is  to- 
night,' said  the  Countess,  who  with 
all  her  tact  had  not  yet  discovered 
whether  this  impulsive,  half-savage, 
half-infaxitine  creature  really  con- 
cealed a  love  for  the  Maestro  or  no. 
As  she  spoke,  she  turned  towards 
her  companion  with  a  questaoning 
expression* 

Helena  gazed  in  the  fire,  and 
made  no  answer. 

*  What  a  pity  too  that  he  should 
have  been  dnven  away  by  that  med- 
dlesome  Duke,'  continued  the  Coun- 
tess. 'With  all  his  gifts  he  maj  fare 
badly  away  from  dear  little  Fop- 
penheim.  Some  designing  woouut 
may  persuade  him  to  marry  ber 
against  his  will,  for  example.' 

Still  Helena  was  silent. 

*  You  are  looked  upon  as  his  6- 
vourite  pupil,'  pursued  the  Cotm- 
tess.  *  Why  do  you  not  try  to  find 
him  out,  and  persuade  him  to  go 
back  in  the  spring  P' 

She   was    sta;^   from   farther 

banter  by  ilie  girl's  imploring  look. 

'  I  cannot  talk  of  him,*  she  said. 


1873] 


HpUbdes  m  the  Life  of  a  Mutidcun, 


483 


*  Let  na  play  to  eaoh  other  insteacL 
Music  is  the  easiest  speech.' 

Helena  neyer  improTised  or  com- 
posedy  bnt  her  playing  was  wholly 
original;  not  this  or  that  famons 
reading  of  masterpieces,  bnt  pnrely 
her  own,  indebted  neither  to  critic 
nor  connoisseur.  She  played  one 
of  those  marvellonsly  passionate 
sonatas  of  Beethoven,  which  seem  to 
tell  the  story  of  a  wild  human  life, 
and  it  was  Offliostro's  stoiy  that  she 
wanted  to  teU.  As  she  threw  her- 
self heart  and  soul  into  the  mingled 
fierceness  and  tenderness  of  the 
music,  the  Countess,  listening,  read 
her  interpretations  aright.  Helena 
consented,  woman-like,  to  entire  self- 
abnegation,  so  long  as  her  beloved 
Maestro  should  be  happy  and  tri- 
umphant. She  divined  that  his 
triumphs  would  sig^nify  little  to  him, 
if  he  must  suffer  the  one  defeat  that 
would  spoil  all,  and  mingled  with 
prophecies  of  lus  artistic  successes 
were  intercessions  on  his  behalf. 
The  other  listened  eagerly,  only  half 
comprehending  this  voluntary  re- 
nunciation of  her  companion.  Her 
speech,  *  I  cannot  talk  of  him,'  had 
told  her  the  truth,  but  she  was  fiir 
^8  yet  from  realising  it. 

The  piece  came  to  an  end,  and 
the  Countess  was  about  to  take 
Helena's  place  at  the  piano,  when 
the  sound  of  a  man's  voice  crying 

*  Bravo !  bravissimo  !'  from  with- 
out caused  both  women  to  utter  a 
little  ciy  of  surprise. 

'  Ogliostro  !'  cried  the  Countess. 

'  The  Maestro !'  cried  Helena. 

And  true  enough  it  was  he. 

They  ran  into  uiehaU,  and  in  an- 
other minute  Ogliostro  ascended 
the  stone  staircase  leading  from  the 
courtyard.  He  was  dressed  in  furs 
Irom  head  to  foot,  and,  booted  and 
spurred,  with  pistols  at  his  side,  he 
looked  more  like  a  freebooter  than 
d  wandering  musician.  He  made  a 
dozen  apologies  for  appearing  before 
them  in  this  fashion;  and  having 
laid  aside  his  furs  and  weapons,  the 
three  sat  down  to  a  hastily  pre- 


pared supper,  laughing  and  talking 


'% 


[ow  good  of  you  to  ask  no 
questions ! '  said  the  Maestro,  look- 
ing  from  one  to  the  other.  '  I  drop 
out  of  the  clouds,  you  make  me 
welcome,  and  I  am  not  bored  by 
havine  to  explain  everything.  But 
when  I  have  satisfied  my  hunger,'! 
will  tell  you  all  that  has  happened 
to  me  since  I  went  away.' 

He  drank  a  glass  of  wine  and 
began  to  eat ;  enthusiasm,  however, 
soon  got  the  better  of  hunger. 

'  Only  think,'  he  said, '  it  is  seven 
months  since  I  left  Poppenheim, 
and  for  the  greater  paH;  of  that 
time — (tell  it  not  in  Gath,  declare 
it  not  in  Askelon) — I  have  been 
living  among  my  kinsfolk,  the  gip- 
sies.' 

'  Do  but  listen  to  him !'  cried  the 
Countess,  with  a  gesture  of  mock 
horror.  '  Helena,  how  dare  we  sit 
at  table  with  such  company  P  But 
continue.' 

*  Madam,'  pursued  the  musician 
gaily,  feigning  a  subservient  man- 
ner, '  I  am  sensible  of  the  conde- 
scension shown  to  me,  but  have 
no  fear.  I  can  comport  myself  in 
the  palace  as  well  as  in  the  tent, 
not  having  lived  long  enough  with 
the  gipsies  to  unlearn  decent  be- 
haviour. But,  oh !'  he  added,  re- 
turning to  his  natural  tone,  'you 
do  not  know  wha^  a  fascinating  life 
it  is  !  And  what  a  life  of  music ! 
Forgive  me  if  I  leave  the  table  to 
play  you  one  incomparable  serenade. 
I  can  no  longer  control  my  impa- 
tience.' 

He  lefb  his  half-finished  supper, 
nor  would  be  persuaded  to  resume 
it  till  he  had  played  half-a-dozen 
wild  melodies.  The  ladies  clapped 
their  hands  with  delight,  and  when 
the  meal  was  at  last  finished,  he 
played  a  dozen  more. 

'  Gipsy  music,'  he  said,  when  he 
left  the  piano,  and  threw  himself 
into  an  arm-chair  with  a  sigh  of 
fatigue,  '  must  be,  by  the  nature  of 
gipsy  life,  the  most  real  and  natural 


434 


Epieodei in  the  lAfe  of  aMuMdan. 


[April 


of  ail.  In  the  grandest  oompodtionB 
of  onr  great  masters,  the  cold  spirit 
of  criticisni  creeps'  in,  not  marring, 
but  certainly  modifying,  the  first 
idea — ^sweeping  from  it,  in  fieust,  the 
first  bloom.  But  in  popnlar  mnsic, 
just  as  in  ballad  poetry,  we  get  the 
pare,  nntrammelled  spirit  of  the 
people ;  who  toil,  make  love,  suffer, 
and  die,  and  tell  it  all  without  any 
notion  of  what  is  proper  or  im- 
proper in  the  making  of  a  song. 
But  I  have  so  much  to  tell  you 
and  ask  of  you,  dear  ladies,  that  I 
know  not  where  first  to  begin.  You, 
my  little  Helena,  shall  first  give  me 
news  of  my  dear  pupils  at  beloved 
Poppenheim.  Aimchen  and  Lott- 
chen,  Edouard  and  Walther,  and  all 
the  rest — are  they  well?  I  have 
heard  no  word  from  any  of  you  since 
I  went  away.' 

But  his  own  story  proved  the 
most  absorbing,  and  he  answered 
their  questions  with  great  glee, 
telling  them  his  plans  and  projects. 
,  He  was  composing  a  gipsy  opera ; 
he  was  going  to  try  his  fortune  in 
London  or  Paris— ^to  found  a  new 
school  of  music — ^what  was  he  not 
going  to  do?  They  listened;  too 
well  pleased  to  have  his  company 
again  to  feel  jealous  or  unhappy. 
For  the  time  it  was  good  fortune 
enough. 

The  next  day  and  the  next  saw 
OgHostro  the  Countess's  guest,  if 
for  no  other  reason,  for  the  very 
simple  one  that  he  could  not  get 
a.way.  More  snow  had  fallen,  and 
to  reach  Salzburg  in  the  present 
state  of  the  roads  was  impracticable. 
Everyone  was  contented  that  the 
weather  and  the  roads  should  re- 
main as  they  were.  Music  occu- 
pied the  trio  from  morning  till 
night,  each  in  turn  being  inspirer 
or  inspired.  Individualities  seemed 
for  a  time  lost  in  artistic  enthu- 
siasm. 

But  before  the  weather  changed 
from  without,  it  changed  within. 
On  a  sudden — ^none  knew  how  it  was 
— ^the  Countess  would  fain  have  had 


the  Maeistro  leagues  away.  Helena 
wished  she  ooold  wake  in  her  little 
attic  at  home.  The  musician  found 
himself  wondering  what  had  hap- 
pened to  turn  the  snow-bound 
Schloss  into  a  disagreeable  place. 
All  felt  relieved  when  news  came 
that  the  road  was  clear. 

A  few  hours  after  receiving  this 
intelligence,  Ogliostro  was  on  his 
way  to  Salzburg. 

'I  suppose  the  Countess  was 
jealous  at  my  fondness  for  Helena,' 
he  mused.  *  But  how  unreasonable 
women  are !  I  must  marry  s(»ne 
day,  and  how  can  I  marry  a  woman 
who  says  she  cannot  have  me? 
And  Helena  was  moody  and  out  of 
spirits,  too !  Ah  !  it  may  be  that 
I  talked  too  much  of  Rhona,  the 
beautiful  gipsy  maiden  who  capti- 
vated me  last  summer.  I  see  that 
if  a  man  wants  to  accomplish  any- 
thing really  great  in  art,  he  must 
set  his  face  against  ail  love  affairs.' 

CHAPTER  V. 

POBTUNE   AND   MISFORTUNE. 

Two  or  three  years  passed,  and 
Poppenheim  had  to  get  on  as  well 
as  it  could  without  the  beloved 
musician.  His  admirers  read  with 
mournful  eagerness  of  the  entiin' 
siasm  created  by  his  playing  in 
Paris,  London,  and  Vienna,  bat 
were  compelled  to  admit  that  he 
showed  some  ingratitude  in  remain- 
ing so  long  away  from  his  unfor- 
getting  friends.  What  was  the 
rapture  of  the  warm-hearted  httle 
city,  therefore,  when  the  following 
announcementappeared  on  the  walls 
of  the  Theatre  one  May  morning? 

BY  PERMISSION  OF  THE  GRAND  DUKE, 
WILL  BE  PERFORMED  ON  THE  OCCISIOS 

OF  THE   ROYAL  BIRTHDAY, 
RHONA,  A   GIPSY  OPERA,  BY  OGLIOSTEO 

(late  court  PUNIST 

AT  THE  COURT  OF  POPPBNHBIM), 
UNDER  THE  COMPOSBR'S  DIB8CT0E8HIP. 

The  news  spread  like  wildfire 
throughout  the  town,  and  for  the 


1873] 


Episode^  in  the  Life  of  aMu8ici(m. 


4d{> 


time  evefyone's  liead  tffts  turned 
bv  it.  Preparations  were  imme- 
'-^^-  set  on  foot  so  as  to  make 


the  occasion  one  of  eztraordinaiy 
lirilliance.  The  ladies  sent  to  Frank- 
fort hv  new  dresses.  The  Dnke 
commanded  an  al  fresco  entertain- 
ment in  honour  of  the  great  man's 
letom.  His  pnpils  and  musical 
friends  organised  a  fete,  at  which 
lie  was  to  he  crowned  with  a  wreath 
of  silver  laurel  leaves.  AH  contri- 
bated  their  best  to  celebrate  such 
a  home-coming. 

At  last  the  long  looked-for  day 
dawned:  a  gay  festival  at  all  times, 
wiutwith  the  flags  and  garlands, 
the  militaxy  review,  the  crowds  of 
holiday  makers  in  Sunday  clothes, 
the  lines  of  open  carnages  convey- 
ing richly-dressed  ladies  and  officers 
in  lull    dress,   and    covered  with 
decorations,  to  pay  their  respects 
to  the  Sovereign.    But  when  even- 
ing came,  all  felt  that  the  Duke's 
fete  was  over,  and  that  the  musi- 
cian's had  begun.    Pleasant  it  was 
to  see  the  stream  of  play-goers,  old 
and  young,  rich  and  poor,  wending 
their  way  in    the   warm  summer 
evening  to  see  Ogliostro's  opera.   It 
was   an    entertainment   all    oould 
afford,  and  all  could  enjoy,  from 
the  prince  to  the  peasant,  and  ez- 
pectency  was  written  6n  every  face. 
Exactiy  at   seven  o'clock,  three 
strokes  from  the  chamberlain's  staff 
on  the  edge  of  the  royal  box  be- 
tokened the  arrival  of  the  Grand 
Duke.    When  he  appeared,  accom- 
panied by  the    Puchess    and  the 
young  Pnncesses,  the  little  theatre 
rang  with  cheers,  which  would  have 
been  repeated   more  tumultuously 
BtOl  for  Ogliostro,  had  he  not  fore- 
seen such  a  dilemma.    No  sooner 
had  the  Duke  taken  his  seat  than 
the  conductor,   Ogliostro  himself, 
who  till  now   had  been  invisible, 
raised  his  b&ton,  and  the  overture 
bGgan« 

The  gipsy  opera  Viras,  of  course, 
a  success.  It  was  new,  it  was 
naive,  and  it  was  in  a  certain  sense 


true.  Ogliostro,  never  false  to  him- 
self where  his  art  was  concerned,, 
had  invented  not  only  a  new  story,, 
a  new  fni^e-en^cena,  and  a  new 
opera,  but  he  had  put  these  together 
in  a  form  peculiarly  his  own,  dis- 
carding stage  canons  and  stage  pie^ 
cedents.  In  part  the  story  was. 
familiar  to  Helena  and  the  Countess. 
A  wandering  musician  falls  in  with, 
a  band  of  gipsy  minstrels,  lives 
with  them  as  one  of  themselves,  ae*. 
companies  them  to  fedrs  and  festi-- 
vals,  finally  sings  away  his  own 
heart  and  that  of  Bhona,  a  gipsy 
girl ;  stays  on,  in  spite  of  his  own 
misgivings  and  scruples  and  her 
own  (for  she  has  a  lover  among  her 
tribe  and  nation),  till  natters  are. 
brought  to  a  terrible  dimaz.  In  a 
moonlight  dance,  got  up  in  honour 
of  the  gipsy  betrothal,  Khona's  be-, 
trothed  falls  murderously  upon  the. 
intruder,  and  he  is  bonie  off  the 
stage  dead  or  dying.  This  is,  of 
course,  the  merest  outline  of  a  ratdier 
long  and  complex  story.  The  music, 
was  fimtastic,  the  dances  fresh,  and. 
the  singing  very  good.  Every  note, 
seemed  inspired  by  the  wave  of 
Ogliostro's  arm,  and  large  bursts  of 
applause  greeted  him  each  time  the 
curtain  fell. 

Helena  and  the  Countess  were  pre- 
sent, both  alternately  listening  with 
the  happy  absorption  of  musicians, 
and  wondering  how  Ogliostro's  visit 
would  affect  themselves.  The  two 
had  never  been  on  quite  easy  terms 
since  his  departure  from  the  Schloss 
that  wintry  morning,  more  than 
two  years  ago;  but  they  felt  the 
same  towards  him.  He  was  espe- 
cially their  prodigal,  all  the  more 
welcome  because  of  his  long,  and 
apparently  forgetful,  absence. 

That  very  evening  the  Countess 
received  the  musician's  homage  as 
she  sat  next  to  him  at  the  Ducal 
banquet  given  in  his  honour;  but 
Helena  had  to  wait  for  the  next  day 
to  pass,  and  the  next,  before  any 
sign  of  remembrance  came  from 
him. 


436 


Episodes  in  the  Life  of  a  Musician. 


[A^ 


When  it  did  oome  in  the  shape  of 
a  present  of  flowers  and  mnsic,  ac- 
companied by  an  invitation  to  plaj 
duets  that  yeiyaftemoon,  she  felt  no 
more  enyy  of  the  Gonntess  or  of  any- 
one else  whose  privileges  had  come 
first.  The  old  delightful  relation- 
ship of  master  and  pupil  was  about 
to  be  renewed,  and  sue  wanted  no 
more.  What  relationship,  indeed, 
can  be  compared  to  that  of  a  musi* 
dan  and  his  disciple,  inspirer  and 
inspired  P  Some  almost  divine  ema- 
nation seems  to  be  imparted  from 
a  teacher  of  music  who  is  really  an 
enthusiast,  putting  genius  out  of 
the  question. 

He  greeted  herwarmly,  andafter 
a  very  little  talk  they  sat  down  to 
the  piano.  Helena  noticed  that  the 
Maestro  was  more  than  usually  ex- 
cited, and  that  as  he  played  he 
fieemed  rather  trying  to  exorcise 
some  demon  of  unquiet  thought 
than  to  call  up  some  angelic  vision. 
And  so  indeed  it  was.  £i  the  midst 
of  a  wild  and  beautiful  composition 
of  his  own  he  broke  off,  drew  a 
deep  breath,  and  rose  from  the 
piano. 

'  I  will  play  no  more  to-day,'  he 
said.  'Has  it  ever  happened  to  you, 
little  Helena,  to  feel  that  the  thing 
you  love  best  in  the  world  jars,  dis- 
turbs— nay,  tortures  ?  So  is  it  with 
music  at  this  moment.  I  can  play, 
but  the  sounds  I  evoke  are  painful 
to  me.  Let  us  do  something  else. 
Suppose  we  go  into  the  garden  and 
take  a  cup  of  coffee  ? ' 

It  was  a  perfect  June  day,  and 
the  musician's  little  summer-house, 
which  was  covered  with  roses  and 
honeysuckle,  invited  a  dreamy  mood. 
He  gradually  lost  his  unquiet  expres- 
sion, growing  instead  pensive  and 
abstracted.  Never  before  had  He- 
lena seen  her  beloved  Maestro  so 
unlike  himself.  Had  she  not  pos- 
sessed that  fine  tact  which  is  part 
of  the  true-bom  artist's  organisa- 
tion, she  would  have  plunged  into 
some  good-natured  congratulations, 
really  as  ill-timed  as  they  would 


have  seemed  opportune.  Ab  it  ttob 
she  said  nothing,  thoueh  the  B7m- 
pathy  written  in  her  face  soothed 
and  cheered  him. 

'I  dare  say  things  will  come 
rightin  time,  when  I  am  old  and  wise 
and  grey,'  he  said,  with  a  feint  smile, 
'  and  you  can  no  more  help  me  out  of 
my  troubles  than  you  can  cure  me 
of  my  follies.  But  talk  to  me  of 
yourself,  dear  child*  Are  von  doing 
well  ?  and  when  shall  we  be  able  to 
send  you  to  Paris  and  London?  Yon 
must  be  twenty  now,  and  old  enough 
to  go  into  the  world  and  make  your 
mark.' 

They  chatted  of  Helena's  pro- 
spects for  half  an  hour,  and  he  fell 
into  his  naturally  genial  and  affec- 
tionate manner,  when  he  looked  at 
his  watch  andjumped  up  withdismaj. 
*  Past  five  o'clock!'  he  cried,  'and  I 
promised  to  wait  on  the  Dnchess 
at  half-past  four,  and  her  Serene 
Highness's  temper  is  not  of  the 
best!  Adieu,  adieu.  We  shall  meet 
to-morrow  evening  at  the  torchlight 
festival  the  Duke  has  commanded 
on  my  account.  Do  not  fiul  to  be 
there,  and  look  your  prettiest^  to 
please  me.' 

He  rushed  off,  and  Helena  went 
away,  wondering  how  it  happened 
that  her  beloved  Maestro  could  be 
so  absent  and  melancholy  in  tb 
midst  of  his  triumphs.  His  table  waa 
covered  with  cards  and  notes  of  in- 
vitation. His  sideboard  was  loaded 
withgifbsofflowersaad fruit  Anew 
piano,  homage  of  some  admirer,  stood 
in  the  music  room.  What  oonld  it 
be  that  weighed  upon  his  spirits? 

Poor  inexperienced  Helena  had 
no  idea,  in  the  first  place,  how  easf 
it  is  for  an  open-hearted  man  likd 
the  Maestro  to  get  into  pecaniaiy 
difficulties.  His  notions  of  the  ne- 
cessaries of  life  had  somewliat 
changed  since  leaving  Poppenheim 
nearly  three  years  ago,  and  if  there 
were  no  other  ties  to  recall  him 
to  the  gay  cities  he  loved  so  well, 
there  were  his  debts  1  And  then,  in 
the  second  place,  she  did  not  kno\f 


197S] 


Upuodea  in  the  Life  of  a  Musician, 


437 


what  other  entanglements  a  wan- 
denagmnsician  may  get  into,  whose 
ideas  of  dntj  and  happiness  are 
bounded  hj  composing  good  mnsic 
and  having  a  pretty  woman  at 
hand  to  criticise  it.  She  prepared 
for  the  coming  festival  somewhat 
sadly. 

It  was  to  he  one  of  nunsnal  splen- 
doar.  The  white  mnslin  dress  she 
ironed  with  snch  care,  looked  so 
worn,  60  old-fashioned,  so  shabby ! 
If  she  conld  only  find  a  casket 
of  jewels  in  her  chamber,  like 
Gretcheu ! 

CHAPTER  VI. 

HOW  THE  THEEE  EPISODES  ENDED. 

The  festival  in  honour  of  Ogliostro 
promised  to  be  a  great  success.  The 
weather  was  magnificent.  None  of 
the  arrangements  had  fallen  through 
in  consequence  of  bad  management. 
Everything  was  ready  in  time. 

A  more  picturesque  sight  than 
the  park  presented  that  summer 
evening  can  hardly  be  imagined. 
An  open  space,  lawn- shaped,  had 
been  set  aside  for  the  entertainment. 
Foremost  among  the  illuminations 
wero  the  letters  composing  the 
musician's  name,  whilst  Chinese 
lanterns  and  torches  lighted  up 
dusky  alley  and  glade.  At  the 
farther  end  of  the  enclosed  space,  a 
tent  had  been  erected  for  the  ban- 
quet, dazzling  the  eyes  of  the  more 
liomely  guests  with  its  display  of 
shining  plate  and  sparkling  crystal, 
flowers,  fruit,  and  decorations.  Ban- 
ners and  garlands  were  hung  around ; 
and  to  add  to  the  splendour  of  the 
occasion,  military  music  was  to  open 
and  conclude  the  proceedings. 

The  programme  was  rather  long. 
First  of  all  came  the  banquet,  and 
the  crowning  of  the  hero  with  the 
silver  wreath ;  then  a  gipsy  enter- 
tainment, singing  and  dancing  by 
trained  performers ;  finally,  an  open- 
air  dance  and  a  torchlight  proces- 
sion. The  Duke  contributed  the 
banquet,  but   the  other  entertain- 

VOL.  YII. — yo.  XL.      NEW  SERIES. 


ments  were  organised  by  Ogliostro' s 
friends,  admirers,  and  pupils. 

At  seven  o'clock  precisely,  the 
little  company,  numbering  in  all 
about  fifty  persons,  most  of  them 
musicians,  sat  down  to  supper.  A 
merry  supper  it  was,  all  the  more 
enjoyed  because  to  most  of  the 
guests  such  a  feast  was  an  event  in 
fife.  The  Grand  Duke  had  kindly 
withheld  his  presence,  so  that  Og- 
liostro and  his  guests  were  perfectly 
unrestrained.  Stories  were  told, 
toasts  were  given,  glasses  were 
touched,  without  fear  of  ofience, 
and  all  were  sorry  when  they  had 
to  rise  from  the  table. 

The  affair  of  the  coronation  was 
a  little  dull.  Ogliostro  at  least 
looked  unmistakably  bored,  and  on 
the  plea  of  having  no  hair-pins  at 
hand,  laid  the  silver  wreath  aside. 
But  the  donors  consoled  themselves 
with  the  thought  that  if  he  would 
not  wear  it  in  life,  at  least  it  would 
decorate  his  brows  when  he  was 
dead. 

Then  came  the  gipsy  dance.  As 
the  performance  took  place  in  the 
open  air,  a  crowd  collected;  the 
little  band  of  dark-visaged  musi- 
cians and  dancers,  three  men  and 
three  women,  in  picturesque  gala 
dresses  of  their  nation. 

Helena,  holding  her  friend 
Annchen  by  the  arm,  looked  on, 
rooted  to  the  spot.  'Do  you 
remember  that  evening  we  supped 
in  the  forest  with  the  Maestro  ? ' 
she  asked.  *  How  happy  we  were  ! 
How  I  should  like  to  join  in  a  gipsy 
dance  again ! ' 

*  Hush  ! '  said  Annchen,  shocked 
at  her  friend's  Bohemian  propen- 
sities ;  *  ought  we  not  to  find  mamma 
or  one  of  my  brothers,  instead  of 
standing  here  alone  ?  ' 

They  were  about  to  move  away 
when  Helena  felt  an  eager  hand  laid 
on  her  arm.    It  was  Ogliostro. 

'Come  away,'  he  said.  *I  have 
something  to  say  to  you.  There  is 
Annchen's  brother;  she  can  join 
him.     You  come  with,  me.' 

H  H 


438 


.  Episodes  in  the  Life  of  a  Mnsiddn, 


[April 


Tbey  were  out  of  earshot,  when 
he  said,  greatly  excited— 

fPo  you  see  that  splendid  girl 
who  sings  so  plaintively,  apart  firam 
the  others  ?  That  is  the  Bhona  I 
talked  of  to  yon  and  the  Countess 
many  a  timeu  .  She  is  here.'  I  knew 
it  yesterday.  Is  it  not  a  strange 
coincidence  ? ' 

Helena  gazed  on  the  group 
curiously. 

*  When  the  performance  is 'over, 
i  will  speak  to  her,'  he  said.  *  It  is 
unwise,  I  know,  but  I  must.  How 
she  sings  !  Her  voice  is  not  sweet, 
butwii£what  passion  andjpathos  she 
brings  out  the  meaning  of  that  little 
song !  And  is  not  the  melody  itself 
enchanting  ?  It  brings  b^ore  me 
the  life  of  such  a  woman — ^half 
savage,  half  splendid,  abounding  in 
Adventure  !  How  little  she  fEincies 
that  the  wandering  musician,  who 
has  led  her  in  the  round  many  a 
time,  is  at  hand ! ' 

The  girl's  figure  was  indeed 
striking,  and  Helena  hardly  heard 
what,  her  companion  said,  so  ab- 
sorbed was  she.  These  gipsies 
were  Bohemians  of  the  purest  race, 
and  not  without  personal  beanty, 
though  of  a  wild,  one  might  almost 
say  ferocious  type. 

Soon  the  little  concert  ceased. 
The^  band  struck  up  a  waltz,  and 
Helena  finding  herself  on  a  sudden 
alone,  joined  Annchen  and  her 
brother.  They  were  soon  dancing 
merrily,  and,  indeed,  with  the 
dance,  the  culminating  enjoyment 
of  the  evening  had  come.  As 
Helena  was  whirled  round  in  the 
waltz,  she  caught  sight  of  Ogliostro, 
dancing  with  the  gipsy  girl  he  had 
pointed  out  to  her.  She  begged 
her  partner  to  stop  in  order  to 
assure  herself  that  she  was  not 
dreaming.  There,  in  the  eyes  of 
all  Poppenheim,  was  the  beloved 
but  incorrigible  musician  waltz- 
ing with  a  gipsy  as  uncon- 
cernedly as  he  had  done  in  the 
solitude  of  the  Thuringian  Forest ! 
She  saw  the  girl's  handsome  face ; 


she  heard  her  reckless:  laugh,  as  the 
pair  skimmed  by ;  she  h^rd,  also, 
the  expressions  of  amazement  from 
the  watching  crowd.  But  on  he 
went :  it  seemed  as  if  his  very  life 
depended  upon  that  wild  dance; 
pair  after  pair  fell  aside  panting  for 
breath;  and  for  very  wonder  at  the 
strange  sight,  none  who  rested 
began  to  dance  again.  So  at  last 
they  were  left  in  the  circle  alone, 
DgUostroneiiherknowingnor  caring 
why ;  the  girl  as  heedless  as  he,  her 
splendid  black  hair  blown  ahont 
her  scarlet  vest,  dark  eyes  shming, 
brown  cheeks  glowing,  red  lips 
parted  in  a.  smile  of  enjoyment 

When  at  last  they  stopped,  and 
Ogliostro  had  led  his  companion  to 
her  Mends,  another  surprise  was 
in  store  for  the  somewhat  orer- 
ex  cited  Poppenheimers .  For  a  scene 
of  confasion  followed,  such  as  had 
never  disturbed  the  social  axmals 
of  the  little  city.  The  gipsies 
gathered  round  the  offending  girl 
and  her  admirer  in  rage.  Haisb 
invectives  were  heard,  we^ns 
flashed,  over  all  Ogliostro's  voice 
trying  to  calm  and  assuage,  finally 
his,  too,  rises  into  an  angry  ciy; 
then  a  terrible  scuffle  ensued,  which 
might  end  none  knew  how  direfuUj- 
Ogliostro's  name  was  passed  from 
mouth  to  mouth.  One  said  that  the 
woman  had  been  stabbed ;  another 
that  Ogliostro  had  fallen ;  a  third 
that  he  was  dead. 

Dancers  and  musicians  were 
jostled  together  in  wild  confusion, 
some  trying  to  run  one  way,  some 
another,  all  hindered  by  the  press ; 
one  crying  for  the  police,  another 
for  the  soldiers,  children  weeping, 
women  shrieking-*all  had  became 
fright  and  dismay. 

'  Good  heavens  !  where  is  mr 
Christine  then  ?  * 

'  Dear  neighbours,  don't  be  fright- 
ened ;  don't  press  so.  Do  please 
make  way  for  two  poor,  innocent 
women,  who  only  want  to  get  home 
in  safety.* 

*  That  is  what  we  all  want  Whj 


1873] 


Episodes  in  the  Idfe  of  a  Musician, 


439 


doetn't  some  one  tell  ns.what  is  the 
matter.?:' 

*  My, poor  boy  Joli<tim,.f6r  anght 
I  know,  may  bikre*  got  a  broken 
head  in  the  scaffle/ 

'  ^  me !  there  is  my  best  gown 
torn  agaixu  and  my  lace  collar  clean 
gone.  What  a  warning  to  ns  all' to 
giye  np  j^leasnre-seeking !' 

*  There  oome  the  police.  We  are 
to  fall  back,  they  say,  bnt  how  can 
we  ?  Oh,  what  will  become  of  us  ?' 

It  seemed  jnst  theiQ  very  likely 
that  mischief  wonld  hi&ppen  from 
the  pressure  put  npon  die  crowd. 
Helena  .  found  heriself  violently 
separated  from  her  companions, 
now  swayed  this  way,  now  that, 
finaUy  leaning  against  one  of  the 
Olnminited  pine-stems,  breathless 
and  bewildered. 

She  strained  her   eyes  'in    the 
direction  that  the  police  had  taken, 
bnt  could  see  nothing ;  she  tried  to 
mofve;  bnt  the  throng  preveuted  her. 
Bat  oda  a  sudden  there  was  silence. 
The  crowd  fell  back,  and  she  saw 
that  Ogliostro  was  lying  on  the 
ground  wdnnded.     H^r  Imees  trem- 
bled, she-  could  net  utter  a  cry,  but 
somehow  she  made  her  way  to  the 
spot.    How  she  got  there,  through 
t^     masses     of     horrar-fitricken 
gazers,  she  ne^er  knew;  but  there 
she  ^was,  kneelHng  beside  he^  adored 
maateo^,    alone  of   all    his  women 
friends  doing  what  she  could  for 
him  in  iliat  hour  of  humiliation, 
agony,   and  dismay.     She.  hardly 
heard  the  cursos  of  the  gipsies  as 
they  were  laid  hold  of  by  &e  police, 
she  knew  not  what  was  happening 
besides,  she  only  thought  of  stop- 
ping'the  woiind  as  best  she  oould, 
and  lon^  before  a  doctor  could  be 
found,*  that    much    despised  limp 
cambric  dress  of  hers  had  been  torn 
into  bandages,  her  chieap  little  six- 
penny scent-bottle  had  revired  the 
^ntmg  man,  and  she  had  prevailed 
upon  one  of  Ogliostro's  friends,  a 
stout  Kapellmeister,  who  stood  by, 
sobbing    like  a  child,   to  fetch  a 
tumbler  of  water.     The  ladies  were 


Seeing  as  fast  as  they  could,  for  all 
kinds  of  rumours  had  reached  the 
•crowds  waiting  to  see  the  proceEk 
ision— ^fire,  murder,  assassmatioil, 
and  so  on.  Some  of  the  police 
were  looking  after  the  Grand 
Duke's  spoons  and  forks,  the  banp> 
queting  booth  not  yet  being  cleared; 
the  miscellaneous  mob  that  delight 
in  a  panic  was  screaming,  yellmg, 
iLnd  capering ;  inr  fine,  aimd  9ich  a 
scene  of  confusiDn  a^  had  never 
disgraced  Foppenheim  annals  sinte 
the  wars  of  Napoleon,  poor  Ogliosi^  ^ 
iro  was  helped  into  a  carriage  b}f  * 
Helena  and  his  friends. 

But  as  there  is  ever  a  comic  el& 
ment  in  humfioi  tragedy,  so  it  wa& 
now.  The  Griand  Duke,  who  had 
gone  to  bed  eaily,  appeared  on  the 
balcony  of  the  palace  iii  slippers 
and  dressing  gown,  thinking  that; 
perhaps,  IVussian  Annexation  or 
the  BocialistB  were  at  the  bottom  of 
the  uproar;  the  young  Princesses, 
who  were  sitting  up'  to  see  the 
torchlight  procession,  mshed  into 
their  governess's  bedroom-^f^eodora 
the  Mischievous  leaking  that  ple- 
thoric and  timid  lady  otot  of  her 
slumbers  by  shouting,  'A  revolu- 
tion !  a  revolution  !•  We  must  fly 
for  our  lives* — ^the  royal  att^id- 
ants  sleepy  and  stupid-~^ihe  Grand 
Duchess  in  curl-papers  and  peignoir 
finally  scolding  all  round,  and  re- 
storing order  with  the  presence  of 
mind  for  which  her  august  race 
was  remarkable. 

•  When  the  truth  reached  the 
palace,  the  royal  pair  were  not  a 
little  shocked  at  the  scandal  that 
must  ever  after  be  linked  with  the 
namesof  Ogliostro  and  Foppenheim. 
Enquiries,  however,  were  posted  ofi^ 
and  not  only  enquiries,  but  the 
Grand  Dukels  private  physician 
and  the  Duchess's  fav6uiite  plaister 
werei  despatched,  for  Ogliostro 
might  have  forfeited  royal  forgive- 
ness, but  Ogliostro  m^st  not  die. 
Both  Duke  and  Duchess  sat  up 
till  almost  daylight,  to  hear  the 
latest  particulars :  perhaps  the  time 

H   H  2 


440 


Ej^ieodes  in  the  Life  of  a  Musician, 


[Aprfl 


seemed  nntisnally  long,  as  they 
spent  the  time  in  conversation, 
taking  different  views  of  the  ques- 
tion, the  Duke  feeling  privately 
inclined  to  be  lenient  to  the  poor 
musician,  the  Duchess  more  than 
usually  severe.  When  at  last  news 
came  that  for  the  present,  at  least, 
there  was  no  danger,  they  retired 
to  rest. 

Next  day  the  more  didactic  of 
the  Poppenheim  world  were  a  little 
shocked  at  discovering  that  at  the 
bottom  of  the  mystery  lay  the 
musician's  fancy  for  a  gipsy  girl. 
Never  had  such  a  scandal  happened 
before.  Full  particulars  were  not 
to  be  had,  of  course,  but  thus  much 
transpired,  that  in  his  last  wander- 
ings he  had  testified  a  stronger  lik- 
ing for  this  girl  than  it  behoved  him 
to  do.  Some  went  so  far  as  to 
say  that  having  originally  come  of 
a  gipsy  stock  himself,  he  had  even 
promised  her  marriage.  It  was  well 
known  that  he  had  a  strong  inclina- 
tion for  the  music,  the  language, 
and  everything  else  connected  with 
her  race ;  and  story  after  story  was 
brought  forward  in  confirmation, 
not  only  of  his  gipsy  likings,  but 
his  gipsy  idiosyncrasies. 

What  more  Helena  knew  than 
this  she  discreetly  kept  to  herself, 
not  only  during  the  first  days  of 
suspense  and  anxiety,  but  during 
the  after  period  of  convalescence 
and  criticism. 

Had  our  Ogliostro  died  then,  it 
is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  the 
period  of  criticism  would  never  have 
set  in.  The  men  would  have  held 
their  peace;  the  women  would 
have  wept.  As  it  was,  the  wound, 
which  at  first  threatened  to  rob  the 
world  of  one  of  its  brightest  musical 
ornaments,  healed  slowly,  but  not 
so  slowly  that  by  the  time  he  was 
himself  again,  Poppenheim  had  for- 
given him.  Now  it  cannot  be  said 
that  Helena's  task  of  nursing  her 
hero  was  as  enchanting  as  her  more 
romantic  young  friends  might 
imagine.     The  Maestro  was,  as  we 


have  seen,  the  most  spoiled  of 
all  the  children  of  genius,  and 
like  all  spoiled  children  was  not 
amiable  under  the  discomfort  of 
pain,  the  tedium  of  confinement, 
and,  what  was  worse  than  aU,  the 
cloud  of  disapproval.  As  all  his 
other  lady  friends  kept  aloof  in 
virtuous  indignation,  the  Countess's 
forgiveness  only  going  so  ftir  as  to 
send  jellies,  which  he  insisted  upon 
being  thrown  out  of  the  window, 
Helena  had  to  bear  the  brunt  of 
all  his  caprices,  and  he  scolded  her 
and  ordered  her  to  do  this  and 
that  just  as  if  she  were  his  wife. 
And  there  was  not  only  this  to 
bear,  but  her  own  conduct  was  se- 
verely condemned.  No  one  wanted 
the  Maestro  to  be  neglected ;  there 
were  elderly  mothers  of  grown-np 
sons  who  would  have  taken  care 
of  him,  and  the  Duchess  offered 
to  send  a  nurse  from  the  palace: 
why,  then,  need  she  stay  ?  said  he? 
mother,  and  her  friends  Annchen 
and  Lotte,  and  the  austere  feminine 
world.  But  Helena  cared  little  for 
what  might  be  said  or  thought  of 
her  conduct,  and  kept  her  post  with 
unwavering  courage.  She  was  accns- 
tomed  to  a  hard  life:  it  was  no- 
thing to  her  to  have  to  keep  watch 
at  night,  dress  wounds,  cook  in- 
valid's food — in  fact  do  all  the  hard 
unpoetio  work  that  one  human 
being  entails  upon  another  in  severe 
illness.  She  knew  well  enough 
that  no  one  else  understood  the 
sick  man  and  his  humours  as  she 
did,  or  would  have  the  same  pa- 
tience with  them,  and  no  one  else 
would  have  been  so  rigidly  obedient 
in  the  fulfilling  those  orders,  *  Oat 
of  window,  to  the  cabbage -beds 
at  once ! '  when  flowers  or  some 
little  dainty  came  from  the  Coun- 
tess. Out  of  window,  to  the  cab- 
bage-beds, they  went,  roses,  con- 
fections, fruits,  no  matter  how  rare ; 
and  tbough  he  forbore  to  ireat  the 
Duchess's  gifts  in  the  same  manner, 
he  declared  that  a  posset  of  Helena's 
making  pleased  his  palate  better. 


187S] 


Episodes  in  the  Life  of  a  Musician, 


Ul 


However,  he  got  well  again,  aud 
upon  the  very  first  day  that  the  doctor 
was  dismissed,  Helena  was  bidden  to 
pack  his  portmanteau,  fetch  a  cab, 
and  see  him  off  to  Paris  by  the  next 
train,  without  saying  a  word  to  any 
living  soul.  The  train  started  in 
an  hour's  time,  and  she  had  no 
leisure  to  weep  or  sigh  over  what 
seemed  very  much  like  ingra* 
titade  on  his  part,  or  reflect  that 
lie  ought  to  have  accompanied  her 
home  and  mediated  with  her  mother 
on  her  behalf — done  something,  in 
fact,  to  smooth  things  for  the  poor 
little  nurse  who  had,  perhaps,  saved 
liis  hfe !  But  she  thought  of  none  of 
these  things,  and  when,  on  reaching 
the  station,  he  just  kissed  her  as  a 
father  might  have  done,  and  said 
she  was  the  dearest  and  best  little 
girl  in  Poppenheim,  she  walked 
hack  almost  elated,  set  to  work 
with  the  help  of  a  charwoman 
to  put  his  little  villa  in  order 
from  top  to  bottom,  and  when  it 
was  done,  returned  home,  to  make 
np  matters  witli  her  mother  and 
the  world  as  best  she  could.  Of 
course,  Ogliostro's  friends  of  his 
own  sex  took  Helena's  part,  and  it 
was  even  rumoured  that  the  stout 
Kapellmeister,  before  mentioned, 
wanted  to  many  her  outright.  Be 
this  as  it  may,  by  little  and  little, 
reconciliation  was  made  with  all, 
her  pupils  returned  one  by  one,  the 
Countess  sent  her  a  present  of 
jewels,  and  before  the  autumn  and 
winter  had  passed,  Helena  forgot 
the  obloquy  she  had  suffered  on 
the  Maestro's  behalf. 

Meantime  he  was  in  Paris,  paying 
his  debts — so  he  vn*ote  to  Helena — 
and  if  he  got  into  any  scrapes  there, 
rumoors  of  them  never  reached 
Poppenheim.  In  fact  his  escapades 
were  over. 

When  the  next  musical  season 
came  round,  neither  Ogliostro,  nor 
the  Countess,  nor  Helena  contri- 
buted to  those  entertainments  for 


which  the  little  city  was  famous. 
Ogliostro  was  still  in  Paris,  whither 
Helena  had  at  last  gone  under  his 
auspices,  and  was  ms^ing  her  debut 
as  a  pianiste ;  the  Countess  went  to 
Vienna ;  and  had  it  not  been  for  the 
brilliant  bridals  of  Feodora  the  Mis- 
chievous with  the  heir  apparent  of 
a  neighbouring  Duchy,  dull  indeed 
would  have  been  the  Poppenhei mere. 
But  what  was  the  general  surprise, 
some  time  after,  when  news  came 
of  Ogliostro*  s  marriage,  and  mar« 
riage  with  his  pupil  Helena,  who 
had  been  one  of  the  poorest  and 
least  admired  girls  in  Poppenheim  I 

It  seemed  incredible  that  the 
great  man  should  take  such  a  step 
in  the  zenith  of  his  reputation ;  yet 
his  princely  patron  was  well  pleased, 
and  his  intimate  friends  saw  in  this 
homely  alliance  the  best  guarantee 
of  a  worthy  career.  So  the  days  of 
Poppenheim  romance  and  adven- 
ture drew  to  an  end.  The  musician 
and  his  wife  soon  returned  to  the 
little  city,  and  quietly  settled  down 
there.  Society  became  at  last  sedate 
and  respectable. 

Music  and  art  still  reign  supreme 
there,  but  improprieties  andindiscre- 
tions  are  banished  forever.  Ogliostro 
and  the  Countess  are  now  stout  and 
elderly,  and  can  play  duets  without 
raising  a  breath  of  scandal.  Helena 
is  the  same  impetuous  creature  she 
ever  was,  but  her  impetuosity  does 
not  damage  her  reputation  as  when 
she  nursed  her  Maestro  in  the  days 
of  her  youth.  Whenever  the  cele- 
brated pair  make  a  musical  tour, 
they  create  a  sensation  and  reap  a 
golden  harvest.  But  that  is  seldom. 
They  are  devoted  to  each  other  and 
to  Poppenheim,  and  receive  at 
their  musical  parties  princes,  am- 
bassadors, poets,  artists,  wits,  and 
beauties.  But,  on  the  whole,  Pop- 
penheim is  quite  a  different  place  to 
what  it  was  twenty-five  years  ago ; 
and,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  a 
little  dull. 


442 


[April 


STAiniEY'S  LECTVBE8  ON  TB^  CffUBOE'  OF  SCOTLAND,'^ 
By  ALEXA]En>£R,  Falconer.         .   . 


fVlHEEE  ifl  no  mftn  living. in  these 
JL  islands  whose  dslibarate  opi« 
nion  on  any  portion  of  Ohnroh.BjJBk 
tozy  is  more  deserving  of  attention, 
and  is  more  certain  to'  geir  it^  than 
the  Dean  of  Westminster.  For  a 
generation  he  has  held  a  first  place 
as  a  lectnrer  on  this  important  sab* 
ject^  and  has  been  one  of  our  emi^ 
sent  writers  on  general  ecdesiasti* 
cal  topics.  To  no  small  number  of 
iheEnglish-speakingpeopleshis  wri- 
tings  have  long  been  a  sonroe  of  the 
bluest  delight ;  not  from  their  pro- 
found  spiiitnal  snggestiyeness,  but 
£N»n  their  power  of  characterisa- 
tion in  biogxaphioal  and  historical 
writing;  their  happy  manner  of 
illastrating  sacred  by  profane, 
and  ancient  by  modem  history; 
their  delightfaUy  life-like  descrip. 
tions ;  and  their  irare  appreciation 
of  everything  noble  in  human 
natore.  I  for  one  have  long  been 
proud  to  acknowledge  the  early 
mipulse  and  unbroken  influence 
reeeiyed  firom  his  writings. .  Never 
shall  I  forget  the  golden  time  of  my 
youth,  when  Arnold,  made  known 
through  Stanley's  biography  of 
him,  became  a  name  which  had 
power  to  stir  in  me,  as  it  still  has, 
tixe  deepest  emotions,  and  Rugby 
School  and  Chapel  were  more  real 
to  me  than  the  houses  I  daily  dwelt 
ixu  And  as  in  his. Lectures  on  the 
Eastern  Church  and  on  the  Jewish 
Church,  the  same  peouliarcharm  and 
the  same  high  qualitieB  were  present, 
has  .former  t  influence  was  not  only 
maintained,  but  was  deepened. 
-'  It  was  good  newsj  thmfore,^^  a 
wide  4sirole  of  readers,  to  bear  ..that 
the  same  distinguished  writer  pro- 
posed to  lecture  on  the  Sootmh 
Ch;nroh.  Expectation' in  morothan 
oommon  degree  was  inevitable  ;  for 


it  was  certain  that,  whatever  the 
lectures  mi^t  lade,  they  .  coqM 
hardly  fiiil  in  breadth  of  view  and 
picturesqueBess  of  style.  Accord- 
ingly when  Bumour  told  us  of  the 
Dean's  small  snocess  in  Edinburgh, 
t^e  disappointment  was  not  to  be 
disguised.  It  was  hoped,  however, 
that  when  the  lectures  were  pub- 
lished, and  conkL  be  read  away  troai 
all  popular  cries  or  influence,  the 
Northern  critics  would  be  found  to 
be  wrong,  or  at  least  too  hard  to 
please. 

Now  that  they  have  been  care- 
folly  revised  and  published,  it  must 
be  confessed  that  Rumour  spcke 
truly  regarding  them,  and  that 
those  who  hewd  them  had  some 
cause  for  dissatisfaction.  A '  narra- 
tive,' or '  a  complete  account  of  the 
Scottish  Church,'  the  lecturer  did 
not  propose  to  give  ;  and  '  some  of 
its  most  conspicuous  personages, 
such  as  John  Knox  and  Andrew 
Melville  ;  some  of  its  most  oonspi- 
cnous  features,  such  as  its  system  of 
education  and  of  discipline ;  some 
of  its  most  coBspicuons  events,  the 
General  Assembly  of  1638  and  the 
Disruption  of  1843,'.  he. thought  it 
best  to  pass  over  for  reasons  which 
all  could  respect.  Enough  was 
promised,  however.  'Such leading 
features  aa  would  serve  as  land^ 
marks  to  the  whole'  were  to  be  the 
burden  of  i^e  lectures.  There  was 
thus  still  scope  and  ocoasioneBongh 
for  a  show  of  iihe  Dean-s  hisfeoriflal 
sympathies .  and  insight,  and.  o£  Us 
power.to  handle  ph2o8aplBea]ly  a 
really  knotty  subject,  jjooked  at 
from  any  « point,  his  .cnbjeat.  ^vas 
hedged  about  with  difficulties-;  hot 
as  genius  has  a  wonderful  wagtail 
times  of  dispelling  tfae^e,  so^geuiss 
it  was  thought  might  veryJikely 


*  Lectures  on  the  Hiatary  of  tke  Church  of  Scotland,  ddivered  in  Edinburgh  im  1873. 
Bj  A.  P.  Stanley,  D.D.    London :  Murray. 


1878] 


Stanley^ 8  ^  Lectures  on  ike  Church  of  ScoUandJ 


443 


aocompliali  tliis  in  Hke  present  in- 
siianoe. 

The  Dean,  it  is  to  be  regretted,  has 
not  acoomplished  this,  although  he 
has  done  his  best. .  It  is  well  that 
his  reputation  as  an  ecdesiastical 
MsioBan  is  already  made;  for  no 
fresh  honours,  I  fear,  will  oome  to 
him  bj  these  lectures.     Here  and 
there  are  passages  in  his  charming 
descriptiYe  way,  equal  to  any  he 
has  written  ;  but  more  frequently 
there  are  others,  where  dear  in- 
sight and  sound  historical  discrimi- 
nation  were  called  for,  in  his  worst 
maimer.    The  truth  is,  he  has  been 
imfortnnate  in  his  subject.    He  may 
know   the    literature  of  Scotland 
thoronghly  ;  but  he  does  not  know 
the  people  of  Scotland,  either  as 
they  are,  or  as  they  have  reflected 
themselyes  in  theirnationi^religious 
life,  and  has   thus  missed — or  it 
may  be  ignored-i-the  central,  car- 
dinal  principle  of.  their    religious 
history.     Pretty  well  read  in  the 
cfvil  and  ecclesiastical  history  of 
the  haughty  little  Northern  State, 
and  in  the  estimates  of  most  writers 
of  it ;  and  having  long  considered 
it,  as  the  Dean  wisely  recommends 
in  his  introductory  lectures  to  his 
Eoitem  Churchy  by  the  aids .  of  the 
traditions  and  tempers  of  the  people 
themselTes — of   the   baronial    and 
eoelesiastical     antiquities    of    the 
country — ^and  of  the  moorlands  and 
moBshfl^  of  the  West^  it  was  with 
a  touch  of  real  pain  that  I  saw,  in 
the  second  and  third  lectures  especi-* 
ally,  that  the  old  charm  and  power 
were  wanting.     Again  and  again 
as  I  read  I  asked  myself:  if  this 
ooald  really  be  meant  for  Scottish 
histoiy?  if    these   sketches  could 
possibly    be    intended    for     true 
sketches  of  those  scenes  which  haye 
made  tibe  history  of  .Scotland  from 
the  Befonnation  to  the  Beyolntion 
)o  ■JTignV^y  aad   so.  significant?  if 
these  were  indeed  ^tha  objects  for 
which    sncGOSsive   generations    of 


Scotsmen  had  parted  with  eyery- 
thing  dear  to  the  human  hearty  and  • 
struggled  to. the  death  against  the 
most  iniquitous  misgoyemment 
that  eyer  disgraced  our  annals  ?  if 
these  were  the  lessons  taught  us 
and  all  generations  of  Christian 
freemen,  these  and  none  others,  by 
the  moving  incidents  of  Soo^h 
histoiy  from  1584  to  1688  P  At 
the  best,  turn  it  as  you  may,  his 
picture  is  but  a  faint  and  hazy  like- 
ness of  the  original.  Something  is 
wanting  to  place  you  in  true  ac- 
cord with  the  times.  You  look  in 
vain,  too,  for  that  censure  ori^pro- 
bation,  for  what  is  called  '  the  judg- 
ment of  posterity,'  on  the  chief 
actors  and  actions  of  the  history, 
which  no  carefully  drawn  portraits 
of  Leighton  and  Rutherford  and 
the  like  will  for  a  moment  make- 
up  for.  Less  appreciative  of  the 
national  sentiment  and  aims  of  the 
Scottish  people  during  the  above 
terrible  century  of  their  existence, 
than  Mr.  Buclde  in  his  justly  dis- 
liked History  of  CivUisaium  m 
ScotUmdf^  mild  in  praise  and  as  mild 
in  blame,  it  is  only  too  clear  eve  the 
volume  is  finished  that,  whatever* 
the  Dean  may  have  striven  to  do,  it' 
is  at  least  not  in  his  colourless  sen*- 
tences  that  the  characteristic  ^  lead- 
ing features  *  of  Scottish  Church 
History  are  reflected,  nor  their 
meaning  truly  divined. 

We  were  justified  in  looking  Sov 
veiy  difiierent  treatment  from  so 
distinguished  a  writer  as  the  Dean 
of  Westminster.  The  subject  is 
one  ^worthy  of  any  historian ;  and 
was  capable  of  the  most-  satis- 
&otory  consideration  even  from  its 
ecclesiastical  side.  For  it  has  an 
intrinsic  glovy  of-  its.  own^  and  an 
imperishable  interest  and  instnuv 
tiveness :  the-  same  which  shiae  so 
splendidly  in  the  Dutch  and  French 
and  English ,  an^ials^  in  the  samei 
centuries,  where,  pr^emineai  above 
all  else,  appear   the   doctrines  of 


*  Compare  BncJde,  VoL  UL  ch.  ii.  and  iii.^  with  Stanley,  Leet.  III. 


444 


Stanley^ 8  '  Leciures  on  the  Church  of  Scotland.* 


[April 


popular  rights,   liberty  of   speech 
and    liberty  of    conscience.       We 
were  justitied,  I  think,  in  looking 
for    hearty   sympathy  vrith    these 
from  a  lover  of  freedom  of  thonght 
like    Dean   Stanley.     We  did  not 
look  nor  wish  for  his  opinions  on 
Presby  terianism  versus  Episcopacy ; 
but  we  did  look  for  his  frank  and 
decided  opinions  on  *  such  leading 
features*   of  the  long  struggle  of 
the   Scottish    nation   for   religious 
liberty  against  their  Stuart  kings, 
as  historical   writers   have   always 
seen  in  it,  unless  they  were  of  the 
Bancroft  .or  Laud  school.     Surely 
it  was  possible,  300  years  after  the 
period  to  be  described,  and  with  all 
the  evidence    long    before    us,   to 
arrive   at  the  truth  concerning  it 
without  any  bitterness  of  spirit  or 
manifest  one-sidedness !    Surely  the 
passions  which  raged  at  Bothwell 
Brig  and  Drumclog  do  not  so  sur- 
vive among  us,  as  to  prevent  us 
being  judges    and  not    partisans! 
Surely  there  are  scenes  enough  in 
that  memorable  contest  worthy  of 
the  cherished  regard  of  any  Chris- 
tian or  of  any  patriot — as  beyond 
all  controversy  there  are  too  many 
deserving  of  loathing  and  abhor- 
rence.    There  was  much  room  for 
such  an  expression,  therefore.     It 
was  a  rare  opportunity  for  words 
of  noble  indignation  and  generous 
appreciation.     The  occasion  indeed 
was  a  crucial  one.     Its  issue  some- 
how has  been  fraught  with  no  ap- 
parent   good.       On    the   contrary, 
deep  offence  has  been  given  to  the 
religious  majority  of  the  nation; 
and  every  one  of  the  sections  of  the 
Church,  Established,  Free,  United 
Presbyterian,     and     the     Scottish 
Episcopal  too,   have   shown    their 
displeasure  or  dissatisfaction  at  the 
Dean's  treatment  of  his  subject. 

For  these  feelings  there  must  be 
good  reasons.  Party  spirit  of  course 
must  have  provoked  and  coloured 
them    to    some    extent ;   but    the 


spirit  expressed  in  their  proud 
motto,  Nemo  me  impune  IcLcessit, 
could  not  have  been  so  widely 
shown  by  the  laity  in  the  press  and 
by  the  clergy  on  the  platform,  on 
the  matter,  unless  from  a  real  and 
substantial  cause.  What  are  those 
reasons?  Wherein  and  why  has 
Dean  Stanley  offended?  These 
questions  cover  the  entire  contro- 
versy :  and  now  that  the  first  heats 
of  it  have  calmed  down,  and  both 
siHes  have  said  their  best,^  the 
present  seems  an  opportune  moment 
for  a  careful  consideration  of  the 
whole  subject. 

Here  it  may  be  permitted  me  to 
say  that  if  I  dissent  from  the  con- 
clusions of  these  lectures  and  com- 
plain of  some  remarks  in  them,  it  is 
with  some  trepidation  that  I  ventore 
to  do  so — that  I  venture  to  point 
out  the  mistakes  of  a  man  whose 
name  has  lain  like  a  spell  so  \on^ 
upon  me.  But  a  more  potent  spell 
moves  me  to  it.  Deeply  as  the 
Scholar  may  revere  the  Master, 
little  has  his  teaching  been  worth  if 
it  has  not  taught  him  to  revere  his 
own  convictions  and  conclusions  as 
the  most  priceless  of  his  possessions. 
Till  now  I  have  loyally  given  the 
Dean  of  Westminster  much  of  m 
allegiance,  for  to  bim  I  owe  some 
of  the  most  intense  intellectnal  in- 
fluences and  most  exquisite  intel- 
lectual pleasures  of  my  hfe.  If, 
therefore,  I  cannot  still  give  it,  it  is 
because  I  must  not.  I  have  not  so 
read  the  History  of  Scotland  as  to 
see  the  '  features  '  of  the  Scottish 
Church  to  be  what  he  describes 
them  to  be. 

The  reasons,  then,  of  this  nn- 
fortunate  effect  of  these  lectures 
seem  to  me  to  be  two-fold.  Dean 
Stanley  has  made  mistakes,  (0 
as  a  Stranger,  (2)  as  an  His- 
torian. The  first  was  nafcai«l 
enough ;  as  the  most  shrewd  and 
sagacious  observers  are  liable  to 
carry    away     wrong    impressions. 


The  Spectator,  June  and  July  1872  ;  Contemporary  Review^  October  1S72,  Ait  ^L 


1S73]  Stanley's  '  Lectures  on  the  Ghurch  of  Scotland.' 


445 


Bat  there  is    snch   a  thing  as  a 
man  being   disqualified  from   one 
cause  or   other    for    accurate   ob- 
servation.     Odr  associations  and 
interests  have  an  imperious  sway 
over  our  judgments — nay,  a  spell 
from  which  few  can  rid  themselves. 
And   I  venture    to    suggest  that 
Dean  Stanley  was  somewhat  dis- 
qualified, from  such  causes,  for  his 
chosen  task.     A  lifetime  spent  in 
the  precincts  of  Oxford  and  West- 
minster,-amid  the  hallowed  memo- 
ries of  the  martyrs  and  scholars, 
the  princes    and  prelates    of    the 
Church  of  England,  and  with  his 
every  thought  and  feeling  more  or 
less    affected    by    tlie  various  in- 
flaences  of  these,   was  certain,   I 
think,  to  render  him  somewhat  in- 
capable of   rightly   understanding 
the   Churcli    of    Scotland,    whose 
history  is  in  the  main  the  record  of 
a  prolonged  deadly  struggle  against 
those  principles  and  forms  of  wor- 
ship which  are  dear  to  him  above 
all  others.      Ho   could  have  little 
personal  sympathy  with   it  in  its 
origin    and    in    its  historical   ten- 
dencies; or  little  warmth   of  per- 
sonal appreciation.       What    asso- 
ciations he  had  of  it  could  only  so 
far  unfit  him    for   comprehending 
justly  the  spirit  which  is  embodied 
and  the  deeds  which  are  told  in  the 
ScoU  Worthies  and  Cloud  of  Wit- 
ncuiis.    For  the  very  same  reasons 
it  is  not  to  be  expected  that  a  *  true 
blue '  Presbyterian,  Irish  or  Scotch, 
can  read  English  Church  History, 
or  appreciate  many  existing  English 
Church   questions,  with  any   con- 
siderable  degree  of  truth  or  tender, 
ness.     It  is  impossible  for  him,  for 
example,  to  understand  the  awe  and 
devout  feeling  of  the  Englishman 
for,  and  in  presence  of,  the  glorious 
sanctuaries  of  his  land.     He  may 
admire  them,  but  it  will  be  as  a 
structure  of  stone  and  mortar,  and  is 
incapable  of  doing  more.  He  is  likely 
to  be  much  puzzled,  too,  why  others 
can  have   different  feelings.      An 
admirable  illustration  of  this  prin- 


ciple is  found  in  a  story  told  by 
Hugh  Miller,  no  common  Scot,  of 
himself  in  his  First  Impressions  of 
England.  He  had  gone  to  see  York 
Cathedral,  and  felt  more,  it  is  safe 
to  say,  in  beholding  that  wondrous 
pile  than  most  men.  *  But  so 
little,'  he  says,  *  had  my  Presby- 
terian education  led  me  to  associate 
the  not  unelevated  impulses  of  the 
feeling  with  the  devotional  spirit, 
that,  certainly  without  intending  any 
disrespect  to  either  the  national 
religion  or  one  of  the  noblest  ec- 
clesiastical buildings  of  England,  I 
had  failed  to  uncover  my  head,  and 
was  quite  unaware  of  the  gross 
solecism  I  was  committing,  until 
two  of  the  officials,  who  bad  just 
ranged  themselves  in  front  of  the 
organ- screen  to  usher  the  dean  and 
choristers  into  the  choir,  started 
forward,  one  from  each  side  of  the 
door,  and,  with  no  little  gesticu- 
latory  emphasis,  induced  me  to 
take  off  my  hat.  "  Off  hat,  sir,  off 
hat ! "  angrily  exclaimed  the  one. 
"  Take  off  your  liat,  sir !  "  said 
the  other.  The  peccant  beaver  at 
once  sank  by  my  side,  and  I  apolo- 
gised. "  Ah,  a  Scotchman !  "  ejacu- 
lated the  keener  official  of  the  two, 
his  cheek  meanwhile  losing  some 
of  the  hastily  summoned  red ;  "I 
thought  so."  '  He  waited  over  the 
service.  It  *  seemed  rather  a  poor 
thing  on  the  whole  .  .  .  and  does 
not  represent  a  Hving  devotion,  but 
a  devotion  that  perished  centuries 
ago.  ...  It  reminded  me-  of  the 
story  told  by  the  Eastern  traveller, 
who,  in  exploring  a  magnificent 
temple,  passed  through  superb  por- 
ticoes and  noble  hails,  to  find  a 
monkey  enthroned  in  a  little  dark 
sanctum,  as  the  god  of  the  whole.' 

Now  that  is  the  very  manner 
and  sentiment  of  the  stranger,  and 
in  a  book  of  travels  it  is  quite 
allowable.  But  when  the  same 
sentiment  appears  in  the  form  of 
historical  judgments  upon  a  people 
and  their  ways,  it  is  not  to  be 
so  allowed.     For  whoever  will  so 


446 


Stanley's  *  Lectures  an  fJie  Church  of  Scotland,* 


[April 


judge  is  bound  to  acquaint  himself 
■with  every  point'  of  his  case,  and 
ought  for  the  time  to  become  one 
of  the  people  themselves,  seeing  as 
tiiey  see  and  Ibeling  as  they  feel, 
before  he  can  hope  to  speak  with 
authority,  or.  pass  other  than  a  one- 
nded  vesdict.  ¥eiw  men  have  this 
rare  combination  of  sympathetic 
insight  and  judicial  calm.  De 
Tocqueyille's  great  work  on  the 
United  States  of  America  and  Qui- 
aK)t*s  English  Bevolutiofisre  two  bril- 
liant French  examples  of  it  ^miliar 
to  most  of  us ;  and  Hunter's  Annals 
of  BmralBengal^  the  first  account  of 
Indian  history  by  an  Englishman 
which  thoroughly  comprehends  and 
&irly  judges  the  genius  of  the 
Indian  races,  is  of  the  same  dis- 
tinguished order  of  merit.  It  is 
the  absence  of  this  quality  which  is 
the  conspicuous  feature  in  these  lee- 
iMires.  Dean  Stanley  may  have 
mixed  as  a  stranger  with  the  re- 
presentative classes  of  the  nation 
whose  religious  history  he  meant 
to  criticise,  anxious  only  to  know 
'  their  views  and  opinions.  •  He  may 
have  been  down  in  the  dales  of 
Dumfriesshire,  and  the  moorlands  of 
Lanarkshire,  to  glean  the  traditions 
and  to  note  the  tempers  of  their 
shrewd,  thoughtful  inhabitants 
about  'Glavers'  and  the  <  killing 
times,'  and  '  the  forced  settlements.' 
If  so,  and  with  all  the  facts  and 
probabilities^  before  him,  it  seems 
strange  indeed  he  should  speak  as  he 
does  <^  Scott  and  Bums,  c^  the  €o- 
venanters  and  the  Moderates;  On 
these  subjeets-^-and  they  are  typical 
ones*— I  am  bound  to-  say  he  is  very 
&r  wrong,  as  far  as  the' Englishmen 
who,  when  travelliifg  in  the  Hi]gh- 
landa  th]!ough  «  deer  forest,  and 
Seeing  na  wooding  as  l^ey  had  seen 
in  the  deer  parks  of  the  South, 
Bsked  the'  giUie  where  the  trees 
•were.   *  Trees  \  *  excfadmed  *  Donald 


in  astonishment,  *  wha  ev^r  heard 
o*  trees  in  a  deer  forest?  ' 
-  Burns  and  Scott,  he  says,  were, 
and  still  are,  such  forces  in  Scot- 
land, that  *no  Scottish  eoclesiastical 
history  worthy  of  the  name '  may 
overlook  them;  for  * ea^^h  jmt^ 
his  title  to  be  considered  noi  oidij 
as  a  poet,  hut  as  a  prophet — not 
ofdy  as  a  delightful  compawum,  hui 
as  a  wise  reUgious  teacher,^  The 
Ayrshire  Bard  did  not  live  'in 
vain  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  philo- 
sophic clergy  and  laity  of  the  last 
century,  whose  kindly  and  genial 
spirit  saved  him  from  being  driven 
by  the  extravagant  pretensions  of 
the  popular  Scottish  religion  into 
absolute  unbelief.  Much  as  there 
may  be  in  his  poems  that  we  lament, 
yet  even,  they  retain  fragments  of 
doctrine  not  less  truly  EvangeHcai 
than  philosophical.'  The  great 
Novelist '  has  sounded  all  the  depths 
and  shoals  of  Scottish  ecclesiasdcal 
history ;'  and  has  handled  most  of  the 
graver  questions  of  Life  find  Belief 
with  so  much  wisdom  and  power  in 
his  mighty  works  of  fiction,  as 
Ailly  to  warrant  him  being  -called 
'  one  of  the  great  religious  teachers 
of  Scottish  Christendom.'  Happy 
indeed  is  *  that  Church  which  luis 
been  blessed  with  such  a  theologian, 
whose  voice  can  be  heard  by  those 
whom  no  sermons  ever  reach,  pro- 
claiming lessons  which  no  preacher 
or  divine  can  afford  to  despise  or  to 
neglect.'* 

Now,  not  more  certainly  did 
Hugh  Miller  proclaim  himadf  a 
stranger  by  his  -teanners  in  York 
Cathedral,  than  does  the  Bean  of 
Westminster  by  these  opinions  of 
his  of  the  influence  of  Bums  and 
Scott  on  their  oouiitry.  Nerer  did 
h^  hear  or  see  auffht  in^dmrehor 
in  cottage  in  Scotund  to  lead  him 
to  'f^ueh  conclusions,  whicl^  must 
have  sbunded  queer  enough  to- an 


* '  To  ns,  Probability  Ss  the  very  guide  of  life,*  siys  Butler  (Introduction  to  Analogy^ 
and  therefore,  in  Historical  Criticism,  one  of  the  surest  of  principles. 
'    ^LecturelV. 


1873] 


Statiley^s  '  Lectures  on  the  Church  of  Scotland.* 


447 


Edinburgh  audience,  and  oonld  onlj 
excite  ihe  amusement  of  some,  tha 
lidicale  and  frown  of  others.  Bums 
*a  prophet  M  BJe  is  and  has  long 
been  the  idol  of  his  countrymen  as 
the  most  glorious  of  song^  writers ; 
he  who  haS'  touched  their  hearts 
and  expressed  their  feelings^  as  no 
other  has:  but  who  ever  heard  a 
Scotsman  claimang  this  character 
for  him,  or  doing  homage  to  his 
name  as  a  smiter  of  iniquity,  and 
a  fearless  upholder  of  God's  right- 
eousness  and  claims  before  a  widced 
generation  ?  Who  ever  owned  him 
as  one  whose  words  had  searched 
his  sonl  and  shaken  his  self-corn- 
plaoency,  and  nerved  him  afiresh  to 
a  life  of  self-conquest  and  faith  P> 
Bums  was  not  made  of  the  stuff 
that  prophets  are  made  of;  and  no 
man  was  move  aware  of  this  than 
himself,  as  his  own  words  all  too 
conspicuously  show.  A  Poet  he 
was  of  the  most  poetical  of  tem« 
peraments ;  in  constancy  and  clear- 
ness and  courageousness  of  thought 
and  action,  the  farthest  remove 
from  the  nobler  office  of  Prophet. 

No,  Dean  Stanley,  the  truth,  since 
it  must  be  told,  lies  all  the  other 
way.  Thousands  of  youthful  Soots-, 
men  have  in  their  day  found  Burns 
to  be  no  '  light  from  heaven ;'  to 
be,  though  rarely  gifted,  no  heaven- 
ward teacher — 

Misled  by  Fancy's  meteor-ray, 
By  Passion  driren. 

rhey  have  oanght  up  wrong  notions 
)f  earnest,  -even  if  narrow,  veh- 
^ns  life  fW>m  his  far  from  &ult- 
ess  satires,  by  their  oonfeunding 
he  pratctiees  of  -Christian  men  an 
herein  deiseribed  with^  Ohristian 
>rinoip]68,  ior  which  he,  oi  oourae, 
s;diroBtlj  blameable.  •  You  hardly 
ivw  meet  -  a  wild  West .  country 
^t,  bat  yaa  find  his  eharpest 
hrnstd  at  nsevals  and  men  to  be 
larbed  with  some  of  *  Babbie's? 
lonble-edged    lines.      Had   Bums 


been  the  least  conscious  of  being 
'  a  prophet,'  these  could  never  have 
been  penned.  But  he  was  not 
aware  of  anything  of  the  sort :  ho 
was  :only  aware  of  his  newly  di»* 
oorvered  powers  of  satire,  which,  as : 
he  himself  tells  usy  with  '  a  joertain 
description  of  the  clergy  as  well  as 
laity,  had  met  with  a  roar  of  ap« 
plause ;'  and  revelling  in  these,  he 
had  little,  if  any,  regard  for  any- ' 
thing,  if  only  he  saw  their  imme- 
diate stinging  effect  upon  *  saints ' 
and  '  sinners^'  His  Addreas,  to  the 
Unco  Quid  is  admirable  in  spirit  and . 
point,  touching  us  all  in  some  of 
its  lines,  and  in  none  oi  them  con- 
founding principles  with  practice^ 
and  therefore  worthy  of  the  writer 
of  The  Cottar'8  Saturday  Night.i 
but  will  Dean  Stanley  say  that  in  his . 
Holy  Fair^  and  in  his  most  pungent 
pieces  (to  say  nothing  of  several  of; 
his  other  poems.  The  Jolly  Beggars 
for  example),  there  is  no  downright 
delighting  in  things  irreligious,  and 
that  we  must  not  all  regret^  with 
the  poet's  mother  and  brother,  and. 
most  genial  critics,  that  Buma 
should  have,  been  tempted  to  deal 
with  such  subjects?  ^  The  power 
these,  poems  show,  I  am  not  con- 
cerned about  as  to  its  degree,  but. 
its  use ;  and  that,  it  is  needless  to? 
say,  is  of  the  earth,  earthy — ^the 
most  decisive  proof  ihat^  wnatever 
Bums  was,  it  yras  not  ^  a  prophet.' 
The  same  must  be  said  of  muck 
else  he  has  written,  peerless  in 
beanty  as  it  is^  and  unapproached 
in  tenderness.  Like  Byron,  in  his 
fiery  intellectual  force,  so  was.  he 
like,  him  in  his  whirlwind .  play  of 
paeaion.  His  Songs  are  simply  juart 
vellous, .  excelling  all  oth^r  meu'a 
songs  in  their  charm  of  expresskm^* 
whence  they,  have  won  the  heart  of 
the  world,  the  laughter  and  tears  of 
aU  who  speak  our  tong«e«.  And  yet 
who  will  say  that  ^ey  have  not 
kindled  many  a  forbidden*  flame  9 
Who  has  not  many  times  wished 


*  Itfe  and  Work$  of  RobeH  Bums,  by  R.  Chamben.    VoL  I.  pp.  82,  138,  270. 


44S 


Stanley's  *  Lectures  on  the  Church  of  Scotland,* 


[April 


that  the  laurel  had  grown  greener  on 
hifi  brows,  and  that  he  had  uttered 
nothing  base?  As  a  Poet  we  all 
know  and  love  hira,  most  of  us  cor- 
dially agreeing  with  Carlyle's  tender 
and  eloquent  words  on  his  manifold 
frailties.  But  as  a  Prophet,  whose 
life  and  lips  were  consistently  and 
continually  protesting  against  the 
more  notable  sins  and  folUes  of  the 
day,  it  is  impossible  for  us  so  to 
think  of  him — impossible. 

As  for  Scott's  religious  influence, 
the  Dean's  opinion  on  that  may  safely 
be  called  either  *  a  traveller's  tale,'  or 
one  of  those  *  mare's  nests  *  which 
quick-biuincd  students,  who  decide 
so  much  by  'intuition,'  are  always 
discovering.  He  has  come  in  the 
sweet  seclusion  of  his  study  to  see 
in  the  characters  and  scenes  of  the 
Waverley  Novels  what  he  claims  for 
them.  But  who  else  has  found  what 
he  has  ?  Who  sees  as  he  sees  ? 
What  traces  in  Scottish  thought  or 
among  the  Scottish  peasantry  has 
he  found  of  the  power  he  speaks  of  ? 
Scotland  owes  much,  very  much,  to 
her  great  Novelist,  and  has,  as  we 
all  lately  saw,  been  ready  to  ac- 
knowledge this  :  his  gallery  of 
worthies  she  proudly  points  to  as 
next  in  power  and  genuine  human 
interest  to  those  of  the  greater 
Shakespeare  :  but  I  am  not  aware 
that  she  ever  believed  she  was 
indebted  to  him  for  any  of  her 
religious  ideas,  or  thought  of  him  as 
a  *  great  religious  teacher,'  who  had 
lifted  and  cleared  her  spiritual 
horizon.  Now,  however,  that  the 
religious  worth  of  Old  Mortality  and 
Ouy  Mannering  and  the  rest  of  that 
wonderful  series  has  been  pointed 
out,  it  is  just  possible  of  course  that 
all  of  us,  our  Northern  neighbours 
especially,  may  see  cause  to  change 
our  opinions.  As  yet,  however,  our 
neighbours  have  not  gone  to  him  to 
find  lessons  for  the  right  regulating 
of  their  lives,  for  clearer  views  of 


Faith  and  Duty,  for  glimpses  of  the 
Land  that  is  afar  off.  *'  It  would  re- 
quire a  separate  lecture  to  point  out 
the  services  which  he  has  rendered 
to  the  Church  of  Great  Britain  as 
well  as  of  Scotland,'  says  the  Dean. 
There  are  not  nmny  of  the  same 
opinion.^ 

If  on  points  like  these,  lying 
within  the  range  of  any  man's  ob- 
servation, the  Dean  h£hs  caught  up 
opinions  for  which  there  are  no  real 
grounds,  it  must  be  from  some 
wrongness  in  his  mode  of  observing, 
or  some  fault  in  his  judgment,  or 
from  both.  I  believe  it  is  from 
both.  These  two  men  he  exalts 
into  positions  only  claimed  by  their 
•countrymen  and  others  for  Knox 
and  Chalmers.  T  he  proofs  he  gires 
of  this  are  personal  opinions !  He 
has  himself  received  certain  impres- 
sions from  them,  and  certain  iufln- 
ences  from  their  writings;  and 
dwelling  on  these,  away  from  all 
counterbalancing  influences,  and 
letting  drop,  unawares,  out  of  view 
all  doubtful  aspects  of  their  histon*, 
charmed  by  their  splendid  intel- 
lectual gifts  and  their  large  hmnan 
kindness,  ho  has  come  to  think  of 
them  and  feel  towards  them  verr 
tenderly,  and  making  liimself  a 
measure  of  others,  must  needs  snp- 
pose  that  what  they  have  been  u> 
him  they  have  been  to  most. 
And  so,  strong  in  his  own  par- 
tialities,  and  confident  in  their 
soundness,  and  without  ascertaining 
first  of  all  and  beyond  doubt  the 
actual  state  of  things,  he  startles  his 
hearers  in  Scott's  *  own  romantic 
town '  by  his  announcement  of  a 
new  *  prophet,'  and  of  a  great 
unknown  *  religious  teacher.* 

The  same  idealising  tendency 
leads  him  in  his  fourth  lecture  into 
several  minor  mistakes  about  liv- 
ing or  recently  living  men.  He 
confounds  their  potential  ivitii  I 
their  actual  influence.     To  be  thos 


'  Carlyle's  very  emphatic  opinion  as  to  both  Scott  and  Bams,  is  directly  the  contiaiT 
of  the  Dean's.    80  is  Professor  Wilson's  as  to  Barns. 


1878] 


Stanlei/s  *  Lectures  on  the  Church  of  Scotland.* 


449 


is  to  be  poetical,  not  judicial,  not  his- 
torical The  poetical  element  is  the 
leading  one  in  Dean  Stanley's  mind, 
however ;  the  sonrce  of  the  finest 
and  most  satisfactory  parts  of  his 
writings.    So  long  as  he  is  dealing 
with  matters  which  suit  this  kind 
of  mind,  we  are  in  a  master's  hand ; 
so  soon,  however,  as  we  come  to 
matters  demanding  a  decisive  alter- 
native, a   clear  summing   up,   on 
which  action  may  at  once  be  t&ken, 
the  hand  grows  undecided.  Let  his 
historical  imagination  work  on  the 
far  Past,  and    you  have  pictures 
which  give  serenest  satisfaction,  as 
his  Egyptian  &nd  Palestinian  ones, 
his  Council  of  Niciea,  his  portraits 
of  the  Fathers  of  the  Jewish  Church ; 
but  where  a  full  acceptanc^or  rejec- 
tion, with  all  the  grounds  of  either, 
is  proper,  where  a  careful  scrutiny 
and  a  frank   statement  of  all  the 
facts  of  the  case  are  demanded,  a 
golden  haze  steals  over  the  scene, 
and  jon  generally  miss  what  you 
most  desire.     His  is  not  a  keen,  in- 
cisive intellect.     On   the  contrary, 
he  hates  whatever  supposes  final 
settlement,  and  turns  away  in  grief 
or  in  scorn  from   those  who  press 
for  fixed  forms  of  thought  or  wor 
ship.    So  many  points  he  sees,  and 
io  many  possibilities,  that  he  feels 
ix}nnd  to  .let  dogmas  and  decisions 
"ery  much   alone.       And  looking 
»ck  over  the  history  of  Christen- 
lom  he  sees  in  the  horrors  of  her 
elisions  wars  the  most  persuasive 
treasons  to  this  course  for  himself 
nd  others. 

A  man  of  this  mental  idiosyn- 
rasy  has  no  scent  of  battle,  and  is 
n  but  sure  to  be  a  lover  of  peace  at 
nj  price.  Hence  it  was  a  mistake, 
think,  for  the  Dean  of  Westmin- 
er  to  have  anything  to  do  with 
le  history  of  a  Church  which  liter- 
ly  bristles  with  the  records  of 
ittle  and  dissension,  and  whose 
ading  characters  and  events  are 


such  as  he  constitutionally  most 
dislikes  and  avoids.  How  could  he 
succeed,  his  nature  and  his  educa- 
tion being  what  they  are  ?  Had  he 
no  prescience  of  this  himself  ?  Had 
he  no  prescience  either  that  great 
national  movements  can  only  be 
understood  by  the  people  whose 
disposition  they  represent  ?  If,  a» 
is  most  likely,  he  had,  his  wisdom 
would  surely  have  been  to  have 
decided  to  let  it  alone,  contenting^ 
himself  with  saying  of  Scottish 
Presbyterianism  what  the  gifted 
Bunsen  once  said  of  English  Pro- 
testantism, that  for  his  part  he 
could  not  conceive  how  we  had 
managed  to  come  by  such  a  thing. 
He  decided  otherwise,  and  hence 
his  capital  errors  as  an  historian. 

I  have  said  above  that  ^he  hns 
missed — or  it  may  he  ignored — the 
central,  cardinal  principle  of  the  re- 
ligimis  history  of  Scotland,*  Nearly 
all  Scotsmen  are  proud  of  the  his- 
tory of  their  country  from  the  Re- 
formation to  the  Revolution ;  and 
most  historians,  I  prefer  not  to 
name  the  exceptions,  think  they 
have  just  cause.  Why  ?  For  from 
the  hour  when  the  old  Church 
utterly  and  ignominiously  fell, 
hardly  one  voice  being  lifted  in  its 
behalf,  to  the  hour  when  William 
of  Orange  gave  peace  to  Britain, 
the  history  of  Scotland  and  of  the 
Scottish  Church  is  the  history  of  a 
contest  between  the  pretensions  of 
the  Crown  and  the  privileges  of  the 
People.  The  hour  which  rang  the 
knell  of  the  Romish  Priesthood  was 
the  birth-hour  of  the  Scottish 
People  ;  and  with  Knox  as  their 
spiritual  and  political  father,  they 
originated  and  adopted  ideas  which 
struck  at  the  root  of  all  power  not 
based  upon  the  free  will  of  the 
people.  Fopxdar  election  and  popti' 
lar  representation  were  the  grand 
fundamental  ideas  of  the  Reformed 
Church^    If  allowed  to  operate  at 


^Eisay  on  the  Ecclesiastical  History  of  Scotland j  by  the  Duke  of  Argyll,  1849,  ch.  ii. 
a  acute,  philosophical  tract. 


450 


Stanley* 8  ^Lecivres  on  tJie  Ghwth  of  Scotland* 


[Ipril 


all,  Bucli  ideas  could  not  fail  of  con- 
«eqtLences  to  the  governed  and  the 
governing  classes  whicli  in  the  end 
wonld  be  twice  blessed.  But  Ar- 
bitrary, irresponsible  power,  the 
divine  right  of  king9>  was  still  a 
consecrated  weapon,  which  no  voice 
had  yet  successfuUy  called  in 
question  nor  force  struck  down. 
In  Scotland,  however,  and  by  the 
Scottish  Church  or  Nation,  for  they 
were  one,  this  was  now  to  be  done. 
Whatever  were  the  forms  of  it, 
whatever  the  manner  and  matter 
of  argument,  it  was  ever  the  same 
principle  which  was  involved  in  the 
contests  which  began  in  1560,  the 
principle,  namely,  of  the  Liberty  of 
the  People.  Knox  struggled  for 
it  against  Mary  Stuart-— Melville 
against  King  James — ^Henderson 
and  the  Covenanters  against 
Charles  I.  and  his  sons.  He  who 
does  not  see  this,  does  not  see  at  all ; 
and  he  who  sees  it  and  does  not  tell 
it  out  in  clearest  tones,  juggles  with 
the  most  momentous  facts  in  our 
history,  and  cheats  those  men  who 
made  them,  of  their  due  reward, 
the  homage  .of  generations  who 
enjoy  the  blessings  they  won. 

If  this  was  the  priceless  heritage 
bequeathed  by  these  men,  little 
wonder  that  their  names  ring 
through  Scotland  till  this  hour, 
and  i^eir  memories  are  hallowed 
above  all  others.  But  it  is  not 
Scotsmen  only  who  delight  tohonour 
them.  Our  English  Reformation 
and  our  English  Eevolution  would 
have  been  very  diflPerent  in  their 
outcome  but  for  the  dauntlessness 
and  long-enduring  patience  of  these 
men.  Hence  our  great  historical 
writers  invariably  point  out  and 
dwell  upon  the  sublime  heroism  of 
the  Scottish  people  as  decade  after 
decade  they  bore  the  most  brutal 
and  pitiless  persecution  ever  known 
in  Britain,  rather  than  (icknowledge 


the  arbitraty  will  6f  iha  Stnarts 
abov^  the  free  will  of  the  people;  and 
that  so  beiuingiheyagain^andagaiB 
hurled  theiroppressorstothe  ground, 
until  after  weary,  hopeless  years  of 
endurance  and  faithftilness  to  their 
principles,  they  broke  and  helped  to 
break  for  ever  the  yoke  of  their 
tyrants,  and  saw  the  blessed  dawn 
of  a  constitutional  ffovermnent. 
Their  peculiarities  of  fought  and 
speech,  and  much  of  their  manner 
and  matter  of  argument^  seem  tons. 
as  we  see  them  on  the  pages  of 
history,  as  the  natural  costume  of 
that  age,  and  do  not  for  a  moment 
hinder  their  noble  daring  and  thar 
nobler  suffering  in  the  cause  of  civil 
and  reli^ous  liberty  commanding 
our  hignest  admiration.  Hardlj 
more  does  their  fanakicism,  and 
bigotry,  and  intolerance  affect  na» 
since  these  are  the  necessary  frviu 
of  persecution,  and  for  them  the 
persecutbrs  are  accountable  more 
than  the  persecuted. 

Such  is  the  interpretortion  of  the 
great  struggle  of  the  Scottish  Chnni 
and  Commons  in  the  sixteenth  and 
seventeenth  centuries,  against  the 
Stuart  princes,  by  our  best  histori- 
ans.' Such  is  the  sum  of  the  many 
versions  of  it  as  told  by  the  old 
annalists,  if  we  put  ourselves  in  the 
place  of  the  men  they  are  writing 
about,  and  compare  their  statements. 
Such  is  thebehfif  of  all  Presbytmac 
Scotsmen  coiiceming  their  fore- 
fathers, who  bore  the  bnrden  aud 
heat  of  that  day.  And  if,  turning 
from  the  wide  theatre  of  tliese  events 
to  the  greatly  more  limited  and  less 
knownoneof  the  eighteenth  centnrr. 
we  shall  find  •  the  very  same  prin- 
ciples warring  with  one  another,  in 
a  less  deadly  but  still  in  a  most  cha- 
racteristic form  1  In  t^  sixteenth 
century  tho  battle  was  between 
Protestantism  andPopery ;  in  the  se- 
venteenth century  it  was  betireen 


•Gardiner's  History  of  EngUind,  1603^1616,  Vol.  I.  ch.  ix.;  Hallam*s  Htst^f/ 
England^  ch.  xvii. ;  Macaulay^s  History  of  England,  cb.  i.  ii.  ir.  ri.  Especially,  a:i«J 
as  a  oomment  on  the  whole  period,  see  the  splendid  passage  in  Buckle's  History  </ 
CivUisation  in  England^  Vol.  IIL  end  of  ch.  ii. 


ms] 


Stanley* 8  '  Leciurea  on  the  Ohurch  of  Scotland,* 


451 


PresbTteiyandPrelacy ;  in  the  eight- 
eeoth  century  it  was  between  Patron^ 
age  and  Popnlar  Bigjbte.^®  It  is, 
theref(Nrei  in  one  or  other  form  the 
fijeai  principle  of  the  Liberty  of  the 
People  to  tibmk,  to  speak,  to  worship 
according  to  their  own  laws,  however 
disguised  and  however  expressed, 
which  is  involved  in  the  chief  civil 
and  ecclesiastical  commotions  of 
theae  centuries.  A  simple,  easily 
defined,  easily  discerned  principle, 
which  none  of  ns,  surely,  whose 
liberties  are  so  great  and  so  secure, 
can  be  blind  to  or  will  ignore. 

Let  us  now  see  what  is  Dean 
Stanley's  interpretation  of  these 
events. 

'The  first  feature  which  marks  the 
Scottish  religion  of  the  last  three 
centuries,  is  its  stubborn  inde- 
pendence. When  James  VI.  saw 
in  London  Mrs.  Welsh^  the  daughter 
ci  John  Knox,  he  asked  her  how 
many  bairns  her  father  had  lefb^  and 
whether  thej  were  lads  or  lasses. 
She  answered, ."three,"  andthat  they 
were  all  lasses.  "  God  be  thanked !  " 
said  the  king,  lifting  np  t)oth  his 
hands ;  "  for  if  they  had  been  three 
lads,  I  never  could  have  brooked  my 
three  kingdoms  in  pe^e." 

'The  feelinff  of  King  James  to- 
wards John  Knox  and  his  actual 
children  may  well  have  been  felt  at 
times  by  many  reasonable  men 
towards  his  spiritual  children.  Had 
each  of  the  three  kingdoms  been  in- 
habited by  a  Chnrch  as  sturdy  and 
<u  unmanageahle  as  that  which  took 
vp  its  abode  in  Scotland,  it  may  be 
easily  believed  that  the  rulers  of 
Great  Britain  would  have  had  no 
light  task  before  them. 
*  *  The  independence  of  the  Scottish 
Church  belongs  in  fact  to  the  indepen« 
dence  of  the  Scottish  race.  .  .  .  And 
80  the  early  history  of  the  Scottish 
Presbyterian  Church  has  been  one 
long  struggle  of  dogged  resistance  to 


superior  power.  "  Scotland  must  be 
rid  of  Scotland  unless  we  gain  deli- 
verance," was  the  dying  speech  of 
the  martyr  Benwick.'  ** 

Is  that  put  quite  ingenuously  P 
What  is  snch  a  statement  likely  to 
produce  on  the  ordinary  '  welU 
informed*  reader's  mind,  and  es- 
pecially on  the  minds  of  those  who 
look  up  to  Dean  Stanley  aaan  his- 
torical authority,  but  these  two 
impressions:  (i)  That  the  Scottish 
Church  was  nothing  more  than  a 
body  of  perverse,  obstinate  men, 
with  no  particular  grievance,  yet 
whom  nothing  wonld  please  which 
King  James  might  offer  them ;  and 
(2)  That  they  delighted  in  resisting 
whatever  counsels  and  commands 
came  from  England,  simply  because 
they  did  come  fh>m  England  ?  The 
statement  is  explicit  and  unquali- 
fied; and  with  the  anecdote  of 
James,  which  he  might  luwe  given 
entire,  ^*  and  the  lecturer's  remark 
npon  it  in  our  ears^  I  do  not  see 
what  other  impressions  it  can  make, 
or  what  other  inferences  may  be 
drawn  from  it^  than  these  two  most 
erroneous  ones. 

Nationalism,  there  is  no  doubt, 
and  as  it  could  not  fail  to  be/ was  an 
active  element  in  Scottish  society 
at  the  time  of  the  Beformation,  a 
subtile  influence  in  the  air  which 
showed  itself  now  and  then  unrea- 
sonably enough,  as  Elizabeth's  en- 
voy. Sir  Ralph  Sadler,  knew  to  his 
cost ;  but  this  was  not  the  Nation- 
alism we  hear  in  Benwick's  bitter 
words.  Between  this  and  that 
phase  of  it  three-quarters  of  a  cen* 
tury  elapsed,  odious  with  kingly 
and  priestly  follies.  At  the  begin, 
ning  of  the  period  James  came  to 
the  throne  ;  and  from  that  moment 
it  lay  with  him  to  make  the  future 
of  his  coimtry.  Never  had  king  a 
more  splendid  opportunity,  and  Bt 
fairer  chance    for    giving  a  firm. 


'•  '  And/  to  continue  the  judicious  Churchman  I  quote,  *  the  contest  has  been  obstinately 
tnaintaiued  till  the  present  day.'  Church  History  of  SooUand,  by  Rev.  J.  Cunningham. 
Vol.  II.  p.  418. 

^*  Pp.  61, 62.     *'  And  which  the  reader  would  do  well  to  see,  M*Grie'8  Life  of  Knox, 


452 


Siardeifs  '  Lectures  on  the  Ohurch  of  Scotland.* 


[Aprfl 


broad  settlement  to  the  two  new 
theories  of  that  age,  the  conclu- 
sions of  Protestantism  as  to  right 
of  private  judgment  and  as  to 
pei*sonal  liberty.  Indeed,  it  is  not 
too  much  to  saj,  that  it  depended 
on  James  alone  to  decide  whether 
that  liberty,  which  must  eventually 
find  its  way  into  the  ecclesiastical 
system,  was  to  enter  with  peace  and 
charity  in  its  train,  or  whether  it 
was  only  to  be  attained  after  long 
years  of  civil  strife.  Like  so  many 
of  his  ill-starred  race,  he,  how- 
ever, was  blind  to  the  possibilities 
and  signs  of  the  times,  or,  if  not 
blind,  was  incapable ;  and  so  what 
might  have  been  a  great  policy 
degenerated  in  his  hands  into  a 
personal  struggle, ^^  The  usual  con- 
sequences  followed.  Opposed  at 
every  important  turn  by  the  Pres- 
byterian leaders,  in  carrying  out 
his  own  will  or  his  own  interpreta- 
tion of  the  laws,  he  by-and-by 
transferred  his  dislike  of  the  leaders 
to  their  principles,  until  he  came,  ere 
his  accession  to  the  English  Crown,to 
entertain  decided  thoughts  of  crush- 
ing both  them  and  their  principles. 
If  James,  then,  as  the  '  superior 
power'  forced  his  people  to  *  re- 
sistance,' why  speak  of  that  re- 
sistance as  belonging,  in  the  exclu- 
sive sense  of  the  expression,  '  to 
the  independence  of  the  Scottish 
race '  P  Did  never  another  people, 
or  part  of  a  people,  resist  their 
king  on  behalf  of  their  civil  and 
religious  liberties?  Was  it  not, 
moreover,  a  sacred  duty  in  their 
circumstances  to  resist,  even  ac- 
cording to  the  Dean's  own  princi- 
ples as  elsewhere  laid  down?** 
Besides,  up  till  this  time  the  strag- 
gle was  a  purely  Scottish  and 
strictly  constitutional  struggle,  in 
which  no'  '  foreign '  element  had 
entered.  It  is  a  mere  fancy, 
therefore,  in  which  the  Englishman 


is  more  evident  than  the  historical 
critic,  and,  worstof  aU,  by  which  *  the 
leading  features'  of  the  straggle 
are  quite  lost  sight  of,  to  acconDt 
in  this  way  for  the  stubborn  inde- 
pendence of  Scottish  religion.  Was 
it  a  mere  national  illusion,  '  a  halo 
of  antique  splendour '  as  the  Dean 
asserts,  or  was  it  a  principle,  the 
one  inalienable  Divine  right  of  re- 
sponsible beings,  newly  discovered 
in  the  Scriptures,  which  these  men 
witnessed  for  ?  And  was  not  their 
stubbornness  bred  in  them,  as  stab- 
bornness  usually  is  in  a  nation,  br 
long-continued  opposition  or  op- 
pression ?  A  wider  generalisation 
of  the  undoubted  history  of  these 
seventy-five  years  than  he  seems 
to  have  yet  obtained,  will  probably 
convince  the  Dean  that  he  has 
here  confounded  two  very  different 
things — ^namely,  resistance  for  re- 
sistance' sake  and  resistance  for 
righteousness'  sake. 

As  to  the  Presbyterian  leaders. 
History  repeats  itself.  One  Decem- 
ber day,  eighteen  years  after  James 
had  become  King  of  England,  a 
deputation  of  the  Commons  waited 
upon  him  to  present  a  petition  con- 
cerning an  extraordinary  letter  he 
had  sent  them  a  few  days  before, 
on  the  freedom  of  their  debates. 
'  Place  hvelve  arvti-cliairs*  he  called 
out  to  his  attendants  when  the 
members  were  introduced,  */  (^'-^ 
rjoing  to  receive  twelve  Icinm'^^ 
Suppose  this,  like  that  other  anec- 
dote, were  given  as  an  apjK^site 
illustration  of  the  constitutional 
crisis  of  that  day;  and  that  the 
comments  of  the  Dean  on  the  one 
were  applied  to  the  other,  as  they 
properly  enough  may.  The  general 
matters  they  refer  to  are  parallel 
in  their  chief  points.  Those  Com- 
mons challenged  the  right  of  t}^^ 
King  to  interfere  with  their  privi- 
leges.   So  had  the  Scottish  Church. 


"  Gardiner's  History  of  England^  Vol.  I.  p.  i6i. 

**  An  Address  on  the  Connection  of  Church  and  State,  pp.  g,  lo.     1868. 

"  December  1621.  Hume,  ch.  xlviii. ;  but  compare  him  with  Gardiner's  Prince  Chcrir' 
and  the  Spanish  Marriage,  Vol.  II.  ch.  viii. ;  and  Forster's  /Str  John  Eliot,  Vol.  I. 
book  iii. 


187B] 


8Umley*8  '  LeeiwcM  on  the  Ohurch  of  Scotland.^ 


453 


The  Parliament  they  represented 
was  'stardj  *  and  '  unmanageable ' 
above  any  previons  Parliaments. 
So  had  the  Scottish  Chnreh  been. 
Sappose,  therefore,  it  were  said 
that  the  feeling  of  King  James 
towardi  his  Commons  may  well 
have  been  felt  at  times  by  many 
reasonable  men  towards  their  poli- 
tical children ;  and  that  nothing 
bnt  dispeace  and  distraction  could 
come  by  such  men — should  we,  as 
their  children,  not  instantly  feel 
that  this  was  to  imply  that  the 
fathers  of  our  liberties  were  the 
fosterers  of  obstruction  and  an- 
archy? And  we  should  be  justified 
in  80  feeling.  Similarly,  I  doubt 
not^did  the  Dean's  audience  feel 
when  he  implied  the  same  con- 
cerning the  first  Pilgrim  Fathers, 
and  the  first  Confessors  in  the 
cause  of  civil  and  religious  liberty 
under  the  Stuarts,  who,  it  is  time 
now  it  were  generally  known,  were 
not  Englishmen  but  Scotsmen;** 
and  concerning  that  ecclesiastical 
polity  which,  be  its  faults  what 
they  may,  has  done  so  much  for  the 
common  people  of  Scotland. 

The  lecturer  left  his  audience  in 
no  doubt  of  his  meaning.  As  illustra- 
tions of  the  troth  of  what  he  said, 
be  gave  *two  well-known  scenes 
which  bring  out  clearly  these  feel- 
ings of  antagonism  and  inde- 
pendence.' 

The  first  one  was  the  *  rejection ' 
of  the  English  Liturgy,  July  23, 
1637,  the  famous  scene  in  St.  Giles' 
Chnreh,  Edinbni^h,  when  Jenny 
^eddes  threw  her  stool  at  the  Dean's 
^ead  for  daring  to  read  there  his 
black,  Popish,  and  superstitious 
»ok.'  Everybody  knows  the  story, 
«id  nearly  everybody,  I  had  thought, 
cnew  its  sigpaificance.  The  Dean, 
lowever,  doubts  if '  the  result  of  that 
atal  day  can  be  imagined  in  these 
Qore  peaceful  days.'   He  thinks  too 


that '  had  they  waited  till  the  Dean 
had  read  the  collect,  as  innocent 
and  beautiful  an  expression  of  prayer 
as  could  be  found  in  any  part  of  the 
services  of  either  Church,  U  is  pos- 
sible that  they  might  even  then 
have  changed  their  mvnds.^  Finally, 
he  remarks :  ^No  doubt  the  exaspe- 
ration had  its  root  in  the  in- 
domitable native  vigour  of  which 
we  have  been  speaking.  The  in- 
trinsic slightness  of  the  incidents 
which  roused  it,  is  the  best  proof  of 
the  force  of  the  feeling.  It  is  itu 
structive  as  an  instance  of  the 
foUy  of  pressing  outward  forms,  how- 
ever  innocent,  on  those  who  cannot 
understand  them,*  '^ 

The  other  one,  which  happened 
seven  months  after,  was  the  still 
more  famous  scene  of  the  adoption 
of  the  National  Covenant.  '  Of  all 
national  confessions  of  Faith  ever- 
adopted,  at  least  in  these  realms, 
it  is  the  one  which  for  the  time 
awakened  the  widest  and  the  deepest 
enthusiasm,'  he  says.  Its  object 
was  ^  to  defend  the  rights  of  Pres- 
bytery in  Scotland;'  and  the  en- 
thusiasm with  which  this  was  re- 
ceived '  is  one  of  the  most  signa> 
proofs  of  the  power  of  Scottish 
religion  to  enkindle  the  whole 
nation.'  'The  rapid  subsidence^, 
however,  of  this  enthusiasm  even, 
at  the  time,'  the  Dean  goes  on  to  say, 
'  its  almost  total  disappearance  now 
even  amongst  those  who  might  be 
thought  of  the  direct  spiritual  li- 
nea^  of  those  who  imposed  it,  is  a 
striking  example,  both  to  Scotland 
and  all  the  world,  of  the  transitory 
nature  of  those  outward  eoDpressions 
of  party  zeal,  which  at  the  moment 
seem  aU-vmportant*  ^^ 

These  remarks  put  the  points  in 
question  beyond  all  doubt.  As  de- 
scriptive and  explanatory,  however, 
of  the  great  Presbyterian  movement 
of  1640,  they  appear  to  me  among 


**  M^Crie  (I^e  of  Melville,  cIl  viii.)  compIaiDs  of  the  injustice  done  to  the  memory 
*f  these  men  by  EngliBh  writers.  There  is  much  less  reason  now.  See  Gardiner's 
^ftlory  ttf  England^  ch.  ix. 

"  Pp.  69-72.     The  italics  are  ours.  "  Pp.  74,  75. 

VOL.  Vn. — ^IfO.  XL.      KEW  SEBIKS. 


1  T 


454 


Stanley*8  '  Leciurei  on  (he  Church  of  Scotland '  [April 


ihib  most  fimgolar  in  Yecent  historical 
criticisin,  fltnd  saeh  as  every  stndent 
of  that  period,  open  to  the  facts  and 
'  probabilities  of  &e  two  parties,  may 
•  very  jnstly  complain  of.  For,  like 
some  of  Hume's  most  characteristic 
passages,  they  produce  their  im- 
pression rather  fay  what  is  not  said 
than  by  what  is  said. 

Take  the  Dean's  first  illustration. 
So  is  it  spoken  of  that  the  cursory 
reader  will  indeed  find  it  impossible 
to  imagine  what  might  be  the  result 
•of  opening  Laud's  Prayer  Book. 
Not,  however,  because  of  'these 
more  peaceful  days,'  in  which  we 
know  as  much  at  least  as  those  men 
did  of  the  electric  nature  of  words 
and  signs,  but  simply  becanse  no 
facts  are  presented  to  our  imagina- 
tion. Nothing  is  said  of  the  long 
train  Of  circmnstances  which  had  by 
ihis  time  converted  the  nation,  le- 
gally and  ecclesiastically,  into  a 
rebel  camp.  Not  a  word  do  we  hear 
of  th^  maladministration  of  James 
and  Charles  {  not  a  whisper  about 
the  exasperating  oppression  of  those 
years.  So  carried  along,  we  cannot 
but  think  that  the  hearers  of  the 
Dean  of  Edinburgh  might  certainlv 
have  waited  till  the  coUect  was  read, 
for  then  they  would  have  understood 
how  innocent  and  goodly  a  form  of 
worship  *  Black  Prelacy '  ^^  was,  and 
would  not  have  risen  intoopenrevolt 
against  it.  And  because  they  did 
not  wait  and  hear,  but  instantly  rose 
in  wrath  against  the  Dean,  we  have 
'no  doubt'  that  they  were  mere 
'  stubborn '  schismatics. 

But  why  are  we  not  told  of  these 
things,  '  the  leading  features '  of  that 
period?  Not  because  the  Dean 
himself  cannot  imagine  that  scene ; 
and  not  because  he  is  ignorant  of  the 
causes  which  led  up  steadily  and 


sullenly  and  most  surely  to  it.  Is 
it  that  the  Church  of  Whitgifl  and 
Laud  is  so  dear  to  him  that  he  can. 
not  bring  himself  here  to  confess 
and  denounce  her  sins,  and  thus  give 
grounds  for  repeating  in  our  day  the 
old  taunt  so  often  appBed  to  the 
ecclesiastical  historians,  that  the 
nearer  they  are  the  Church  the 
farther  from  charity  ?  No  man  cac 
know  better  what  that  Church  had 
identified  itself  with  in  Sootbuid, 
and  what  the  public  reading  of  the 
Liturgy  therefore  meant.  Yet  he 
speaks  as  though  he  knew  not.  The 
Dean  in  that  pulpit  was  an  intoler- 
able offence  to  the  nation,  ad  the  re- 
presentative of  a  form  of  reUgiocs 
worship  which  had  been  so  enforced 
upon  i^e  people  that  they  natniallj 
came  to  hate  it  and  its  upholder 
with  a  perfect  hatred.  *®  It  was  one 
of  those  insane  acts  which  the 
Stuarts  and  their  satellites  were » 
prone  to  do.  Jenny's  stool,  the^^ 
fore,  was  the  first  shot  fired  agaiii^t 
the  common  foe—the  match  wlucli 
lit  the  train — the  first  peal  of  ih: 
long  pent-up  thunder  storm,  wlikh 
no  Dean  or  collect  belonging  to  the 
Church  of  Laud  could  have  changeii, 
or  could  have  charmed  into  *  sweet- 
ness and  light.'  It  was  a  'rejectios,' 
because  for  many  long  years  thei^ 
had  been  a  *  forcing.'  Should  not 
the  lecturer  have  told  us  of  this 
before  describing  that?  WhoeFcr 
will  candidly  consider  what  this 
*  forcing '  was  up  till  that  moment, 
will  have  '  no  doubt,'  like  onr  beakj 
writers,  that  it  was  the  *  root '  rf' 
the  'antagonism'  and  ^ezasperatioc' 
spoken  of ;  and  whoever  will  fnrdier  I 
consider  what  it  was  till  1688,  viE 
probably  wonder  with  the  presenfc 
writer,  how  the  Dean  could  jnst " 
himself  in  his  silence  on  such  notabk 


"  '  The  real  origin  of  "  Black  Prelacjr/' '  says  the  Dean,  is  found  in  the  custom  of  til 
Episcopalian  clergy  of  those  days  officiating  *  in  no  peculiar  dross,  or  else  generally 
black  gowns.'  I  hope  so.   Wo  hear  of  the  *  Bleuck  *  Acts,  and  of  the  '  Black '  Indulgence. 
Was  not  their  common  origin  one  of  hatred? 

*•  See  Hallam's  England^  ch.  xvii.,  for  one  passage  out  of  many,  which  may  suffice :  * 
was  very  possible  that  Episcopacy  might  be  of  Apostolical  inttiiution;*  &c.  &c. 


isrs] 


BttMep'a  'LBetar^  m  the  Ohimhof  Scotland: 


455 


iniqdty:''  And  rndst  of  tls  will  fedl, 
titer  doing  floy  that,  it  was  only 
wovsemng  matters*  retj  niuoli  to 
mj  of  th^men  of  those  days  r  '  All 
honoor  to  Scottish  Ghufchaien  f&r 
the  stabbonuieBS'of  thBurfighty  tliAir 
ddToiiMi  of  thems^es  not'  only  to 
desfch,  bnt  at  times  even  to  abstir- 
ditj,  for  what  were  deemed  *  the  lighU 
of  conscience  arid  the  mwrednem  of 
truth  and  Uie  glory  of  SeotlandJ  ^* 

Still  more.  -We  shall  onlyiimshe 
able— iio  tarn  to  the  Dean'B  'SedoikL 
ilhBtration,  whidi  in  the  art  of  ex- 
p]:€88ion  is  like  the  first-^to  com- 
prehend that  thrilling  scene  in 
Orayfriars  ehurchyard,  where,  all 
hope  of  better  measores  being  gon6, 
^e  best  men  in  the  realm  issaed  a 
national  protest  against  the  tm- 
consiitatianal  attempts  of  Gharies 
and  his  ministers  on  their' liberties. 
Of  those  attempts  and  of  those  li- 
berties we  hear  nothing  from  ihe 
Dean.  It  waa  <  the  rights  of  Pres- 
byteiy  in  Scotland,'  he  nm,  those 
men  were  determined  to  demnd;  No 
doubt  it  was,  imt  what  were  these 
'ngfats '  ?  It  is'clear,  at  any  rate, 
ihi^iih&if^ere  more  than  thai'phraie 
tan  fH)u%b}y  suggest  to  awr  mw^  icr 
here  was  a  scene  'recalling  those  the 
moat  memorable  scenes  in  history 
^hen  men  hare  rissn  fearlessty 
Against  thdr  nders  to  demand  their 
oatnral  rights.  '  Not  a  revolt,  but 
k  revelation/  was  this,  pnodnoed,  as 
kll  saeh  rerolntions  are^  by  a  con- 
'orrence  of  wiiat  Baekle  appro- 
niately  oalis  '  general  caoses.'  Not 
ui  eceiesiastical  sqnabble  between 
iral  priesthoods  and  theirpartisans, 
ike  the  squabbles  which  disgraced 
he  early  Ghnrch — as  it  has  some^ 
isies  been  narrowed  down  to  and 
IKleratood — botanational  straggle, 
k  which  the  great  principles  of 
ivil  and  religions  Hberty  were 
trolved.  No  snoh  definition  of  the 
ines  at  stake  as  the  Dean  has  given 


can  therefore  be  accepted  as  satis- 
ffewtory. 

^his  is  lid  "♦open  question*   of 

'faafitot7,ias  liesthet-;  iiideed,  is  the 

Ibnuer.    Let^tii^r  faults,  the  ibllies, 

the  SKoesses,  tthd  the  Grimes  of  those 

-  aaeii  be  even  ttibt^  than  they  were— 

•  yetwhy  not'own  Mie  noble  stand 
diey  mAde  against  the  *  thorough' 

'Sehem^'Of  Latldaftd'Strafford  and 
Oharles  ?  It  is  ^one  of  the  best  sup- 
ported fibcts  in  English  history  that 
Hfae' rights  of  Pl^esbytery  in  Scot- 

•  land  *  were  practically  identical  with 
.  all  :that  tended  towardi^  civil  and  re- 

ligibns  progress  \  atid  that  the  chtims 
'  of  Pr^ac^  were  practically  identical 
with  aUmit  tended  towards  oppres- 
'  sion.    This  ndg^ht  have  been  plainly 

-  said.  But '  hdre,  as  •  before,  the 
broader,  philosophical  aspects  of  the 

.subject,  those  of  most  interest  and 

:in8^otion  to  us,  are  passed  over 

'for  the  minor  and  accidental  ones. 
Hence,  or  partly  hence,  the  impres- 
sion you  catch  up- is  a  curiously  in- 

•ezaotand  indefinite  one.  Nothing 
has  set  the  •  indignation  aglow — 
nothing  has  stirred  t^e  heart  with 

inoble  emotion — ^you  hear  of  no  uzii- 
TOrsal'principles^and,  as  I  said  at 
the  beginning,  little  of  whatis  called 
*  the  judgment  of  posterity  *  on  the 

-representatiTe  men  and  actions. 
You  get:  a  Dirteh  picture  instead  of 
thepeculiaritiesof  flieperiod,*^  which 
inevitably  produce  an  exaggerated 
effect*  xou,  therefore,  get  no  clear 
notion  of  the  historic  significance 
of  those  times.  Besembliug  in  too 
many  points  the  histories  of  Sage 
and  Stephen  and  Grub,  the  Dean's 
estimate  resembles  in  too  few  our 
later  students  of  Scotidsh  history. 
How  differently,  for  instance,  does 
one  of  our  most  distinguished  living 
Englishmen  write  of  this  period: 
'  What  has  the  Kirk  so  established 
done  for  Scotland?  Briefly,  we 
might  say,  it  has  continued  its  first 


"  Especially  when  his  pleasant  pages  on  the  relations  of  the  Episcopal  Chnrch  in 
iOtlaDd  to  IVesbyterianism,  and  on  '  its  penecntions/  are  remembered.    Pp.  41-45. 


•P.  65 


«  Pp.  65,  67,  77,  78.  83.  85. 

1 1  2 


456 


Stanley^ s  '  Ledurea  on  the  Ohureh  of  ScoUand.* 


[iLptil 


iimction  as  the  guardian  of  SoottiBli 
freedom.  Suppose  the  Kirk  had 
been  the  broad,  liberal,  philoBophical, 
intellectual  thing  which  some  people 
think  it  ought  to  have  been,  how 
would  it  have  feured  in  that  crusade; 
how  altogether  would  it  have  en- 
countered those  surplices  of  Laud  or 
those  dragoons  of  Claverhouse  ?  The 
battle  had  to  be  fought  out  in  Scot- 
land which  in  reali^  was  the  battle 
between  liberty  and  despotism ;  and 
.where,  except  m  an  intense,  burning 
conviction  uiat  they  were  maintain- 
ing God's  cause  against  the  Devil, 
could  the  poor  Scotch  people  have 
found  the  strength  for  the  unequal 
struggle  which  was  forced  upon 
them  r  Toleration  is  a  good  tlung 
in  its  place ;  but  jou  cannot  tolerate 
what  will  not  tolerate  you,  and  is 
trying  to  cut  your  throat.  .  .  . 
The  Covenanters  fought  the  fight 
and  won  the  victory,  and  then,  and 
not  till  then,  came  all  the  blessed  or 
unblessed  firuits  of  liberty.'  Here 
we  get  a  clear  glimpse  of  the  signi- 
ficance of  those  days  and  their 
'  dogged  resistance  '-^of  the  '  root ' 
of  the  '  exasperation '  above  spoken 
of — of  *  the  general  grandeur  of  the 
cause '  as  solely  springing  from  '  the 
principles  at  stake.' 

So  much  for  the  Church  and  Com- 
mons of  Scotland  in  the  sixteenth 
century.  Let  us  now  turn,  though 
only  for  a  moment,  to  the  th^ 
lecture,  in  which  the  Church  of 
Scotland  in  the  eighteenth  century 
is  considered. 

The  leading  features  of  this  cen- 
tury are  its  Patronage  and  its 
Dissent.^  Now,  many  of  us  have 
no  doubt  of  the  lawfrilness  of  the 
former,  and  the  exceeding  foolish- 
ness, perhaps  unlawfulness,  of  the 
latter,  and  the  Dean  is  one.  This 
opinion  in  itself  could  not  disqualify 
bim  for  his  subject^  in  the  eyes  of 


Scottish  Churchmen  at  least— yet, 
singular  to  say,  in  nothing  he  has 
said  haa  he  ofiended  them  more 
than  in  his  treatment  of  the  men 
and  characteristics  of  this  centuy. 
And  the  reasons  are  these. 

Firstly,  he  ignores  the  subject  of 
Patronage  altogether !  Whether 
right  or  whether  wrong  in  the  lec- 
turer's eyes,  this  was  sorely  a 
strange  overlook  of  his.  Wlij, 
Patronage  meets  you  on  the  thr^ 
hold  of  the  century ;  it  sounds  in 
your  ears  again  and  again  when  the 
Church  was  moved  to  its  centre  is 
connection  with  Erskine  and  Gil- 
lespie; it  was  in  every  mu's 
thoughts  at  tbe  dose.  Yet  none  of 
these  things  are  considered  by  the 
Dean.  He  deigns  no  heed  to  ik 
popular  efforts  and  desire  for  tbe 
maintenance  of  the  frmdamental 
ideas  of  the  Church  against  the 
Jacobite  lords  and  lairds,  who,  in 
the  teeth  of  Carstairs,  smuggled  > 
BUI  through  Parliament  which 
struck  at  the  root  of  these — ^be  h» 
no  word  on  '  the  forced  settlements' 
of  that  time,  the  disgrace  of  the 
Christianity  of  the  land — ^he  takes 
no  note  of  the  inevitable  effect  of 
patronage  in  such  circumstances  is 
producing  *an  enslaved  clergr 
amidst  an  indifferent  laiiy.'  Haidlj 
concealing  his  scorn  of  the  sillinesB 
or  absurdiiy  of  such  matters  and 
movements,  as  hie  remarks  oi 
Dissent**  and  on  the  Disroptaon* 
unequivocally  show,  he  turns  aside 
from  them  and  the  lessons  they  are 
telling  all  Scottish  Churchmen  d 
our  day,*^  to  very  different  matters. 

Secondly,  he  admires  ModeratisiB 
and  theModerates.  Here  and  amongst 
these  the  Dean  delights  to  direll 
Philosophic  virtue  and  Evangelical 
grace  and  titerary  culture  abide  here 
as  nowhere  else  in  Scotland.  Thej 
claim  as    their  pattern   the  n)osi 


**  Cunningham,  Vol.  II.  ch.  x.  xi.  and  xii.,  tells  the  atoiy  with  admirable  spirit  and 
fohiess ;  Burton,  BUtory  of  Scotland  (1689-1748),  ch.  v.  xir.  xix.  xx. ;  and  Wodrow* 
Correfpondmee,  ■»  P.  64.  ••  P.  75. 

*'  As  seen  in  their  movement  for  abolition  of  the  Law  of  Patronage. 


1873] 


Stanley* 8  '  Lectures  on  the  Church  of  Scotland.* 


457 


apostolical  of  all  Protestant  Scots- 
men, the  saintly  Leighton.  And  as 
a  man  will  do  with  the  friends  he 
deligJbts  to  honour,  the  Dean  gives 
us  Beveral  charming  fall-lengths  of 
the  leaders  of  '  the  Augustan  age  ' 
of  Moderatism.  In  vain,  however, 
is  all  his  sweet  persuasiveness  !  His 
andience  looked  for  bread,  and  he 
gave  them  a  stone !  With  few  ex- 
ceptions they  resent  his  interpreta- 
tion of  their  Church  history  in  those 
days,  and  lift  their  eyes  in  wonder 
at  }ds  regard  for  the  men  who  bound 
the  joke  of  patronage  on  the  neck 
of  their  fore&ther8,and,  like  the  pre- 
lates in  the  sixteenth  century,  were 
imperiously  indifferent  to  the  wishes 
and  rights  of  the  people.  And, train  ed 
ftt  the  feet  of  Chalmers,  or  still  better 
in  the  school  of  modem  political 
liberty,  as  these  men  have  been,  and 
whether  within  or  without  the  pale 
of  the  Establishment,  they  could 
not  do  otherwise. 

One  word  more.  If  the  Dean  has 
failed,  he  has  failed  for  reasons  we 
can  nnderstand  and  respect,  which 
if  no  compliment  to  him  is  yet  what 
cannot  be  said  of  some  who  have 
attempted  the  same  task  and  failed. 
If  his  Erastianism,  of  which  he  is 


not  ashamed,  has  strongly  affected 
his  conceptions  of  the  past  and  his 
hopes  of  the  future  of  the  Scottish 
Church  (see  Lecture  IV.),  we  can 
easily  pardon  his  mistakes  because 
of  the  strength  of  his  convictions. 
Meanwhile  thoso  centuries  await 
their  philosophical  historian.  They 
are  worthy  of  one.  Every  historically 
famous  people  has  embodied  a  par- 
ticular idea  in  their  national  life. 
The  freshness  of  immortal  youth  is 
on  the  story  of  Greece.  The  splen- 
dour and  the  selfishness  of  mighty 
and  successful  manhood  rest  on  the 
annals  of  Home.  England  is  the 
august  and  honoured  mother  of 
constitutional  freedom.  To  Scot- 
land it  has  been  denied  to  raise 
temples  to  the  Beautiful,  to  create 
and  to  perfect  art,  and  to  preserve 
immortal  thoughts  in  language  as 
immortal ;  but  it  has  been  granted 
her  to  raise  altars  to  Truth  and 
Liberty,  and  to  develop  principles 
and  feelings  that  know  no  limits  of 
time  or  space.  Whence  Scottish 
history  is  regarded,  if  I  am  not  mis- 
taken,with  a  heartier  sympathy  over 
the  civilised  world  than  those  of 
many  countries  of  far  greater  poli- 
tical importance. 


458 


[April 


ON  SOME  GRADATIONS  IN  THE  FORMS  OF 
ANIMAL  LIFE. 


Fone  of  her  many  entertaining 
novels,  Mrs.  Trollope  introduces 
an  old  lady  describing  the  theory  of 
La  Marck  on  the  Origin  of  Species. 
In  the  course  of  her  description,  the 
old  lady  exclauns,  with  not  unnatu- 
ral astonishment,  *  But  the  most  ex- 
traordinary thing  (excepting  one) 
is,  that  when  the  fishes  married, 
they  had  rats  for  children ;  and 
when  the  rats  married,  they  had 
birds  ;  or  else  the  birds  came  first, 
and  they  were  confined  with  rats ; 
and  then  the  rats  had  cats,  I  be- 
lieve, and  the  cats  had  dogs,  and 
the  dogs  monkeys,  and  the  monkeys 
men  and  women.*  ^  A  year  or  two 
a^o,  the  eloquent  and  estimable 
Bishop  of  Peterborough  won  a 
ready  laugh  from  his  audience  at 
Carlisle  by  the  following  observa- 
tion: *  There  is  now  a  theory  in 
fashion  that  religion  is  a  develop- 
ment of  clime  and  race,  just  as  men 
were  originally  developed  from 
oysters  and  so  forth.'*  Another 
clerical  orator,  at  the  Nottingh&m 
Church  Congress  held  in  October 
of  last  year,  pointed  out  the  in- 
herent fallacy  of  Darwinism  by 
asking,  *Who  nursed  the  first 
child?*'  Great  laughter  followed 
the  question;  but  whether  his 
brethren  were  laughing  with  the 
speaker,  or  at  him,  it  would  be  in- 
vidious to  surmise. 

Thousands  of  religious  teachers 
in  this  country  believe,  or  permit 
their  hearers  and  disciples  to  be- 
lieve, that  some  sixty  centuries  ago 
there  was  a  special  sudden  creation 
of  living  organisms  answering  to  the 
mmumbered  species  which  still  oc- 
cupy the  surface  of  our  globe.  The 
arguments  which  prove  this  opinion 
to  be  utterly  untenable,  have  been 
stated  over  and  over  again  by  men 


of  geidus,  in  language  that  even 
children  can  understand.     The  very 
stones  cry  out,  the  rocks  and  hol- 
low mountains  proclaim  the  truth. 
Beyond   all    dispute  the   stratified 
masses  of  the  earth*  s  crust  have 
been  produced  by  the  slow  deposi- 
tion in  water  of  the  successive  lay- 
ers.    Prom  beneath  the  ocean  enor- 
mous areas  of  these  deposits  have 
been  lifted  mile  upon  mile  ahove 
the  ocean  level.     Will  any  man  in 
his  senses  dare  to  stake  his  religion 
upon  the  hypothesis  that  six  thou- 
sand  years    ago    the   tops   of  the 
Himalayan  mountains  were  under 
the  waters  of  the  sea  ?     At  a  height 
of   eighteen    thousand    feet  fossil 
shells  have  been  found  which  must 
once  have  lived  in  salt  water.*    I^ 
no   one   flatter  himself  that  they 
could  have   been   carried  to  their 
tomb    in    the    mountain    by    the 
Noachian  deluge.  The  deluge  could 
not  have  dropped  Oolitic  diells  on 
one  mountain  and   Silurian  shells 
on  another.     It  could  not  have  in- 
serted organisms  of  the  carboniferous 
period  into   the   middle  of  a  hill, 
neither  could  it  have  laid  them  on 
the  top,  and  then  neatly  covered 
them  up  with    another    thousand 
feet  of  stratification.     K  the  deluge 
sprinkled  shells  and  other  remains 
on  the  hill  surfaces,  what  sprinkled 
them  below  the  surfaces,  what  kept 
up  the  sprinkling  till  the  thickness 
of  whole   mountains  became  pene- 
trated with  the  relics  of  life  ?   No 
sane  person,  when  brought  face  to 
face  with  the  actual  fossils,  will 
believe  that  the  Creator  of  the  uni- 
verse made  figures  by  original  crea- 
tion, of  plants  and  animals,  both 
terrestrial  and  marine,   and   shut 
them  up  in  rocks  of  clay  and  flint 
and  marble.      Still   less  wiU  any 


*  I%e  Attractive  Man,  chap,  xxxiv. 

*  Church  BelU,  October  14,  1871. 


«  Church  Belh,  September  16,  i87»- 
*  Lyeirs  Manual,  p.  6 


1873] 


On  some  Oradatians  in  the  Forme  of  Animal  Life. 


459 


one  believe  Him  to  have  originally 
created  in  stone  the  images  of 
dismembered  bodies  and  fragmen- 
tary limbs,  in  every  degree  of  dis- 
tortion and  decay,  down  to  the 
merest  trace  of  organic  stmctore. 
Yet  what  do  we  find  among  the 
sculptures  of  the  rocks  ?  Here 
the  skeleton  of  a  whale,  there  a 
grasshopper's  wing,  tree  trunks  and 
fronds  of  ferns,  gnawed  bones  and 
sharp  teeth,  bits  of  lobster,  shells  of 
turtle,  rats*  tails  and  tigers'  skulls, 
the  burrow  of  the  sea  worm,  the 
foot-mark  of  the  wader,  and  the 
very  ripple  of  the  tide.  We  find  in 
the  chalk  the  palatal  teeth  of  shark 
with  the  crowns  worn  as  though 
by  long  nsage  ;  we  find '  tests '  of  the 
sea-urchin  denuded  of  their  spines 
and  covered  with  crania- valves  and 
serpulffi  and  polyzoa.  The  cata- 
logue of  similar  facts  might  be.  con- 
tinued without  end.  The  conclu- 
sion is  inevitable  that  the  formation 
of  the  earth's  crust  has  been  the 
slow  work  of  countless  ages.  The 
fossil  ripple  mark  was  no  miracu- 
lous effect  of  sudden  creation,  but 
produced  by  a  rippling  wave.  The 
fossil  zoophyte-case  must  once  have 
been  tenanted  by  a  living  zoophyte 
as  the  fbflsil  integument  of  the  sea- 
urchin  by  a  living  sea-urchin,  and 
both  must  have  lived  in  the  waters 
of  the  ocean  at  periods  of  incalcu- 
lable ftotiquiiy,  before  they  were 
found  fossil  in  the  quarries  of  an  in- 
land range  of  hills. 

Persons  who  well  knew,  and 
were  farced  to  admit,  the  succession 
of  life  during  the  formation  of  the 
vast  series  of  fossiliferoua  strata, 
have  sometimes  had  recourse  to 
supposing  that  there  have  been  a 
large  number  of  successive  creations 
of  plants  and  animals,  and  that  the 
earth  was  cleared  and  made  void  of 
one,  before  another  was  introduced. 
The  very  evidence,  however,  which 
has  led  to  this  supposition  unmistaJc- 
ablyproves  its  futility.  Examine  the 
fossils  of  geological  eras  far  distant 
from  one  anoth^,  and  the  earth  will 


seem,  to  be  sure,  at  the  first  glance  to 
have  changed  the  character  of  its 
population  in  the  successive  inter- 
vals. Forms  familiar  at  one  epoch, 
later  on  will  have  disappeared,  and 
forms  not  te  be  found  in  the  earlier 
periods  will  present  themselves 
abundantly  in  the  later.  But  ex- 
amine the  fossils  of  geological 
periods  immediately  succeeding  one 
another,  and  it  at  once  becomes 
apparent  that  there  is  no  point 
whatever  in  the  world's  history  of 
which  you  can  say.  Here  the  old 
forms  seem  to  have  been  swept  off, 
and  a  new  set  introduced.  There 
is  not  the  sHghtest  evidence  of  the 
sudden  extinction  of  species  or 
genera ;  d  fortiori^  none  of  the  ex< 
tinction  of  groups  or  whole  crea- 
tions. The  disappearances  are 
gradual ;  there  is  no  concurrent  dis- 
appearance of  a  large  number  of 
species.  The  new  forms  are  gradu- 
ally introduced ;  there  is  no  simul- 
taneous introduction  of  a  large 
number.  Between  the  organic 
structures  of  one  age  and  those  of 
an  age  directly  subsequent,  even 
where  there  are  considerable  differ- 
ences, there  is  in  every  case  also 
strong  general  resemblance.  De- 
scent witJi  variation  exactly  explains 
this  phenomenon.  The  doctrine  of 
successive  annihilations  and  crea- 
tions leaves  it  unexplained  and  inex- 
plicable. Would  any  wise  master 
builder,  who  wished  to  make  some 
slight  improvement  in  the  struc- 
ture of  his  house,  pull  down  the 
whole  fabric  and  rebuild  it  from 
the  foundations  almost  a  counter- 
part of  what  it  was  before,  and  do 
this  not  once  only,  nor  twice,  but 
again  and  again,  times  wiliiout 
number  ?  Yet  men  are  not  ashamed 
to  attribute  to  the  supremacy  of 
the  Divine  wisdom  a  course  of  con- 
duct which  in  any  one  of  their  own 
fellows  they  would  recognise  as 
extravagantly  foolish.  Adopt  for 
one  moment  the  &vourite  theory  of 
special  creative  interpositions,  and 
apply  it  to  the  history  of  the  genus 


460 


On  some  Orudatione  in  the  Forms  of  Animal  Life.  \kprl 


Lingola.     The  Lingula  is  a  brachio- 
pod  with  a  homy  shell  of  two  near- 
ly equal  valves.    Between  the  beaks 
of  the  two  valves  passes  a  long  fleshy 
peduncle  or  foot  stalk,  by  means 
of  which  the  ammal   attaches  it- 
self to  submarine  bodies.     Muscles 
for  various  purposes  are  attached 
to  the  shell,  upon  the  interior  of 
which  their  impressions  are  left, 
long  after  the  death  and  decay  of 
the  animal,  so  as  to  be  found  even 
in  fossils  of  great  antiquity.    In  the 
Lower  Silurian  period  was  created 
Lingula  Lesueuri,  besides  a  great 
many   other    species    of   Lingula. 
Lesueuri     perishes,     and    in    the 
Devonian  period    a  new  form    is 
created,  remarkably  like  the  old  one, 
and  known  among  men  as  Lingula 
squamiformis.  Squamiformis  comes 
to  a  bad  end,  and  the  carboniferous 
era  is  ushered  in.       *  But  here  a 
wonder  came  to  light.'      Squami- 
formis reappears,  or  something  so 
like  it  as  to  baffle  the  discriminating 
powers  of  the  very  best  concholo- 
gists.      The  same  thing    happens 
with  Lingua   mytiloides,   another 
carboniferous  species,  which  is  re- 
peated in  the  Permian  age.     These 
forms  cease  to  exist,  and  Lingula 
•  Beanii  is  presented  to  us  in   the 
Fauna  of  the  Oolite;  and  succes- 
sively Lin^la  truncata  in  the  lower 
Oreensana,  subovalis  in  the  upper 
Greensand,  Lingula  tenuis  in  the 
Eocene    London   clay,   Dumortieri 
in  the  Coralline  crag  of  the  Pleiocene 
era.      All  these,  and  a  great  many 
more,   presenting    in    many   cases 
differences    that    can    scarcely  be 
called  distinctions,  proved  unsatis- 
factory to  their  Creator  and  were 
ruthlessly  abolished.  But  a  Lingula 
the  world  must  have.       Creation 
would    be    incomplete   without    a 
Lingula.     And,  consequently,  about 
twenty-four  hours  before  the  crea- 
tion   of   Adam,   Lingula     anatina 
suddenly  made  its  appearance,  and 


still  flourishes  in  the  shallow  waters 
of  tropical  seas. 

Mr.  Davidson,  in  his  admirable 
monograph  of  the  Brachiopoda,  tells 
us  that  not  only  Lingula,  but  also 
'  Discina,  Crania,  and  Bhynconella^ 
appear  to  have  traversed  the  whole 
geological,  vertical  range ;  they  ap- 
pear in  the  older  Silurian  deposits, 
and  with  similar  or  but  slight  mc 
difications  in    character,   are  stiJI 
represented  in  our  seas  by  a  limited 
number  of  species.*  *     The  supplj 
of  parallel  fact^s  is  almost  inexhanst- 
ible.    Take   any  age  of  the  world 
you  will :  the  fauna  of  that  age,  that 
is,  the  whole  group  of  animals  then 
existing  on  the  globe,  is  inextricably 
interwoven  with  the  fatma  of  the 
age  that  precedes,  and  the  fauna  of 
the  age  that  follows  it.      That  at 
any   recent   date,  or  at   any  date 
whatever,  from  the  Silurian  period 
to  our  own  times,  the   earth  has 
been  swept  clean  of  its  inhabitants 
and  re-peopled,  is  a  belief  that  can 
only  be  held  in  most  glaring  defi- 
ance of  scientific  evidence.     As  a 
clever    writer    recently    obsorved, 
'  There  are  some  things  which  you 
cannot  really  beUeve  unless  all  your 
neighbours    keep    you  in   oonnte- 
nance.'*    This  is  one  of  them.    Tbe 
thing  is  credible  on  one  condition, 
and  on  one  condition  alone,  namelj, 
that  human  reason  and  the  facts  of 
external  nature  have  been  so  inge- 
niously adapted  to  one  anotiier  by 
the  Author  of  both,  that  a  xdmi 
cannot  honestly  employ  his  reason 
in  the  observation  of  nature  without 
being  mocked  and  cheated,  and  im- 
pelled to  believe  what  is  false.    It 
comes,  in  short,  to  this,  that,  &r 
up  to  where  the  Himalayan  sun- 
mits  smile  proudly  above  tiie  clouds, 
far  down  to  the  deepest  gloom  tliat 
the  miner's  lamp  has  ever  pene- 
trated, the  Maker  of  the  world  mnst 
have   stored  the  ground  witii  an 
endless  variety  of  forms,  arranged 


» Pal.  See.  1853.    FossU  Brachiopoda  of  Great  Briiam,  part  it.  p.  6a 
•  Pail  Mall  Gazette,  November  15, 1871. 


187S] 


On  iome  OradaUom  in  the  Fotvm  of  Animal  Life. 


461 


in  orderly  sequence,  so  as  irresist- 
My  to  teach  certain  lessons  to  the 
haman  mind,  and  that  then  He 
wrote  a  few  lines  on  a  scrap  of 
papyms  to  intimate  that  the  lessons 
were  ontme,  and  that  all  the  vast 
apparatus  for  teaching  them  meant 
nothing  at  all. 

There  is  another  hypothesis  which 
needs  to  be  disposed  of.     Everyone 
will  admit  that  since  the  beginning 
of  the  creation,  some  species  have 
died  oat  and  become  extinct.      The 
cjrtoceras  is  no  more.     The  trilo- 
bite  is  wanting.      Drop  a  tear  over 
the  ashes  of  the  ichthyosaurus ;  we 
shall  not  see  his  like  again.    Never 
more  shall  archaaopterfz  macrura 
waggle  his  flexible  tail.^  As  thou- 
aands  of  species  have  disappeared 
from  the  living  world,  it  has  seemed 
reasonable  to  many  persons  to  ad- 
mit^ what  the  evidence  of  geology 
veiy  plainly  declares,  that  while 
some  species  have  been  dying  out, 
others  have  from  time  to  time  been 
introduced.      But  the  question  is, 
how  were  they  introduced?    And 
the  popular  answer  to  this  question, 
an  answer  upon  which  some  persons 
think  that  all  religion  depends,  is, 
that  they  were  introduced  in  each 
case  by  original  creation.     As  the 
extinction  of  species  is  still  going 
on,  and  yet  the  world  seems  to  pre- 
sent as  great  a  variety  as  ever,  the 
introduction  of  species,  even  in  the 
present  day,  is  admitted  as  possible 
or  probable.      And  if  the  introduc- 
tion must  take  place  by  origuial 
ereation,  it  has  been  well  put  by  a 
distinguished  man  of  science,  that 
any  morning  you  might  find  an  ele- 
phant standing  on  your  lawn,  just 
created.      But  such  a  thing  no  one 
would  believe  possible,  imless  all 
his  neighbours  kept  him  in  coun- 
tenance..  No  one  can  listen  to  such 
an  expectation  without  ridiculing 
its  absurd  improbability,  although 
many  calmly  enough  suppose  that 


there  was  once  a  day  when  not 
only  the  elephant  suddenly  made  its 
astonished  and  astonishing  appear- 
ance, but  when  every  other  creature 
that  breathes  made  its  appearance 
in  like  manner.  It  has  been  argued 
that  new  species  may  in  fact  be  in- 
troduced into  the  world  from  time 
to  time  suddenly,  and  by  original 
creation,  but  that  these  occurrences, 
either  accidentally,  because  they  are 
80  rare,  or  through  the  purposely 
secret  working  of  the  Creator,  tak- 
ing place  in  ocean  depths  or  deserts 
where  no  men  abide,  have  ever  es- 
caped the  gaze  of  human  curiosity. 
All  other  suppositions  on  the  ques- 
tion have  some  sanction  in  analogy, 
in  observation,  or  in  the  reputed 
authority  of  Scripture.  This  last 
supposition  has  none  of  these  sanc- 
tions. Its  chief  and  only  merit  is 
that  there  is  no  direct  way  of  test- 
ing the  truth  of  it.  It  gives  a 
mean  and  inconsistent  idea  of 
the  Creator,  as  planting  in  men's 
breasts  a  spirit  of  enquiry,  and  then 
dodging  them  like  a  Will-o'-the- 
wisp,  in  their  eager  but  necessarily 
fruitless  pursuit. 

The  animal  kingdom  has  been  di- 
vided by  authors  of  repute  into 
seven  sub-kingdoms.^  The  lowest 
place  is  occupied  by  the  Protozoa, 
to  which  sponges  and  infusorial 
animals  belong;  the  highest  is  as- 
signed by  conmion  consent  to  the 
Yertebrata,  comprising  in  their 
ranks  sprats  and  men,  baboons  and 
skylarks,  the  cobra  and  the  frog. 
Between  these  two  extremes  must 
be  ranged  the  other  five  sub-king- 
doms. The  relative  rank  of  these 
is  less  easy  to  determine.  They  are 
by  name  —  the  MoUusca,  among 
which  are  found  the  oyster  and  the 
sea-squirt;  the  Arthropoda,  com- 
prehending butterflies,  spiders,  and 
crabs ;  the  Vermes,  or  worms ;  the 
Echinodermata,  containing  the  sea- 
urchin  and  the  star-fish;  and,lastiy 


'  Lyell'f  ElenunU  of  CMogy,  p.  394. 

*  FormM  qf  Animal  I^fe,    By  G.  Kolleston,  D.M.,  F.BJ9.    IntxoductioD,  p. 


462 


On  same  OradcUiona  in  the  Forms  of  Animal  Life. 


[April 


the  GcBlenterata,  lowest  of  the  five 
in  organisation,  bnt  comprehending 
corals  and  corallines,  which  the 
higher  divisions  cannot  snrpass,  if 
even  thej  can  rival  them,  in  beauty. 

Eorpnrposes  of  classification  these 
seven  suV-kingdoms  are  again  sub- 
divided into  classes,  orders,  families, 
genera,  species,  varieties,  with  their 
several  sub-orders,  sub-genera,  and 
sub- varieties,  till  you  come  to  the 
division  into  individuals,  and  the 
interesting  question,  far  less  easy  to 
solve  than  to  propose,  What  is  an 
individual  P 

The  first  sub-kingdom  comprises 
five  classes,  in  the  following  order — 
mammals,  birds,  reptiles,  amphibia, 
and  fishes.  The  second  sub-kingdom 
comprises — ^what  shall  we  say?  We 
cannot  tell  what  to  say  until  we 
know  which  is  the  second  sub-king- 
dom. By  affinity  of  structure  the 
Mollusca  come  nearest  to  the  Ver- 
tebrates, but  the  sagacious  ant  and 
brave  industrions  bee  seem  to  plead 
for  the  claims  of  the  Arthropoda  as 
far  superior  to  those  of '  oysters  and 
so  forth.'  It  appears  that  whatever 
characters  of  importance  we  choose 
upon  which  to  base  our  classifi- 
cation, confusion  invariably  arises 
in  some  quarter  or  another  from 
conflicting  claims.  This  appears  in 
arranging  even  the  classes  of  the 
vertebrates.  The  mammals  take  an 
indisputable  precedence,  because 
man  is  a  mammal.  But,  not  to 
speak  of  birds,  many  reptiles  surpass 
many  mammals  in  size,  strength, 
and  beauiy,  in  adaptation  of  struc- 
ture to  a  great  variety  of  circum- 
stances, and  even  in  intelligence. 
Man  himself  is  prone  to  ckun  an 
unlimited  superiority  over  all  other 
animalfl  by  vutue  of  his  reason ;  and 
because  of  this  possession,  which  he 
often  fitncies  to  be  exclusively  his 
own,  he  disdains  the  notion  of  an 
origin,  however  remote,  from  any 
creature  unlike,  or  unequal  to  the 
present  magnificence  of  humaniiy. 
He  would  £>  well  to  consider  the 


recent  date  of  his  supremacy,  and 
how  far  from  universal  it  still  re- 
mains. Measured  by  the  general 
estimate  of  man's  unbounded  lord- 
ship, the  tribute  which  is  annuaDj 
paid  in  India  to  poisonous  snakeB 
and  ravening  tigers  seems  rather  a 
large  one.  Of  parasites  unwillingly 
entertained  in  the  very  throne  of 
reason,  the  brain  itself,  it  would  be 
unpleasant  te  speak  more  particu- 
larly ;  but  why,  I  wonder,  if  we  are 
60  indisputably  supreme,  do  we  not 
abolish  rats  and  earwigs  ?  It  would 
be  interesting  to  know  whether  more 
sharks  are  slain  by  men  or  more 
men  slain  by  sharks  in  the  ooTzree 
of  a  year.  Our  superiority  looks 
rather  small  when  examined  in 
deteil.  The  eagle  and  the  lynx  have 
keener  sight,  the  hound  an  acuter 
sense  of  smeU.  We  cry  in  vain  for 
the  wings  of  a  dove.  We  tax  our 
ingenuiiy  to  build  ocean-traversing 
stoEimers  with  high-pressure  en- 
gines, and  when  these  vehicles  put 
forth  their  best  speed  little  birds  fly 
easily  round  them.  Hundreds  of 
animals  can  mock  the  efiforte  of  t^e 
swiftest  human  pursuer.  The  ele- 
phant and  many  other  creatures 
surpass  us  in  size  and  strength,  the 
cat  and  others  in  agility.  In  lore 
we  are  less  constant  than  the  pigeon. 
In  war,  how  noble  a  picture  we 
present !  how  lofty  an  exaniple  we 
set  before  the  hawk  and  the  tiger  of 
mild  good  faith,  serene  benevolence, 
abstemious  self-restraint,  and  tender 
pity  for  our  fellow-creatures!  Of 
personal  beauty  it  is  needless  to 
speak ;  on  that  point  one  half  of  tlie 
human  race,  negresses  and  Esqui- 
maux squaws  included,  must  of 
course  be  supreme,  in  spite  of  all 
the  gazelles,  and  zoophytes,  and 
peacocks,  and  birds-of-paradise  in 
the  world. 

A  remark  has  been  made  that 
'if  man  had  not  been  his  own 
classifier,  he  would  never  hftve 
thought,'  as  many  naturalists  liave 
done,  '  of  founding  a  separate  order 


18731 


On  some  OradcUions  in  the  Forms  of  Aniinal  Life, 


463 


for  his  own  reception.'^    It  is  re- 
torted that  man  establishes  his  right 
to  the  exdnsiye  position   by  ex- 
clnsivelj  possessing  the  power  to 
classify.    In  ^sop's  fables  a  man 
debates  this  very  question  with  a 
Eon,  and  points  out  that  in  all  pic- 
tares  of  contests  between  them,  the 
lion  is  vanqaished   and  the  man 
prevails ;  to  which  the  king  of  the 
forest  makes   reply,   that  if  lions 
were  the  painters,  men  would  be 
represented  as  the  victims,  and  with 
much  more  fidelity  to  the  facts  of 
the  case.    It  is,  indeed,  not  easy  to 
see  how  the  facts  of  the  case  can  be 
in  any  way  altered  by  the  circum- 
stance that  men  can  paint  and  lions 
cannot.     Men  can  classify ;  so,  in  a 
minor  degree,  can  other  animals. 
Dogs  can  distinguish  strangers  and 
acquaintances,  well-dressed  persons 
from  persons  in  rags ;  the  canine 
species  from  all  other  species.  They 
cannot  carry  their  classifications  far, 
not  from  want  of  memory  and  intel- 
ligence, but  from  want  of  a  well- 
devised  language  and  printed  books. 
Men  can  classify,  but  can  they 
classify   correctly?      We    are    aU 
agreed  that  the  earth  and  the  hu- 
man race  upon  it  are  at  least  five  or 
six  thousand   years  old;    and  yet 
within  the  last  hundred  and  twenty 
jears  parts  of  the  veiy  same  struc- 
ture, the  so-called  medusse  of  the 
hydroid  Zoophytes,  and  the  station- 
ary polypes  from  which  the  medusae 
come,  were  classified,  not  in  two 
different  species  or  genera  merely, 
bnt  in  two  different  classes.   Among 
the  fishes,  among  the  crustaceans, 
down  to  our  own  times,  husbands  and 
wives,  fathers  and  children,  have 
been  separated  and  assigned  to  dif- 
ferent groups  and  genera.    We  sa^ 
proudly  that  man  is  his  own  classi- 
fier; but  wMch  man,  if  you  please? 
Let  the  most  intelligent  of  my  can- 
did readers  answer  for  themselves 
how  much  they  have  had  to  do  with 


the  classification  of  the  animal 
kingdom.  The  best  naturalists  are 
still  disputing  whether  men,  the 
bimana,  should  be  an  order  by  them- 
selves, or  ranged  alongside  of  the 
quadrumana  as  a  section  of  the 
order  Primates.  The  majority  of 
mankind,  even  in  these  days  of  en- 
lightenment, are  content  to  follow, 
on  one  side  or  the  other,  the  few 
leaders  of  opinion.  In  regard  to 
facts  discovered  and  arguments 
founded  upon  the  discoveries,  most 
of  us  are  but  too  happy  if  we  can  do  a 
little  gleaning  after  the  reapers,  a 
little  picking  up  of  crumbs  from 
beneath  the  tables  of  the  rich. 
When  we  say  *  most  of  us,'  when 
we  speak  of  *  the  majority  of  man- 
kind,' we  refer  only  to  those  who 
give  the  subject  a  thought,  for, 
compared  with  the  whole  mass  of 
human  beings  on  the  globe,  it  is 
pretty  certain  that  those  who  think 
or  know  anything  about  the  classi- 
fication of  the  animal  kingdom  are 
only  a  handful.  The  grasp  of  the 
subject  obtained  by  a  few  industri- 
ous students,  and  the  progress  made 
in  it  by  men  of  exceptional  genius, 
are  both  of  them  largely  due  to  the 
accumulation  of  experience  and  dif- 
ftision  of  knowledge  made  possible 
by  the  invention  of  printing.  Print- 
ing itself  was  man's  invention ;  but 
surely  an  animal  cannot  be  trans- 
ferred from  one  order  to  another  by 
means  of  an  invention.  The  art  of 
printing,  like  many  other  contriv- 
ances evolved  from  the  human  mind, 
quite  consistently  with  the  law  of 
natural  selection  though  not  pre- 
cisely hy  that  law,  confirmed  and 
carried  forward  man's  general  su- 
periority over  the  other  animals. 
In  the  same  way  tigers  confirmed 
their  general  superiority  over  In- 
dian villages  when  they  invented 
the  plan  of  hunting  in  couples,  so 
that  while  one  is  being  driven  off 
by  the  wretched  men  at  one  end  of 


'  Deacent  of  Man,    Darwin.    VoL  i.  p.  191. 


464. 


On  some  Oradatiatu  in  the  Forma  of  Animal  Life.         [April 


the  village,  its  companion  carries  off 
the  still  more  wretched  babies  at 
the  other. 

One  thing  in  mental  development 
is  to  be  noticed,  that  the  improve- 
ment is  not  transmitted  only,  per- 
haps we  should  add,  not  chiefly,  by 
inheritance  in  the  direct  line  of  its 
first  possessor.  A  mind  exalted 
and  refined  becomes,  as  it  were,  the 
£[)od  and  sustenance  of  other  minds, 
whereby  they  also  are  refined  and 
exalted,  so  that  the  refinement  and 
exaltation  are  in  the  end  transmit- 
ted, not  through  one  only,  bnt 
through  many  channels  of  inherit- 
ance. When  we  say  that  such  and 
such  a  man  was  in  advance  of  his 
time,  we  mean  that  other  minds  had 
not  at  that  epoch  so  far  beneficially 
varied  as  to  be  even  capable  of  re- 
ceiving the  better  food  which  he  had 
become  capable  of  supplying.  Thus 
it  is  that  with  the  mind,  as  with  the 
body,  nature  cannot,  and  obviously 
does  not,  select  the  absolute  best ; 
but  only  the  best  under  the  circum- 
stances. 

It  was  long  a  fiivourite  explana- 
tion of  the  similarities  between  ani- 
mals in  some  respects  extremely 
unlike,  that  they  had  all  been  cre- 
ated upon  the  same  general  typoc 
That  sounds  very  philosophical  and 
satisfibctory ;  let  us  examine  it  a 
little.  The  vertebrate  type  con- 
tains mammalR,  birds,  reptiles,  am- 
phibia, and  fishes.  Here  we  have 
grouped  together  men,  monkeys, 
and  whales,  the  eagle,  the  ostrich, 
and  the  apteryx,  the  crocodile,  tor- 
toise, and  adder,  the  frog  and  the 
axolotl,  the  sturgeon,  the  flounder, 
and  the  lancelet.  By  the  theoiy 
we  have  mentioned,  the  Creator  ia 
regarded  as  an  artist  having  an  idea 
in  his  mind  which  he  chose  to  work 
out  in  various  ways,  just  as  an  archi- 
tect might  enxploy  Gothic  architec- 
ture in  building  a  palace  or  a  hovel, 
a  church  or  a  linendraper's  shop. 
It  would  be  a  strange  vagary  in  a 
human  artist,  when  rearing  a  grand 
cathedral,  to  build  by  its  mde  a 


beer-shop  in  the  very  same  style, 
but  hideously  caricatured ;  or,  having 
on  one  day  designed  a  vile  grotesque 
tenement^  on  the  next  day  to  choose 
that  pattern,  of  all  others,  for  the 
noblest  of  his  works.  Yet  this  is 
what  the  Divine  artist  is  charged 
with  having  done  in  regard  to  man 
and  the  baboon.  With  infinite  ya- 
riety  at  His  command  He  is  sup- 
posed to  have  employed  one  ides  for 
a  thousand  different  purposes — now 
and  then,  as  in  the  liskncelet,  ahnost 
losing  sight  of  it  altogether;  at 
other  times  carrying  it  a  little  too 
far,  as  in  giving  man  the  rudiment 
of  a  useless  tail ;  just  as  if  man 
could  not  have  been  a  vertebrate 
without  that  rudiment.  Why 
should  a  type,  an  abstract  idea,  an 
ideal  plan,  or  whatever  else  you  are 
pleased  to  call  it,  have  been  worked 
out  into  useless  details?  And  if 
creation  according  to  ideal  types 
cannot  explain  these  rudimentaiy 
structures,  what  can  it  explain? 
Why  is  the  eye  of  a  cuttle-fish  so 
like  the  eye  of  a  man  ?  You  can- 
not answer  that  it  is  '  because  the 
cuttle-fish  is  a  vertebrate.'  Why 
do  insects  rank  so  high  in  the  ani- 
mal kingdom  for  ingenuity  and  per- 
severance? Insects  are  not  verte- 
brates. Among  the  vertebrata  them- 
selves, why  can  the  parrot  imitate 
articulate  language,  while  the  cleTer 
faithful  dog  can  only  whine  and 
bark?  Whyisman,thehighe8tofthe 
highest  class,  inferior  to  the  gud- 
geon, in  swimming,  to  the  rabbit  in 
running,  to  the  squirrel  in  climbingi 
to  the  flea  in  jumping,  to  the  snake 
in  wriggling,  and  unable  to  fly 
ataU? 

In  entering  now  upon  a  more  de> 
tailed  enquiry  into  the  gradations 
observable  among  the  fimns  of 
organic  life,  it  will  be  convenient 
to  Degin  with  the  lowest,  the  siiB- 
plest,  and  most  remote  from  onr- 
selves.  Many  persona  think  it  in- 
conceivable that  a  sponge  and  a  man 
could  have  had  a  common  origin, 
however  &r  back  that  origin  might 


187S] 


On  some  GradaJtUmB  in  the  Forms  of  Animal  Life. 


465 


be  placed.  Let  Bach  persons  imft- 
gine  themselves,  if  thej  can,  brought 
saddenly  fiioe  to  mce  with  the 
varioiis  specimens  of  hnmanity 
under  its  yarions  conditions.  Thej 
wonld  see  a  little  pink  baby  and  a 
great  black-bearded  man,  the  &ir 
Saxon  beant^,  and  the  swartb  she- 
saTBge  too  hldeons  to  describe,  the 
ladj  in  conrt-dress  and  the  Indian 
in  his  war-paint,  the  stripling  in  his 
jacket  and  the  aged  conncillor  in 
his  flowing  robe;  there  would  be 
the '  heathen  Chinee,'  and  the  Turk, 
and  the  Swiss  peasani-g^l,  soldiers 
and  sailors,  blacksmiths  and  bakers, 
boTS  bathing  and  climbing  trees, 
babies  in  long  clothes,  and  babies 
in  short  clothes,  lawyers  pleading 
in  wigs  and  gowns,  coal-miners 
borrowing  underground,  tailors  sit- 
ting cross-legged,  and  a  thousand 
other  varieties,  in  age,  costume, 
complexion,  tools  and  occupations. 
In  grades  and  diversities  of  intellect 
there  would  be,  besides  the  idiot 
and  the  maniac,  the  infant  unable 
to  speak  or  to  reason,  the  booby 
school-boy,  the  man  of  common 
sense,  the  genius  without  it,  the 
girl  sweetly  illogical,  the  prudent 
dame.  In  the  manner  of  feeding, 
how  great  a  variety  would  appear 
among  these  animals !  Some  would 
be  seen  parasitical  at  the  breast, 
others  dipping  their  fingers  in  com- 
mon in  the  dish,  some  conveying 
food  to  their  mouths  with  chop- 
sticks, others  delicately  handling 
silver  forks  and  the  best  Sheffield 
catlery.  In  weapons  of  war  the 
differences  would  be  found  still 
more  numerous,  intricate  and  sur- 
prising, from  chips  of  flint  and 
stakes  hardened  in  the  fire  up  to 
the  very  latest  refinements  of  civi- 
lised humanity.  To  complete  the 
parallel,  along  with  the  other  repre- 
sentative persons  there  should  be 
shown  the  faces  and  costumes  of 
past  ages  as  well  as  of  the  present, 


and  the  mimicry  of  both  in  the 
stage-player  and  the  masquerader. 

At  the  first  view  of  all  thia 
medley  of  animals,  some  so  sweet 
in  tone,  so  noble  in  aspect,  so  wise 
in  action,  others  so  unlovely  in  all 
things,  or  so  mean  and  trivial,  how 
difficult  would  it  be  for  an  intelli* 
gent  being,  previously  unacquainted 
with  animal  nature  and  the  nature 
of  man,  to  conceive  or  believe  that 
all  these,  in  spite  of  appearances^ 
were  of  one  species,  of  one  common 
origin  and  descent!  Yet  most  of 
my  readers  would  find  it  difficult 
to  believe  the  reverse,  because  they 
do  know  something  of  the  nature  of 
man,  they  are  not  puzzled  by  the 
thin  disguises  of  costume,  they  un- 
derstand something  of  the  develop- 
ment of  arts,  of  the  progress  of 
fashions,  they  know  the  giiadations 
through  winch  the  helpless  and 
speechless  infant  may  be  elevated 
into  the  hero  and  the  orator.  When 
an  equally  intimate  knowledge  of 
all  animated  nature  has  become 
common  among  men,  one  may  be 
permitted  at  least  to  anticipate  that 
the  mention  of  man's  affinity  to 
'oysters  and  so  forth,'  will  be 
thought  less  witty  as  a  joke  than 
heretofore,  and  the  joke  less  forcible 
as  an  argument. 

When  we  look  at  the  beginnings 
of  life,  we  find  none  of  that  enor- 
mous disp^arity  between  living  crea- 
tures which  confronts  us  m  the 
later  stages  of  gprowth  and  develop- 
ment. 'All  mammals,'  says  De 
Quatre&ges,  'and  even  man  him- 
self, as  well  as  birds  and  reptiles, 
proceed  from  actual  eggs.'  ^^  '  Up  to 
a  certain  point,'  Professor  Owen 
tells  us,  'the  vertebrate  germ  re- 
sembles in  form,  structure,  and  be- 
haviour, the  infusorial  monad  and 
the  germ-stage  of  invertebrates.'  ^^ 
And  again  De  Quatre&ges  says,. 
'All  vegetable  and  animid  germs,, 
seeds,  buds,  bulbs,  and  eggs,  have 


'*  Metamorphowt  of  Man  and  the  Lower  AnmaU,  eh.  \u 
"  Anatomy  of  Vertebrates,  rol.  i.  p.  2. 


466 


Ori  ^ame  OradcUwns  in  tke  Forms  of  Animal  lAfe,  [April 


their  origin  in  a  few  grannies, 
sooroelj  yistble  nnder  the  highest 
magnifying  power,  or  even  in  a 
single  vesicle,  smaller'  than  the 
point  of  the  finest  needle.  Thns 
commence  alike  the  elephant  and 
the  oak,  the  moss  and  the  earth- 
worm, and  such  is  rsallj  the  first 
apptorance  of  what,  at  a  later  period, 
will  become  a  man.'  ^*  Nay,  more 
ignominious  sfciU,  *all  vertebrates^' 
sajB  Owen,  *'  *  dnring  more  or  less 
of  their  developmen1»l  life^period, 
float  in  a  liquid  of  similar  specific 
gravity  to  themselves.'  Henceforth, 
therefore,  be  a  little  mor&respedifiil 
to  sponges  and  gregarines,  consider- 
ing their  likeness  to  your  former 
selves.  Be  pleased  to  remember,  that 
whatever  may  have  been  tbe  origin 
of  the  first  man  and  the  first  wOman, 
the  origin  of  every  one  of  you  is 
perfectly  well  known ;  for  notwith- 
standing the  many  virtis^s  and 
■graces  you  now  can  boast  of,  the 
most  muscular  Ohristian  among  you 
oould  once  have  passed  eaisily 
through  the  eye  of  a  needle,  was 
once   a    little    floating     parasitic 

ftTiima.1- 

The  sponges  and  gregarines  just 
mentioned  belong  to  the  Protozoa 
or  lowest  forms  of  animal  life.  A 
vast  branch  of  the  present  subject, 
relating  to  the  forms  of  vegetable 
life,  must  be  dismissed  forl^is  time 
with  enly  a  passing  reference.  So 
difficult  to  distinguish  are  the  con- 
fines of  the  two  kingdoms,  the 
animal  and  the  v^etable,  that  a 
proposal  has  been  made  to  establish 
a  sort  of  neutral  ground  or  third 
intermediate  kingdom,  the  Begnnm 
Protisticum  of  Haeckel.  The  neces- 
sity for  this  is  disallowed  by  Dr. 
Carpenter  and  Professor  BoUeston 
and  by  most  other  naturalists.  But 
it  is'interesting  to  observe  that  in 
discriminating    the    two    acknow- 


ledged kingdoms,  we  are  in  tlie 
lastTOSort  &ven  back  upon  a  single 
character,  not  irritabtiity,  or  Vson- 
■  tractibility^  or  looonrotioa,  or  ctrcu- 
lation  of  absorbed  and  assimilated 
niztritive  matters,  for  all  tiiese 
'l^momenannivexsal  iniiieaiiiinar 
are  'occasionally  nbservable  in  the 
vegetable  kingdom ; '  not  the  secre- 
tion of  chlorophyll,  and  of  cellulose, 
and  i^e  power  of  regeneratang  an 
entire  compound  organism  from  a 
more  or  less  fragmentary  portion, 
for  all  these  properties  almost  uni- 
versal among  vegetables,  are  also 
'  occasionally  noticeable  among  ani- 
mals.'^^  The  nature  of  the  food  tliey 
are  respectively  capable  of  aasiniila- 
ting,  constitutes  the  only  ultimate 
line  of  demarcation  between  the 
two  great  divisions  of  physical  life.'^ 
And  in  spite  of  this,  Professor  Bol- 
leston,  in  his  valuable  work  on  Tk 
FxjnmM  of  Animal  Life^  declares  that 
'  there  are  organisms  which,  at  one 
period  of  their  life,  exhibit  an  aggre- 
gate of  phenomena  such  as  to 
justify  us  in  speaking  of  diem  as 
animals,  whilst  at  another  they  ap- 
pear to  be  as  distinctly  vegetaUe:'  ^^ 
*  Have  you  no  brains  ? '  is  a  ques- 
tion we  sometimes  put  to  those  wiio 
disagree  with  us  in  opinion,  or  who 
do  not  readily  understand  our  ez- 
plaoations.  We  imply  that  even 
the  meanest  animal  must  hare 
brains.  But  we  are  very  far  out  in 
our  implication.  Not  only  maj 
•brains  be  wanting,  but  a  moufch  aad 
a  stomach.  In  the  lowest  amoeban 
forms  of  life  one  should  perhaps  saj 
that  the  creature  is  all  mouth  and 
all  stomach.  As  we  pass  io  Ihe 
higher  forms  of  life,  we  find  the 
apparatus  becoming  gradually  spe- 
cialised for  the  enjoyment  of  vsriouB 
kinds  of  food.  Yet  even  among  the 
Crustacea  there  are  some  which  are 
ndserably  deficient  in  the  power  of 


"  Metamorphoses  of  Man  and  the  Lower  Animals^  ch.  ii. 

"  Anatomy  of  Vertebrates,  vol.  i.  p.  4. 

"  Rolleston,  Farms  of  Animal  Life,  p.  clxiii. 

'*  Carpenter,  The  Microscope,  p.  240,  §  180. 

"  Eolleston,  Op,  cit.,  p.  clxiii. 


1873]  On  some  OradmUona  in  the  Forms  of  Animal  Life.  467 


dming,  and  ii>  is  a  shocking  but 
tmiMol  statement  that  in  some  of 
the  ento-porasiiaic  Termes  there  is 
absolutely  no  digestiye  system  pre- 
sent. ^^    This  is  explicable  on  the 
Darwinian  theory  as  the  adaptation 
of  creahires  by  vaiiation  and  na- 
tural selection  to  the  circmnstances 
with  which  they  have  come  to  be 
sorrounded;    while    surely    it    is 
absurd  to  speak  of  cnistaoea  and 
rermes  as  all  created  on  an  ideal 
plan,  when  some  of  them  are  en- 
tirely destitute  of  stomachs.  Surely 
the  theory  of  creation  by  special 
design    becomes  something  worse 
than  absurd,  when  charging  itself 
to  explain  the  existence  of  creatures 
irhich  cannot  flourii^  and  abound, 
which  cannot  eren  live,  except  in 
the  tissues,   in  the  vitals,  in  the 
heart  and  brain  of  other  animals. 
Do  those  who  advocate  this  and 
kindrsd  theories  ever  trouble  them- 
selves to  confront  the  consequences 
of  what  they  say  ?     Acoording  to 
them,  all  these  internal  parasites, 
the  caose  of  so  mnch  pain,  disease 
and  death,  must  have  been  created 
from  the  first  in  the  bodies  they  were 
destined  to  haunt,  in  the  innocent 
sheq),  in  the — ^as  yet  not  guilty—- 
man.    This  in  the  age  of  innocence ! 
this  before  pain  and  death  had  been 
introduced   into    the   world !   this 
by  exquisite  benevolence,  this  by 
glorious  design!  You  cannot  believe 
it,  unless  all  your  neighbours  are 
willing  to  help  you,  and  they  sure 
not  willing. 

Time  fails  for  showing  in  all  the 
sub-kingdoms  of  the  animal  world, 
or  even  in  a  single  division  of  any 
one  of  them,  uie  gradations  by 
which  different  forms  are  closely 
united.  For  the  connection  between 
the  vaiions  groups  of  the  Protozoa, 
Carpenter  On  ihe  Microscope  will  be 
a  useful  guide  to  the  student.  For 
the  Poly  cistina,  one  of  those  groups, 
we  may  take  the  opinion  of  Mr. 
Mungo   Ponton.     He    is   an  anti- 


Darwinian.  He  has  written  a  cu- 
rious book  with  a'  curious  tdtle. 
The  Beginndng :  its  When^  amd  Us 
Mow.  In  it  he  says,  '  Doubtless  had 
we  at  once  placed  before  us  the  en- 
tire series  of  forms  assumed  by  the 
Polycistina,  we  should  be  enabled 
to  discover  that  they  are  all  linked 
together  l^  transitional  types.' 

Between  these  and  the  Sponges 
Dr.  Carpenter  points  out  the  little 
intermediate  group  of  the  Acantho- 
metrina^  extremely  minute  balls  of 
jelly  upon  a  framework  of  spicules 
which  radiate  in  all  directions  from 
a  common  centre. 

Between  the  Spongiadao  of  the 
lowest  sub-kingdom  and  the  Coelen- 
terata,  the  sub-kingdom  inmiedi- 
ately  above  them,  those  who  have 
studied  the  Devonian  fossils  of 
Devonshire  will  know  how  close 
and  how  puzzlingly  close  is  often 
the  general  simi^Eurity  of  appear- 
ance. Especially  the  MilleporidaB 
and  the  FavositidflB  affect  a  spon- 
giose  structure.  The  modem  Alcy- 
oninm  digitatum  (vulgarly  known 
as  '  Dead  man's  toes')  and  Millepora 
tuberculosa  are  both  very  sponge- 
like masses.  We  do  not  for  a 
moment  wish  to  affiliate  particular 
corate  to  particular  sponges  on  the 
strength  of  any  superficial  resem- 
blance ;  but  we  maintain  that  when 
striking  similarities  present  them- 
selves between  different  classes  or 
different  sub-kingdoms,  they  are 
much  more  Ukely  to  be  due  to 
development  from  a  eonmion  origin 
than  to  creation  upon  separate  types. 
The  habit  of  living  in  colonies,  in 
which  the  different  members  of  the 
society  are  as  closely  united  as  a 
man's  body  and  limbs,  is  common 
both  to  sponges  and  conds.  Besides 
the  ordinary  method  of  reproduc- 
tion, these  creatures  and  some  others 
have  another  method  called  fissi- 
parity,  the  method  of  reproduction 
by  splitting.  When  a  creature  splits 
itself  almost  in  half  and  each  frag- 


'  BoUestOD,  Op.  cU,f  p.  czziii. 


On  some  OradaUona  in  the  FtyrwM  of  Animal  Life.         [Apnl 


ment  rounds  itself  off  into  a  new 
individual,  the  distinction  between 
parent  and  child  mnst  be  reduced 
to  a  minimmn,  and  when  gemmi- 
parity,  or  production  by  budding, 
is  added  to  production  by  seu- 
spHtting,  a  perfect  tangle  of  rela- 
tionships must  be  the  result.  How- 
ever, be  that  as  it  may,  we  have 
here  three  methods  of  reproduction, 
only  one  of  which  pervades  the 
whole  animal  kingdom,  reproduc- 
tion by  the  union  of  two  distinct 
elements.  Not  either  of  the  methods 
fitvourable  to  the  stability  of  species, 
but  the  method  favourable  to  varia- 
tion, since  the  product  of  two  things 
unlike  each  ower  cannot  be  exactly 
like  them  both.  Why  was  this 
method  selected  by  nature,  in  spite 
of  the  £&ults  found  with  it  by  Mil- 
ton's genius  ?  *^  May  we  not  say 
that  it  determined  its  own  selection 
by  giving  rise  to  useful  variations, 
in  which  the  other  methods  were 
unfiruitfulp  From  the  cumulative 
inheritance  of  many  advantageous 
variations  creatures  would  b(D  at 
length  developed  too  specialised  to 
admit  of  splitting  without  injury, 
or  of  budding  out  the  entire  organ- 
ism from  the  foot,  or  side,  or  cheek 
of  the  parent.  Nevertheless  the 
power  of  budding  was  not  altogether 
lost,  for  crabs  and  star-fish  can  re- 
pair the  loss  of  limbs  by  budding 
out  fresh  ones.  The  same  thing 
has  been  observed  to  take  place 
even  in  the  human  embryo,  and  in 
human  beings  of  maturer  life  extra 
digits  have  sprouted  again  afber 
amputation. 

Within  the  boundaries  of  the 
Coelenterata,  the  stony  coraLs  of  the 
Anthozoa  show  an  immense  varielr 
of  forms  linked  together  by  multi- 
tudinous minute  gradations.  In 
studying  what  are  commonly  known 
as  sea-anemones,  most  persons  are 
at  first  surprised  to  find  that  while 
some  are  perfectly  soft,  others,  very 


like  them  in  general  aspect,  have  a 
hard  stony  skeleton.  We  know  well 
enough  that  hard-hearted  men  and 
soft-hearted  women  spring  fromtbe 
same  parents.  We  ought  not,  then, 
to  wonder  at  a  corresponding  varia- 
tion in  the  structure  of  a  polype. 
Here,  again,  we  have  the  requisite 
gradations  from  absolute  softness 
through  a  mere  granular  harden- 
ing to  a  complete  continuous  con- 
solidation.'® And  if  this  were  not 
enough  to  show  us  how  Nature,  as 
De  Quatre&ges  says,  had  been  feel- 
ing her  way  to  a  conclusion,  we  have 
the  abiding,  continually  repeated 
evidence  of  the  process  of  develop- 
ment in  each  individual,  for  in  their 
youth  all  the  corallaria  alike  are 
soft-bodied  polypes.  By  d^rees 
they  acquire  their  appropriate  gra- 
nulations, their  solid  walls,  their 
cycles  of  septa,  costeB,  columella^ 
pali,  and  synapticulas,  the  tabuls, 
the  vesicular  tissue,  and  the  epi> 
theca.  By  degrees  only  do  thej 
acquire  a  right  in  these  hard  names, 
nor  yet  do  any  ever  acquire  a  right 
in  them  all,  but  some  in  many,  some 
in  a  few,  and  some  in  only  one. 
Be  it  granted  that  while  the  present 
argument  tends  to  show  that  a  soft 
polype  was  the  ancestor  of  all  the  co 
rallaria,  we  are  confronted  with  the 
circumstances  that  all  the  soft  po- 
lypes are  modem,  and  that  the  most 
complicated  stony  corals  range  hack 
through  millions  of  years  to  the 
Silurian  period.  It  looks,  at  the 
first  glance,  as  if  the  ancestor  onh 
began  to  live  a  great  while  after  the 
death  of  his  descendants.  But  a 
single  observation  clears  up  the  mys- 
tery. The  soft  polypes  won't  fos- 
silise. Few  would  care  to  deny  the 
existence  of  such  creatures  conteio- 
porary  with  the  Silurian  Acervnlaria 
luxurians,  and  thenceforward  down 
to  our  own  times.  But,  if  so,  what 
a  multitude  of  forms  has  been  lost 
to  human  reoognitiony  how  vast  a 


»  Paradite  Lost,  book  x.  rer.  888. 

>'  M.  Edwards  and  J.  Haime,  Sistoire  naiureile  dee  CknuUiaires,  c  i.  p.  7- 


W^]         On  some  Oradaiicna  in  the  Forms  of  Animal  Life. 


469 


slice  has  been  cat  ont  of  tbe  genea- 
logical histoiy  of  tlie  Ccelenterata  ! 
There  still  remains  the  apparent 
difficnlij  that  we  shonld  find  almost 
at  the  beginning  of  fossil  records 
corals  so  highlj  developed  as  the 
Acervnlaria.  Itu^m^^beadifficnliy, 
were  it  in  any  de^e  probable  that 
the  Silurian  period  was  the  tme 
beginning  of  fossil  liistory.    Bnt  in 
the  first  place,  from  rocks  far  older 
than  the  Silurian  we  now  have  the 
foraminiferons  structure  of  the  Eo- 
joon  Canadense ;  secondly,  we  know 
that  repeated  research  has  been  oon- 
tinnally  pushing  back  the  zone  of 
primordial  life  into  a  more  and  more 
distant  past;  thirdly,  we  must  re- 
member how  recently  and  how  gra- 
dnally  the  antiquity  of  the  higher 
organisms  has  been  established,  as  of 
man  in  particular,  of  the  mammals 
in  general,  and  of  birds ;  fourthly, 
it  is  obvious  tbat  time  has  a  great 
efiect  in  obliterating  the  traces  of 
life,  since  in  the  Upper  Oolite  we 
can  recognise  the  existence  of  birds 
by  the  booies  and  feathers  they  have 
lef^,  whereas  in  the  far  older  Trias 
(Keuper)  we  have  as  yet  no  memo- 
rials of  them  but  their  foot-prints. 
And  lastly,  in  the  relation  of  animal 
to  vegetable  life  we  have  a  conclu- 
siye  proof  that  there  were  living 
things  upon  the  globe  prior  to  any 
of  which  fossil  remains  have  hitherto 
been    found.     The    oldest    known 
fossil  is   the   fossil  of  an  animal 
stmctnre.     On  what  did  that  ani- 
mal support  life  ?     Unless  the  na- 
ture of  things  has  been  altered  in 
the  meanwhile,  which  there  is  not 
the  shadow   of  a  reason  for  sup- 
posing,  vegetable   life  must  have 
preceded  animal  life  upon  the  globe 
for  the  simple  reason  that  animals 
cannot  live     npon    soup  made    of 
stones    and    water  seasoned    with 
sunlight,  while  vegetables  can. 

The  inference  from  all  these  con- 
siderations is  that  there  is  not  the 


slightest  difficulty  in  believing  that 
a  multitude  of  forms  of  the  fleshy 
polypes  lived  in  the  pre-Silnrian 
age,  ancestral  to  the  simple  and  to 
the  more  or  less  complicated  stony 
corals  which  have  flourished  since. 
Of  persons  bearing  certain  names 
we  are  sometimes  pleased  to  say 
that  such  an  one  is  a  man  of  a  very 
old  family,  ignoring  the  fact  that 
the  ragged  crossing-sweeper,  who 
has  no  name  to  boast  of  but  a  nick- 
name, is  a  man  of  a  family  precisely 
as  old.   He  has  not  kept  ^e  records 
of  his  forefathers,  he  cannot  point 
to  a  fossil  ancestry  enshrined  in 
marble,  and  we  think  that  he  has 
none.    We  deem  of  him  as  a  crea- 
ture of  yesterday,  sprung  from  the 
mud  in  which   he  plies  his  toil. 
You  will  observe  how  this  prejudice 
affects  men's  minds  on  the  whole 
question   of   genealogical    history. 
Nothing  but  their  own  actual  pre- 
sence   at    each    successive    birth 
through  thousands  or  millions  of 
years  would  suffice  to  satisfy  some  * 
of  these  sceptics  as  to  the  connection 
by  descent  between  two  different 
forms. 

Passing  from  the  Anthozoa  to  the 
Hydrozoa,  we  have  to  observe  the 
points  of  Ukeness  between  the  two 
orders,  the  Discophora  or  Medusae, 
and  the  Hydroida.  To  the  Disoo- 
phores  belong  the  large  jelly-flshes, 
one  of  which,  the  Cyanssa  Arctica,  is 
said  to  attain  a  diameter  of  seven 
feet  and  a  half.  The  great  Disco- 
phores  and  the  tiny  hydroids  pre- 
sent parallel  courses  of  development. 
For  these  and  those  alike  a  polypite 
affixed  and  stationary  buds  out  a 
medusa  form  to  swim  freely  in  the 
waters,  which  in  turn  sends  forth  a 
brood  of  ciliated  embryos,  and  these 
after  a  while  choose  some  point  of 
attachment,  and  develop  into  sta- 
tionary polypites  to  bud  forth  a  new 
generation  of  medusae.*® 

In  some  genera  of  both  groups 


*  7%e  Popular  Science  Beview,  April  1871.     Art.  '  Discophores,*  by  the  Rer.  Thomas 
Hincks. 

TOL.  VJT. NO.  XL.  NEW  SERIES.  K  K 


470 


On  some  Gradatian^  in  the  Forms  of  Animal  Life,  [April 


the  stationary  potyplte  \a  wanting. 
The  mednsa  is  developed  direct 
from  the  Q^  of  the  medusa.  The 
Suppression  of  certain  stages  of  de- 
velopment in  the  life-histoiy  of  an 
a;nimal  is  not  uncommon.  Its  ad- 
vantage may  easily  be  compre- 
hended. By  it  a  creature  attains 
maturity  sooner,  and  is  therefore 
sooner  capable  of  defending  itself 
against  enemies  and  propagating 
its  species.  Such  a  variation,  there- 
fore, natural  selection  would  natu- 
rally select,  while  other  theories 
stammer  helplessly  in  trying  to  ex- 
plain it.** 

In  the  Hydroida  6)  chain  of  re- 
semblances will  be  found  binding 
together  the  various  genera  and 
Species.  The  chitinous  envelope, 
sometimes  wanting,  sometimes  ex- 
tremely simple,  in  other  cases  be- 
comes a  miniature  tree,  a  maze  of 
foiry  foliage  adorned  with  exquisite 
cups  or  shining  bells,  all  instinct 
with  life  and  sometimes  with  living 
fire.  With  the  valuable  assistance 
of  Mr.  Hincks  and  Professor  All- 
man,  the  reproductive  polypite  may 
be  traced  through  a  series  of  tran- 
sitional forms  in  different  species 
from  a  mere  adherent  sac  to  the 
free  medusiform  zooid,  so  surprising 
in  its  tiny  loveliness  as  it  glides 
about  or  sinks  or  rises  in  the  water 
like  a  transparent  parachute  or 
crystal  vase.  Between  the  free 
swimming  bell  polypite  devoted  to 
reproduction  and  the  stationary  poly- 
pite devoted  to  nutrition,  parts,  one 
might  almost  say,  of  the  same  indi- 
vidual,  though  in  former  times  re- 
garded as  quite  different  animals, 
there  is  in  fact  the  closest  connec- 
tion even  in  form.  The  swimming 
bell  is  but  a  disguise,  a  sort  of  pet- 
ticoat and  crinoline,  useful  perhaps 
but  not  universal — a  fashion,  one 
might  say,  not  abruptly  introduced, 


but,  like  the  petticoat,  gradnallj 
developed,  since  there  are  stationary 
polypites  with  the  beginning  of 
such  an  expansion,  and  free  polj- 
pites  without  it. 

In  the  sub-kingdom  of  the  Vermes 
there  is  the  class  of  the  Grephyrsea, 
so  called  from  a  Greek  word  signi- 
fying  '  bridge,' .  because  this  class 
bridges  over  the  interval  between 
the  Vermes  and  the  Echinoder- 
mata.** 

Of  the  latter  sub-kingdom  Dr. 
Thomas  Wright,  in  his  Monograph 
pubHshed  by  the  Pateontographical 
Society  for  1856,  remar!^:  'No 
class  of  the  animal  kingdom  more 
clearly  exhibits  a  gradation  of 
structure  than  the  Echinodermaia; 
for  while  some  remain  rooted  to  the 
sea-bottom,  and  in  this  sessile  con- 
dition and  other  points  of  structure 
resemble  the  Polypifera,  others  ex- 
hibit the  true  rayed  forms,  clothed 
in  prickly  annour,  which  charac- 
terise the  central  groups  of  this 
class.  These  conduct  us  through  & 
series  of  beautiful  gradations,  to 
soft  elongated  organisms  whose 
forms  mimic  the  AscidianMoUusca-, 
whilst  others  have  the  long  cylin- 
drical body  and  annulose  condition 
of  the  skin,  with  the  reptatoij 
habits  of  the  apodous  Annelida.' 

Since  this  was  written,  the 
Sipunculidfla  and  others  after  con- 
siderable controversy  have  been  re- 
moved fr^m  the  Ediinodermata  to 
the  Gephyraoan  class  of  worms 
above-mentioned.  Considering  the 
astonishing  difference  between  the 
common  earthworm  and  a  sea- 
urchin,  it  is  surely  a  circumstance 
requiring  some  explanation  that 
forms  should  exist  the  affinities  d 
which  lie  doubtfully  between  the 
two. 

The  Eijhinoderms  are  divided 
into  four,  classes,,  the  Criwdoa — 


»•  See  Facts  for  Darwin,  By  Fritz  Miiller.  Chapter  on  the  *  Progress  of  Evolntion.' 
Translated  by  Dallas. 

**  See  KoUeston,  Forms  of  Animal  lAfe^  p.  czxxi. ;  and  for  the  })oint8  of  res«inblai«» 
to  Echinodermata  in  the  I^aiyelmiwtkes  and  BoUftra^  see  note  pp.  153  &c 


1873]  On  $ome  Oradaiions  in  the  Forms  of  Animal  Life. 


471 


AstiRToidea,  Ecbinoidea,  and  Holo- 
thurioidea.     The  lowest  of  these, 
the  Crinoidea,  were  extremely  abon- 
dant  in  the  SUnrian  and  Devonian 
periods.    Thej  are  now  exceedingly 
mre.   It  may  seem  rather  damaging 
to  the  theory  of  evolution  that  thus 
early  among  our  fossil  records  we 
shonld  find    the    beautiful    stone- 
lilies  in  high  perfection,  with  their 
hng  jointed  stems  channelled  and 
emboBsed  in  various  patterns,  their 
cnps   of  ingenious    mosaic,    their 
branohing  arms  and  delicate  fila- 
ments.   But  the  existence  of  these 
highly  organised  stone-lilies  in  the 
SUunan  period  is  in  truth  of  great 
importance  to  the  evolution  theory. 
The  whole  range  of  fossil  records 
maybe  said  to  have  established  this 
general  law,  that  in  the  history  of 
any  order  or  family  of  animals,  the 
genera  and   species   gradually  in- 
crease in  number  till  they  attain  a 
maTimum,  and  from  that  Tnn.TimnTn 
^^naUy  decline  till  they  finally 
die  out.     Thus   the  trilobites  be- 
come  most    abundant    about    the 
middle  of  the  Palaeozoic  series  of 
rocks,   and    are     almost,     if    not 
altogether,    extinct    at    the    close 
of  the    upper    Palaeozoic     series. 
Thus  oysters,  which  in  the  creta- 
ceous period    numbered  hundreds 
of  species,  are  every  year  becoming 
less  considerate  of   the  wants   of 
their  human  congeners — in    other 
irords,  are  obviously  going  through 
the  process  of  gradually  dying  out. 
Apply  this  law  to  the  case  of  the 
Crinoids,  once  so  abundant,  now  so 
scarce,  and  the  saggestion  arises 
that  half  their  history  maj  be  pre- 
Sihirian,   buried    in    an  unknown 
past,  during  which  they  were  rising 
from  scarcity  to  abundance,  as  since 
then  they  have  been  sinking  from 
abandance  to  scarcity. 

In  another  way  the  Crinoids  fur- 
nish remarkable  evidence  in  &vour 
of  the  evolntion  theory.  The  Ante- 
don,  alias  Gomatnla,  alias  Feather- 


star,  is  a  Crinoid.  But  the  long 
peduncle  or  fooi>-stalk,  so  charac- 
teristic of  its  class,  is  wanting.  It 
is  free  and  unattached  like  the 
common  starfish,  which  it  also  re- 
sembles in  possessing  five  arms, 
although  these  arms  bifurcate  very 
close  to  the  base  and  seem  to  be 
ten  in  number.  Now,  if  anyone 
supposes  it  impossible  for  a  free- 
swimming  starfish  to  have  been 
developed  from  a  pedunculated  cri- 
noid, the  comatula  gives  him  his 
answer.  In  its  larval  stage,  like  the 
offspring  of  the  polype,  like  the 
offspring  of  the  starfish  and  the 
echinus,  it  is  a  little  free-swimming 
ciliated  zooid.  From  this  estate  it 
passes  into  the  condition  of  a 
pedunculated  crinoid,  and  finally 
drops  off  its  stalk  and  becomes 
free  again.  When  the  life  of  one 
small  obscure  animal  presents 
changes  so  remarkable,  and  when 
in  fact  the  lives  of  all  animals  pre- 
sent changes  which  would  be  equaUy 
remarkable  were  they  less  familiar, 
all  idea  of  improbability  or  impossi- 
bility must  surely  be  discarded  as 
attaching  in  any  degree  to  the 
theory  of  evolution.  Mr.  Mungo 
Ponton,  to  whom  we  have  before 
referred  as  an  anti-Darwinian  wit- 
ness, makes  the  following  most  per- 
tinent remark :  *  The  most  striking 
feature  in  animal  metamorphosis 
generally  is  the  greatness  of  the 
change  in  both  the  external  and 
internal  character  of  the  organism 
which  it  involves.  The  gradual 
conversion  of  one  species  of  animal 
into  another,  as  of  an  ass  into  a 
horse,  or  even  of  one  genus  into 
another,  as  of  a  hare  into  a  dog, 
would  not  involve  alterations  of 
structure  so  great  as  those  which 
are  thus  embraced  in  the  life-history 
of  one  and  the  same  individual 
being.'  ^ 

The  Asteroidea  are  divided  into 
two  sub-classes,  the  Ophiuridsd  and, 
the  Asteriadae,  distinguished  among 


"  The  Beginning,  its  Whm  and  its  How,  p.  241. 


K  K  Z 


472 


On  some  Gradations  in  the  Forms  of  Anvmal  Life.         [April 


other  things  by  the  relation  of  their 
arms  or  rays  to  the  central  disk. 
The  arms  in  the  O^hinridss  contain 
no  portion  of  the  (Ugestiye  and  re- 
productive apparatus  as  they  do  in 
the  AsteriadBB.  In  the  Ophinridss 
the  genus  Astrophyton  presents  us 
with  five  rays  branching  dichoto- 
monsly  from  their  roots,  as  the  rays 
branch  from  their  bases  in  the  Go- 
matula.  Herein  we  have  a  striking 
link  between  this  class  and  the 
Grinoidea.  On  the  other  hand,  with 
members  of  its  own  snb-class,  the 
Ophiocomas  or  brittle-stars,  Astro- 
phyton  is  said  by  Forbes  to  be  con- 
nected by  gradational  forms  of  the 
genus  Trichaster.'*  The  Ophiocoroa 
passes  easily  into  the  Ophiura. 
The  Luidia,  famous,  like  the  brittle- 
stars,  for  shedding  its  arms  at  those 
who  attempt  to  capture  it,  itself  an 
Asteriad,  links  the  Asteriadce  with 
the  Ophiuras.  On  the  other  side, 
the  genus  Goniaster  connects  the 
Asteriadas  with  the  Echinidss  or  sea- 
urchins.  Among  these  a  multitude 
of  forms,  round,  oval,  heart-shaped, 
flat,  dome-like,  conical  or  undu- 
lating, are  so  interlaced  and  bound 
together  by  resemblances  where 
most  they  differ,  by  the  slightness 
of  the  differences  which  end  in  ac- 
cumulating generic  distinction,  that 
anyone  who  will  thoroughly  and 
honestly  study  all  the  available 
forms,  fossil  and  recent,  will  find  it 
far  more  difficult  to  believe  them 
the  result  of  a  great  many  separate 
acts  of  creation  than  to  believe 
them  the  members  of  a  single 
family,  derived  from  a  common  an- 
cestor. 

There  is  a  curious  organ,  known 
as  the  madreporiform  tubercle,  and 
connected  with  what  is  called  the 
water- vascular  circulation,  existing 
aliJce  in  the  Ophiuridas,  the  Aste- 
riadfiB,  and  the  Echinidea.  Its  posi- 
tion is  central  in  the  first ;  lateral 
on  the  dorsal  surface  in  the  second, 
being  almost  marginal  in  Luidia; 


and    dorsally    sub-central    in   the 
third  of  these  classes. 

The  sub-kingdom  of  the  Arthro- 
poda,  to  which  we  shall  next  torn 
our  attention,  embraces  within  its 
limits  the  crab  and  the  butterfly. 
This  must  seem  a  most  paradoxical 
caprice  in  classification,  unless  some 
intermediate  form  presents  itself  to 
the    mind.     The   sub-kingdom  in 
question  is,   in  fact,  divided  into 
four  classes — Insecta,    Myriopodft, 
Arachnida,  Grastacea.     And  when, 
in  addition  to  the  crab  and  the  bat- 
terfly,  we  remark  that  it  indndes 
the  caterpillar,  the  centipede,  and 
the  spider,  a  possibility  gradually 
dawns  upon  the  mind,  that  among 
the  countless  forms  which  natnre 
provides,  here  also  some  may  be 
found  to  link  together  the  unlike, 
to  supply  the  requisite  fine  grada- 
tions, to   prove  in   a   sense  more 
literal  than  the  poet  intended,  that 
'one  touch  of  nature   makes  the 
whole  world  kin.'     We  can  easily 
accept  the  butterfly  and  the  spider  as 
belonging  to  the  same  sub-kingdonL 
The  spider  and  the  spider-crab  are 
not  so  unlike  when  placed  together 
as  to  revolt  our  notions  of  con- 
gruity  in  grouping.   As  a  matter  of 
fact,  the  nervous    system  of  the 
Crustacea,  we  are  told,  resembles 
in  its  general  principles  that  of  the 
insects.   The  visual  organ  in   the 
Crustacea  is  essentially  similar  to 
that  of  insects.     In  the  cmstaoea, 
as  in  insects,  there  is  a  marked 
division  of  the  body  into  three  re- 
gions,  the  head,  the  thorax,  the 
abdomen.      The    throwing   off  of 
the   old  integument,   and    its   re- 
placement by  a  new  one  during  ihe 
growth  of  the  animal,  takes  place  in 
all  the  Crustacea,  says  Mr.  Bell,  as 
necessarily  and  as  constantly  as  in 
insects  during  their  larva  condition.** 
The  very  peculiarity  of  undergoing 
metamorphoses,   which    was    once 
thought  most  decisively  to  set  apart 
the  insect  tribe,  is  now  known  to 


'  Hisiory  of  British  Star-fishes,  p.  68. 


**  British  Crustacea,  p.  ixxiii. 


1873] 


On  some  OradaHoru  in  the  Forms  of  Animal  Life. 


473 


J  also  to  tlie  Crustacea.    Grea- 
tarea  so  widely  apart  in  construe- 
tion,  that  at  one  time  they  were 
placed  not  only  in  different  genera 
bnt  in  different  orders,   are  now 
known  to  be  the  same  individual 
animal  in  the  changeful  guises  or 
disgaises  of  its  personal  develop- 
ment.    The  Zoea,  the  Megalopa, 
the  Moenas  CarcYnus,  or  Shore- crab, 
are  hat  the  baby,  the  child,  the 
adult  forms  of  a  single  animal. ^^ 
This  is  most  instructive  in  regard 
to  the  abrupt  metamorphoses  ti*om 
the  caterpillar  to  the  pupa,  from 
the  pupa  to  the  imago  stages  in  the 
Lepidoptera.      It  has  seemed  ex- 
tremely puzzling  to  reconcile  with 
the  theory  of  evolution  the  transi- 
tion of  a  creeping  caterpillar  into 
an  inert  chrysidis,  and  of  the  chry- 
Balis  into  a  brigbi>- winged  butterfly, 
all  within  the  limits  of  a  single  life- 
time.   The  puzzle  would  be  equally 
great    with    the    three    forms    of 
Mcenas  Carcinus,  were  the  transi- 
tions equally  abrupt.    But  they  are 
not  so.     The   process  of  develop- 
ment has  there  been  proved  by  Mr. 
Spence  Bate   to  be  perfectly  gra- 
dual.'^  In  the  Lepidoptera  the  pro- 
cess is  no  longer  gradual,  no  doubt 
for  the  simple  reason  that  many  of 
the  intermediate  stages  have  been 
suppressed,  or  repressed,  and  lost 
to  observation.      That  such    sup- 
pression may  take  place  is  clearly 
indicated   by   the  example  of  the 
West  Indian  Gecarcinus,  or  land- 
crab,  which  brings  forth  its  young 
in  the  likeness  of  the  adult  form 
without  the  intervention  of  meta- 
morphic  stages.     Fritz  Miiller  has 
pointed  out  the  considerable  advan- 
tage which   this  peculiarity  would 
give  to  the  species  possessing  it  in 
the  struggle   for  existence.     And 
probably  the  advocates  of  special 
creations  will  regard  it  as  a  beau- 
tiful adaptation  of  the  land-crabs  to 


the  conditions  of  crab-life  upon  land. 
Before  these  advocates  it  is  neces- 
sarjr  to  lay  another  beautiful  adap- 
tation of  land-crabs  to  the  conditions 
of  continental  existence.  *  Once  in 
the  year  they  migrate  in  great 
crowds  to  the  sea,  in  order  to 
deposit  their  eggs,  and  afterwards 
return  much  exhausted  towards 
their  dwelling-places,  which  are 
reached  only  by  a  few.'*®  On  the 
principles  of  natural  selection  we 
can  understand  the  gradual  migra- 
tion of  crabs,  which  varied  so  as 
to  be  capable  of  it,  farther  and 
farther  inland.  On  the  same  prin- 
ciples we  can  understand  the  pre- 
servation of  an  instinct  in  these 
creatures  of  depositing  their  eggs 
in  the  sea-waves  or  on  the  sea- 
shore, though  that  instinct  proved 
subsequently  fatal  to  the  parents 
themselves.  The  capacity  for  land- 
life  being  a  late  acquisition,  and 
therefore  not  at  the  outset  inherited 
by  their  offspring  in  the  earliest 
stages,  the  eggs  if  deposited  on  dry 
land  would  have  perished  and  the 
race  become  extinct.  Accordingly 
only  those  species  of  land-crabs 
would  be  preserved  in  which  the 
mothers  chose,  at  whatever  expense 
to  their  own  lives,  to  be  delivered 
of  their  offspring  at  the  sea- side. 
This  result  may  be  beautiful  or 
ugly  as  you  please  to  regard  it ;  it 
can  at  least  be  seen  to  be  natural. 
Some  minds  take  a  different  view. 
They  think  it  more  consonant  to 
piety  and  religion  to  beher^  that 
by  an  arrangement  of  special  crea- 
tion, by  the  excellent  design  of 
supreme  wisdom,  the  parents  were 
fitted  only  for  life  upon  dry  land, 
the  children  only  for  life  in  sea- 
water  ;  that  the  land-crabs  of  almost 
every  species  were  specially  created 
with  an  instinct  destructive  to  their 
own  lives. 
We  have  spoken  of  land-crabs  and 


«•  Bell,  British  Stalk-eyed  Cruetacea,  p.  liv. 

•*  Frita  Muiler,  Foots  for  Dartrin^  p.  55. 

**  Tzoschel,  quoted  by  Fritz  Miiller,  p.  48,  note. 


474 


On  some  Oradationa  in  the  Forms  of  Animal  Life.  [April 


shore- crabs ;  there  are  also  rirer- 
crabs  and  deep-sea  crabs.  Between 
the  crabs  that  are  constantly  in  the 
water,  and  the  crabs  that  are  con- 
stantly on  the  land,  there  are  those 
which  are  amphibious.  Breathing 
in  the  air  and  breathing  in  the 
water  are  two  diflferent  things.  It  is 
only  necessary  to  hold  one's  head 
in  a  bucket  of  water  for  a  minute 
and  a  half  to  prove  this  experimen- 
tally. This  difference  alone  might 
seem  a  satisfactory  refutation  of 
the  theory  of  man's  origin  from  a 
marine  animal.  But  the  crab  re- 
futes the  refutation.  And  the  re- 
searches of  Fritz  Miiller  have  shown 
by  what  veiy  simple  stages  the 
transition  from  aquatic  to  aerial 
respiration  may  be  effected.  Among 
the  Grapsoidas  he  observed  that  the 
animal  opened  its  bronchial  cavity 
in  front  or  behind,  according  as 
it  had  to  breathe  water  or  air.**  In 
many  of  the  Crustacea  there  are 
contrivances  by  which  the  animal 
continues,  when  upon  land,  to 
breathe  the  water  which  it  retains 
in  its  own  body  ;  and  it  seems  pro- 
bable  that,  in  some  of  the  terres- 
trial Isopoda^  the  same  contrivances 
which  protect  the  branchi£9,  or 
water-breathing  apparatus,  and  pre- 
vent the  too  rapid  escape  of  mois- 
ture, have,  beyond  this,  a  pulmonary 
function — that  is,  subserve  the  pur- 
pose of  aeiial  respiration.^® 

There  are  two  main  divisions  of 
the  Crustacea,  the  Sessile-eyed  and 
the  Stalk-eyed.  The  Stalk-eyed 
Prawn  has  been  traced  through  its 
several  stages  of  development — the 
Nauplius,  Zoea,  Mysis  forms — till  it 
becomes  a  perfect  Palasmon.  The 
two  first  of  these  forms  correspond 
with  those  of  the  lower  Crustacea, 
and  are  sessile-eyed,  thus  remark- 
ably binding  together  the  two  great 
divisions  of  the  class.  Mr.  Bell,  in 
the  Introduction  to  his  History  of 
the  British  stalk-eyed    Crustacea, 


observes  that '  the  variations  which 
occur  in  every  organ  and  function, 
in  the  different  groups  belongii^  to 
the  Crustacean  type,  are  so  consider- 
able as  to  render  it  almost  impossi- 
ble to  include  them  all  withmone 
common  and  well-defined  expres- 
sion.' He  speaks  of  the  typical 
characters  as  being  *  astonishingly 
modified,'  in  some  cases  '  totally 
changed,'  4n  others,  absolutely  lost^' 
In  other  words,  while  still  apparentiy 
a  believer  in  the  theory  of  iypical 
creations,  he  confesses  the  fallacious- 
ness of  that  theory.  For  how  can  crea- 
tures be  created  according  to  a  type, 
with  the  typical  characters  absolntely 
lost  ?  But  none  of  the  modifications 
of  the  twenty- one  segments  with 
their  appendages  which  appertain 
to  the  Crustacea,  be  it  into  eye- 
stalks  or  foot-jaws,  into  ambulatory 
feet  or  natatory,  be  it  by  soldering 
and  expansion  of  the  plates  into  a 
broad  carapace,  or  dwindling  of 
appendages  into  rudimentaiy  dots 
upon  the  tail — none  of  these  changes 
are  in  any  way  alien  to  the  princi- 
ples of  natursd  selection  based  on 
variation.  The  single  eye  of  the 
Nauplius,  the  two  sessile  eyes  of  the 
Zoea,  the  two  stalked  eyes  of  the 
full-grown  Prawn,  accord  but  ill 
with  typical  formation.  Thej 
accord  perfectiy  well  with  the  theory 
of  development ;  as  also  does  the 
circumstance  that  in  the  young 
animal  the  number  of  facets  in 
the  eye  is  fewer  than  in  the  adult 
state.  Thus,  according  to  Spence 
Bate,  *  in  the  genus  Gammarus,  the 
number  of  lenses  in  the  young  is  first 
eight  or  ten,  whilst  in  tiie  adult  they 
number  from  forty  to  fifty.'^i  There 
are  men  of  science  who  put  for- 
ward particular  organisations,  and 
captiously  enquire  how  the  incipient 
stages  of  such  structures  could  have 
been  of  any  use,  so  as  to  be  pre- 
served by  natural  selection.  This  is 
what  Mr.  Mivart  has  done  in  refer- 


■-»  Fritz  Muller,  Fact9for  Darwin,  p.  31. 

"  Britiah  SesnU-eyed  Crustacea,  Int.  p.  zzxyii. 

»'  Sessile-eyed  Crustacea.    Introduction,  p.  viiu 


Spence  Bate,  and  J.  0.  Westwood. 


187S] 


On  some- Gradations  in  the  Forms  cf  Animal  Life, 


47$ 


ence  to  the  whalebone  of  the  whale's 
mouth.    Surely  this  is  nothing  but 
an  appeal  to  ignorance.     To  an  ani- 
mal such  as  the  whale  is  now,  very 
likely  rudimentary  whalebone  would 
be  of  little  service.     But  who  told 
3Ir.    Mivart  that  the  whale    had 
acquired  all  the  conditions  of  its  pre- 
sent organisation  before  the  whale- 
bone began  to  sprout  P     The  long 
fbroua  plates  which  depend  from 
the  upper  jaw  of  the   Greenland 
whale  senre  it,  for  securing  its  food, 
in  place  of  teeth.     Doubtless,  prior 
to  the  development  of  the  whale- 
bone, the  ancestral  form  had  teeth, 
for  the  rudiments  are  still  to  be 
found  in  both  jaws  of  the  young 
ones.     All    other    species  possess 
teeth  either  in  one  or  both  jaws,  and 
in  these  only  short  fringes  of  whale- 
bone are  found.     If  the  short  fringes 
are  useless,  w^hy,  O  teleologists !  are 
thej  there  ?    If  they  are  not  useless, 
why  should  they  not  have  been  pre- 
served by  natuiial  selection  ?  Grant- 
ed that  the  incipient  structure  may 
not  have  been  a  short  firinge,  but 
merely  a  minute  gummy  exudation 
on  the  roof  of  the  mouth,  is  it  impossi- 
ble to  conceive  any  use  and  advan- 
tage for  so  slight  a  variation  ?     Far 
&om  it.    In  a  minor  degree  it  would 
fiubserve  the  very  purpose  fulfilled 
by  the  long  sieve-like  structure  in 
the  skull  of  the  Greenland  whale — 
namely,  the  detention  of  little  Ptero- 
pods  and    Medus®,  on  which  the 
huge  monster  delicately  feeds.^^ 

The  sub-kingdom  of  the  Mollusks 
ia  divided  into  two  great  provinces  ; 
one,  the  Mollusoa  proper,  among 
which  are  Cuttle-fish,  Slugs,  Ptero- 
poda  and  bivalve  oysters ;  the  other, 
the  Molluscoidea,  containing  the 
Brachiopoda,  Polyzoa  and  Tunicata, 
to  which  last  belong  the  Ascidians 
or  sea-squirts,  the  now  &mou8  an- 


cestors of  mankind.      But  _ 

that  the  vertebrates  go  back  at  least 
as  far  as  the  Old  Eed  Sandstone,  sp 
far  back  at  least  we  have  a  claim 
to  a  vertebrate  ancestry.  If  any  man 
is  o£fended,  if  any  man  is  wounded 
in  his  religious  feelings  by  the  affir- 
mation of  a  probability  that  his 
forefather  at  a  time  long  antecedent 
to  the  Old  Bed  Sandstone  period 
had  no  back-bone,  no  rudiment  of  a 
taD,  such  a  man,  I  caimot  help  think- 
ing, must  have  inherited  some  of  the 
sorbness  of  his  MoUuscan  progenitor. 
On  the  affinities  between  the  vari- 
ous classes  and  orders  of  this  sub- 
kingdom,  we  have  not  time  to  dwell.'^ 
It  is  the  sub-kingdom  which  upon 
the  whole  approaches  most  closely 
to  the  sub-kingdom  of  the  vertebrata, 
although  in  the  present  state  of 
knowledge  there  is  still  a  large  in- 
terval between  them.  Even  this 
large  interval  is  partially  bridged 
over  by  the  Amphioxus  lanceolatus, 
or  Lancelot,  the  single  species  which 
represents  the  Pharyngobranchial 
order  of  fishes.  The  Lancelot,  a  little 
worm-like,  semi-transparent  fish, 
two  inches  in  length  when  full 
grown,  has  pulsating  vessels  instead 
of  a  saccular  heart,  and  is  without 
either  cranium  or  brain  strictly 
so  called.  In  the  development  of 
this  the  lowest  of  the  vertebrates 
correspondences  have  been  noticed 
with  the  development  of  certain 
Ascidians.3^  And  here  it  may  be  re- 
marked that  between  a  mollusk 
without  a  shell  and  a  fish  without 
bones  there  may  have  been  any 
number  of  transitional  forms,  not 
one  of  which  would  in  the  ordinary 
course  of  events  have  left  a  vestige 
in  fossil  records. 

Passing  firom  the  lowest  to  the 
highest  class  of  fishes,  we  come  to 
the  Dipnoi  or  double  breathers,  fitted 


"  Caipenter'8  JninuU  Fhysiologv,  §  184.    Ed.  185 1. 

**  As  an  interesting  sample  of  tnese  affinities,  we  may  cite  Professor  Owen's  observa- 
tion, that  the  respiratory  organ  in  Lingola  (a  brachiopod)  may  be  paralleled  with  one 
of  the  transitory  states  of  that  organ  in  the  Lamellibrandis,  and  that  in  both  Terebra- 
tola  and  Orfoiciua  it  is  comparable  with  a  still  earlier  stage  of  the  respiratory  system 
in  the  embiyo  LameUibraDeh.    Palseontological  Society's  rol.  for  1 853. 

^  BoUeston,  Fcrmt  of  Animal  Life^  p.  Izzzi. 


476 


On  some  Oradatuyiis  in  the  Forms  of  AnUnal  Life,         [April 


Tx)th  for  aqnatic  and  aerial  respira- 
tion. These  mnd-fishes  link  their 
own  class  to  that  of  the  amphibia. 
In  early  life  the  amphibious  frog  is 
in  effect  a  fish.  Archegosauras 
minor  joinfi  the  Batrachians  to  the 
Saurians.  The  reptiles  and  birds 
are  nnited  by  Archaaopteryx  ma- 
cmra  from  Solenhofen,  with  its  long 
Saurian  but  feathered  tail,  and  still 
more  closely  byCompsognathus  from 
Stonesfield.'*  It  is  probable  that  the 
Amphibia  lead  by  two  divergent  lines, 
on  the  one  hand  through  the  reptiles 
to  the  birds,  and  on  the  other  through 
the  lower  to  the  higher  orders  of 
mammalia.  Apart  from  external 
resemblances,  the  researches  of  ana- 
tomy are.  continually  establishing 
with  moi*e  and  more  certainiy  the 
affinity  of  all  mammals,  from  the 
fossil  mouse,  the  earliest  mammal 
upon  record,  down  to  the  living 
man. 

The  very  learned  and  worthy 
Stillingfleet,  in  the  Third  Book  of 
his  Originea  Saorce,  remarks  that 
the  heathen  philosophers  were  much 

Suzzled  through  not  knowing  the 
octrine  of  the  Fall  of  Adam.  '  It 
was  very  strange  that  since  reason 
ought  to  have  the  command  of  pas- 
sions, by  their  (the  philosophers') 
own  acknowledgment  the  brutish 
part  of  the  soul  should  so  master 
and  enslave  the  rational,  and  the 
beast  should  still  cast  the  rider  in 
man !  the  sensitive  appetite  should 
throw  off  the  power  of  to  fiyefioyiKoy, 
of  that  faculty  of  the  soul  which 
was  designed  for  the  government 
of  all  the  rest.'  It  is  strange  that 
so  ingenious  a  writer  should  have 
attributed  this  condition  of  man's 
nature  to  the  Fall  of  Adam,  when 
it  is  obvious  at  a  glance  that  the 
Fall  of  Adam  is  itself  to  be  attri- 
buted to  this  condition.  The  Fall 
was  the  consequence,  and  not  the 
cause.  Men's  passions  do  not  over- 
master their  reason  because  Adam 
transgressed,  but  Adam  transgressed 


because  he  allowed  his  passions  to 
orermaster  his  reason. 

How,  then,  are  we  to  explain  this 
heterogeneous  compound  in  oar 
nature  of  the  beast  and  the  rider, 
in  which,  as  Pagan  philosopher  and 
Christian  divine  alike  confess,  the 
beast  is  often  the  more  powerfdl  of 
the  two  associates?  The  theory 
of  Evolution  explains  it.  It  ex- 
plains how  it  is  that  the  lower 
faculties  inherited  from  a  long  line 
of  brute  ancestry  are  sometimes 
stronger  than  the  nobler  and  more 
recently  acquired  endowments,  sinoe 
by  the  ordinary  laws  of  inheritance, 
characters  that  have  been  long  per- 
sistent in  a  race  have  a  general 
tendency  to  prevail  over  later  vam- 
tions.  No  other  theory  explains 
why  it  is  that  we  butcher  one  an- 
other for  the  sake,  as  we  say,  of 
peace  ;  why  we  spend  half  our  lires 
in  eating,  drinking,  and  sleeping^ 
and  the  other  half  in  acquiring  the 
means  to  eat  and  drink  and  sleep; 
why  we  finely  praise  the  higbest 
forms  of  virtue,  and  follow  with 
equal  freedom  the  poor  selfishness^ 
of  animal  life  ;  why  we  caU  not  the 
miserable  Lazarus  to  share  onr 
feasts ;  why  we,  for  our  personal 
comfort,  jeopardy  and  sacrifice  the 
lives  of  men  on  the  ocean,  in  the 
mine,  in  the  factoiy,  although  in 
poetry  and  sermons  each  of  these 
men,  as  much  as  ourselves,  is  ^a 
paragon  of  animals,'  *  the  image  of 
God,'  *  an  immortal  soul.' 

The  way  in  which  men  treat 
their  fellows  in  peace  as  well  as  in 
war,  points  too  plainly  to  an  origin 
not  humane  for  us  to  deny  it  on 
the  strength  of  now  being  hnman. 
But  because  some  human  natores- 
in  spite  of  their  low  original,  are  in 
trutii  noble,  loving,  pure,  this  same 
theoi7,which  binds  them  historicallT 
to  an  ignoble  past,  binds  them  pro- 
phetically, as  the  hopes  and  pro- 
mises of  religion  bind  them,  to  a  &r 
more  glorious  future. 


^  Ly ell's  Student*  EiemenU  of  Geology ,  p.  316. 


1873] 


477 


THE    LATE    LADY  BECHEE. 


rE  Meath  gentry  are  full  of 
traditions  of  a  little  girl  named 
Lizzie  O'Neill,  who  with  other  mem- 
bers of  her  fisunily  was  wont  to  star 
it  from  one  country-town  to  another 
about  three  quarters  of  a  century 
ago.    Mr.  Nugent,  a  gentleman  of 
Meatb,  was  once  induced  to  lend  a 
large  white  coat  of  his  for  a  special 
peHbrmance  of  the  company  in  Kells 
which  required  that  costume ;  and  a 
degree  of  excitement  second  only  to 
that  evoked  by  the  Dog  of  Montar- 
gis  was  elicited  when  his  &vourite 
dog  '  Orouse,'  recognising  the  coat 
during  the   progress  of  the  play, 
bounded  on  the  stage  and  struggled 
to  rescue  it  from  the  shoulders  of 
Miss  O'Neiirs  father.     The  imper- 
turbable gravity  and  tragic  firmness 
with  which  he  sought  to  baffle  the 
iutermption,  formed  not  the  least 
amusing  feature    in  the  awkward 
scene.     This  incident  is  referred 
by   the    family    from    whom    the 
anecdote  comes  to  the  year  1798; 
and  Lizzie  O'Neill  is  described  as 
so  tiny  at  that  time  that  the  little 
actress  used  to  be  carried  in  the 
arms  of   her  &ther  up  the   lane 
which  led  to  the  theatre.     It  has 
been,   heretofore,  erroneously  sup- 
posed and  recorded  that  her  first 
appearance  on   any  stage  did  not 
take    place  until    the   year   1803, 
when,  at  Drogheda,  she  personated 
the  little  Duke  of  York  in  It/khard 
the  Third,  her  father  playing  the 
crooked-back  usurper.      But  it  is 
evident  that  for  at  least  five  years 
previously  she  was  no  stranger*  to 
the  footbghts,  or,  indeed,  to  open- 
air  performances  either.     Our  late 
friend  Gteorge  Petrie,  LL.D.,  one  of 
the  most  oonscientiously  accurate  of 
narrators,    mentioned  that  he  had 
seen  Miss  O'Neill  on  the  slack  rope 
at  Donnybrook  Pair.     We  asked  if 
he  could  have  mistaken  her  for  the 
younger    sister,    but    Petrie    was 
positive  as   to  her  identity.    The 


Duchess  of  St.  Alban's,  the  Countess 
of  Essex,  and  other  distinguished 
actresses  passed  through  nearly 
similar  vicissitudes. 

The  dramatic  wanderings  of 
O'Neill's  company  were  not  confined 
to  Meath,  Louth,  or  even  Dublin^ 
though  the  fact  of  Lizzie's  mother 
being  a  Featherstone  may  have  led 
them  to  seek  special  patronage  in 
the  first-named  county ;  on  the 
contrary,  from  Cape  Clear  to  the 
Causeway  the  name  of  O'Neill  was 
not  unknown  to  play-goers  ;  while 
as  a  hon  raconteur  of  an  inexhaustible 
stock  of  Irish  stories,  John  O'Neill 
could  boast  of  a  large  circle  of  admir- 
ing friends. 

Mr.  O'Neill,  b&ton  in  hand,  at  the 
head  of  a  migratoiy  company  very 
much  out  at  elbows,  having  passed 
from  bam  and  town-hall  to  the  higher 
dramatic  paths,  received  some  im- 
portant engagements  in  Belfast,  and 
became  at  last  manager  of  the  Drog- 
heda  Theatre  in  1803.  Miss  O'Neill 
is  said  to  have  barely  attained  the 
age  of  twelve  at  this  time ;  but  we 
think  it  has  been  understated.  Be 
this  as  it  may,  her  dramatic  promise 
so  struck  the  Bel&st  lessee,  Mon- 
tague Talbot,  that  he  offered 
to  introduce  her  to  his  patrons* 
He  took  considerable  pains  with 
his  protegee^  and  under  his  direc- 
tion she  studied  and  performed  the 
part  of  Lady  Teazle  in  the  School 
for  Scandal,  the  Widow  Oheerly 
in  the  Soldier's  JDa/ughter,  Lady 
Bell  in  Know  your  own  Mind^  Mm 
Oakley  m  The  Jealous  Wife,  Mrs. 
Page  m  The  Merry  Wives  of  Wind-^ 
sor,  Katherine  in  The  Taming  of 
the  Shrew,  and  Bicarre  in  HU 
Inconsta/nt  to  the  Mirabel  of 
Talbot,  which  Mrs.  Jordan  de- 
clared to  be  a  master-piece  in  his 
hands. 

But  it  was  the  introduction  of 
Miss  O'Neill  to  the  Dublin  audience 
in    181 1   upon  which  her   entire 


478 


The  late  Lady  Becker, 


[April 


destiny  hinged.  Our  late  friend 
Captain  Cole,  better  known  as  J. 
W.  Calcraft,  for  many  years  manager 
of  the  Theatre  Boyal,  Dublin,  has 
recounted  the  circumstances  under 
which  this  memorable  engagement 
was  eflTected. 

In  i8ii,  Miss  Walstein,  long  the 
heroine  of  the  Dublin  stage,  was  an- 
nounced to  open  the  theatre  in  Juliet, 
S'ones  calculating  on  her  re-engagement  on 
the  usual  terms.  Two  or  three  days  only 
before  the  night  of  performance,  in  the 
<!oiUSdence  of  pubUc  favour,  and  with  over- 
weening self-estimation,  she  delivered  an 
unexpected  intimation  to  Jones  through 
McNally,  the  boxkeeper,  most  diploma- 
tically worded,  as  follows,  without  the 
usual  courtesy  of  'Sir'  to  herald  in  the 
communication.  The  note  lies  before  us 
as  we  copy  it : — 

'The  only  terms  I  will  accept  in  the 
Theatre  Royal,  Dublin,  are  seven  pounds 
per  week  [five  was  the  stock  maximum], 
and  a  clear  benefit  in  February,  for  which 
I  engage  to  find  my  own  dresses,  or  I  will 
take  a  gross  sum  of  280  pounds  divided 
into  such  parts  as  may  hereafter  be  agreed 
upon  for  Uie  Dublin  season,  calculating  it 
at  forty  playing  weeks  and  a  clear  benefit 
in  February,  for  which  I  engage  to  per- 
form whenever  called  upon. 

'Eliza.  WAisTBiif.* 

Mr.  Cole  goes  on  to  say  that  his 
predecessor,  Jones,  was  too  haughty 
to  brook  the  style  of  this  dictatorial 
missive.  Had  the  house  been  full, 
and  the  prompter's  bell  on  the  point 
of  ringing  up  the  curtain,  and  no 
Juliet  at  the  wing,  he  would  have 
braved  the  issue  rather  than  submit. 
*A  remedy  is  in  your  reach,  sir,' 
said  McNally.  *  The  girl  who  has 
been  so  ofben  mentioned  to  you  is 
now  in  Dublin  with  her  brother  and 
father  on  their  way  to  Drogheda. 
She  is  very  pretty,  and  makes  a 
capital  Juliet.'  Jones  took  the  hint, 
and  on  the  following  Saturday 
(distinctly  states  Cole)  Miss  O'Neill 
made  her  dehvi  in  Crow  Street 
as  Juliet.  He  adds:  '  The  audience 
received  her  with  rapture.  The 
play  was  repeatedfor  several  nights. 
Jones  engaged  her  at  once.' 

But  impressions,  even  ofiGlcially 
derived,  are  not  always  to  be  trusted. 
We  have  referred  to  the  pages  of 


the  journals  of  the  time,  and  find 
that  Jones  did  not  venture  to  as- 
sign to  Miss  O'Neill  the  character 
of  Juliet  untU  long  after.  Her  firBt 
appearance  (as  recorded  by  tbe 
Dublin  Correspondent  of  October 
II,  i8ii)  was  in  the  part  of  Wido^f 
Cheerly,  in  the  comedy  of  the 
Soldier^s  Bauglder.  The  succeeding 
pieces  produced  were  Blm  Beard, 
The  School  for  Scandalj  The  Stranger, 
The  Honeymoon,  Mitch  Ado  about 
Nothing,  The  Foundling  of  tlie  Foresi^ 
The  Believe  Stratagem, BOid  Timour  ^ 
Tartar  :  we  hear  nothing  of  Rcmv 
a/nd  Juliet.  So  much  for  the  recol- 
lections of  a  theatrical  manager. 

Miss  O'Neill  came  under  some 
disadvantage  as  the  successor  of 
the  Irish  Siddons,  Miss  Walstein, 
who  had  long  been  literally  wor- 
shipped by  the  Dublin  play-goers. 
Miss  Walstein  rarely  indulged  in  a 
smile;  and  when  she  did,  Wilson 
Croker  in  his  Familiar  Epiitla 
cruelly  compared  it  to  plating  on  a 
coffin.  But  Eliza  O'Neill's  smile  was 
sweet  as  the  blessing  of  an  angeL 
The  audience  was  thrown  into 
rapture  by  her  acting.  Her  triumph 
was  complete.  It  may  be  added 
that  she  was  effectively  aided  by 
Conway,  a  splendid  looking  fellow, 
six  feet  four  high,  called  '  the  band- 
some  Conway '  by  Mrs.  Thrale.  This 
actor,  though  certainly  too  tall  for 
the  stage,  was  famous  for  his 
power  over  the  female  heart,  and 
it  is  recorded  by  Donaldson  thai  the 
daughter  of  a  duke  went  almost 
distraught  for  love  of  him. 

Under  the  influence  of  these  two 
stars  acclamation  never  rang  loader 
than  it  did  in  Crow  Street  tkn. 
Since  the  days  of  Peg  Woffington, 
it  was  generally  confessed,  no  ac- 
tress had  appeared  of  equal  cham 
with  Miss  O'NeiU. 

Jones  unhesitatingly  engaged  tiie 
young  debutante,  and  on  Hberal 
terms  also  included  her  father  and 
brother  and  a  younger  sister,  irho, 
however,  &iled  to  attract  any  pe^ 
manent  attention. 


1873] 


The  late  Lady  Becker, 


479 


We  have  spoken  of  the  seiaphic 
character  of  Miss  O'Neill's  smile. 
It  is  well  described  bj  Shiel  in  his 
play  of  Adelaide  in  painting  the 
ieroine,  or  rather  actress,  for  whom 
be  Had  expressly  written  the  part : 

Those  &ir  blue  eyes  where  shines  a  soul 

most  loTiBg, 
Her  soft  rariety  of  vinning  ways. 
And  all  the  tender  witcheiy  of  her  smiles, 
That  charm  each  sterner  grief,  her  studious 

care 
Of  all  the  offices  of  sweet  affection, 
Would  render  the  world  enamoured. 

The  Irish  girl's  fame  was  not  long 
in  reaching  London.  A  snccessor 
to  Siddons,  who  since  1811  had 
retbed,  was  needed,  and  managerial 
eyes  became  fixed  on  Miss  O'Neill. 
John  Philip  Kemble  visited  Dublin 
in  181 2,  Emd  in  the  following  letter 
bronght  under  the  notice  of  Mr. 
Harris  of  Covent  Garden  the  various 
excellencies  of  Eliza  O'Neill : 

There  is  a  very  pretty  Irish  girl  here, 
vith  a  small  touch  of  the  brogue  on  her 
toDgne;  she  has  much  quiet  talent  and 
some  genius.  With  a  little  expense  and 
some  trouble,  we  might  make  her  an 
'object'  for  John  BuU*s  admiration  in 
jurenile  tragedy.  They  call  her— for 
they  are  all  poets,  all  Tom  Moores  here  I— 
the  Dore,  in  contradistinction  to  her  rival, 
a  Miss  Walstein,  whom  they  designate  as 
the  Eagle.  I  recommend  the  Dove  to  you 
as  more  likely  to  please  John  Bull  than 
the  Irish  Eagle,  who,  in  fact,  is  merely  a 
Siddons  diluted,  and  would  only  be 
tolerated  when  Siddons  is  forgotten.  I 
hare  sounded  the  fair  lady  on  the  subject 
^  a  London  engagement.  She  proposes 
to  append  a  veir  loud  family,  to  which  I 
hare  given  a  decided  negative.  If  she 
v^yt  the  offered  terms,  I  shall  sign,  seal, 
aod  ship  herself  and  clan  off  from  Cork 
<iiT«»ct.  She  is  very  pretty,  and  so,  in  fact, 
u  her  brogue,  which,  by  the  by,  she  only 
pses  in  conversation.  She  totally  forgets 
it  when  with  Shakespeare  and  with  other 
ilbstrious  companions. 

Kemble's  offer  of  from  fifteen  to 
seventeen  pounds  weekly  was  ac- 
cepted (Kean  had  rarely  more  than 
ten),  and  the  result  proved  in  the 
bighest  d^eree  satisfactory.  On 
the  6th  of  October,  .1814,  Miss 
O'Neill'a  first  appearance  before  a 
London  audience  was. made  at  Co- 


vent  Garden  Theatre.  Here  we  fii^d 
her  playing  Juliet  with  great  suc- 
cess. When  the  curtain  fell,  the 
Merry  Wives  of  Windsor  was  an- 
nounced by  the  manager  for  the 
next  evening,  but  so  excited  were 
the  audience  that  they  rapturously 
called  for  a  repetition  of  Borneo 
and  Juliet,  All  were  in  love  with 
the  blue-eyed  Irish  girl,  who  made 
no  disguise  of  her  nationality,  and, 
it  is  said,  even  resolutely  refused  to 
sacrifice  her  *0,'  when  some  urged 
her  to  lop  it  off.  MacLaughlin  had 
already  altered  his  name  to  Macklin, 
and  MacOwen  to  Owenson;  but 
Eliza  O'NeiU  proclaimed  her  '  0 ' 
proudly.  She  insisted  on  engage- 
ments for  her  family,  and,  after 
some  demur,  her  wishes  were 
complied  with.  Old  play-goers 
have  a  dim  recollection  01  an 
O'Neill  'coming  on  *  as  the  Lord 
Mayor  in  Richard  the  Third,  and 
another  O'Neill  as  Catesby  in  the 
same  piece;  while  an.  aunt  of  our 
actress  obtained,  at  least  in  Crow 
Street,  celebrity  by  essaying  the 
character  of  Widow  Brady,  a  part 
written  in  1772,  by  Garrick,  with 
the  object  of  bringing  into  play 
the  powers  of  Spranger  Barry's 
wife. 

A  critic  of  the  day  thus  notices 
Miss  O'Neill's  first  appearance  at 

Covent  Garden : 
• 
Miss  O'Neill  is  truly  original.  Her  figure 
is  of  the  finest  model ;  her  features  heautiful, 
yet  fall  of  expression — displaying  at  once 
purity  of  mind  and  loveliness  of  counte- 
nance. Her  demeanour  is  graceful  and 
modest ;  her  voice  melody  itself  in  all  its 
tones ;  and,  with  the  exception  of  the 
greatest  actress  of  her  day,  me  celebrated 
liady  Kandolph — Mrs.  Crawford  —  Miss 
O'Neill  is  the  only  actress  with  that  genu- 
ine feeling  that  is  capable  of  melting  her 
audience  to  tears.  In  her  hand  the  hand 
kerchief  is  not  hoisted  as  the  only  signal  of 
distress ;  her  pauses  are  always  judicious 
and  impressire ;  her  attitudes  appropriate 
and  e£G£ctive,  either  in  regard  to  ease  or 
dignity.  She  indulges  in  no  sudden  starts ; 
no  straining  after  effect;  no  wringing  of 
hands;  no  screaming  at  the  top  of  her 
voice ;  no  casting  her  eyes  round  tiie  boxes, 
searching  for  appUuse^  no  addressing  her 


480 


The  laJte  Lady  Bech&r. 


[April 


diBCoone  to  the  luBtie  or  the  gods ;  no 
wringing  or  pining,  moaning  or  groaning. 
No,  the  great  beauty  of  Miss  O'Neill  is 
that  she  never  overstepe  the  modesty  of 
nature,  thus  casting  to  the  winds  all  the 
little  tricks  which  second-rate  actresses  re- 
sort to. 

Thecritic  adds  that  her  representa- 
tion  of  Mrs.  Haller  is  the  finest  moral 
lesson  that  ever  was  delivered  from 
the  pnlpit  or  professor's  chair.  We 
may  add  that  in  comedy  she  was  by 
no  means  so  snccessfnl. 

The  triumphant  soar  of  *  the 
Dove'  attracted  the  jealons  eye  of 
'  the  Eagle'  (which  sobriquet  seems 
to  have  been  partly  suggested  by  the 
length  of  her  most  prominent  fea- 
ture) ;  and  this  '  diluted  Siddons,' 
with  more  boldness  than  discretion, 
challenged  competition  with  Miss 
O'Neill  at  Drury  Lane.  The  play  of 
Ths  Fair  Penitent  seems  to  have  been 
injudiciously  selected.  She  per- 
formed the  part  of  Calista,  and  was 
coldly  received.  A  series  of  more  am- 
bitious characters  was  then  tried,  in- 
cluding Lady  Teazle,  Lady  Restless, 
Letitia  Hardy,  Rosalind,  and  Jane 
Shore;  but  although  the  actress 
was  a  perfect  mistress  of  the  most 
subtle  theatrical  arts,  nothing  could 
be  more  languid  than  the  applause 
elicited.  *  I  went  to  see  Miss  Wal- 
stein's  first  night,'  observes  an  old 
actress ;  '  she  seemed  to  be  a  per- 
fect mistress  of  stage  business,  and 
to  know  well  what  she  was  about, 
but  I  could  scarcely  see  her  fiEtce  for 
her  nose.'  The  resemblance  of  this 
feature  tto  Kemble's  noee  was,  we 
may  add,  striking, — 

Her  eye  in  tragic  glances  roll'd. 

The  lengthening  nose  of  Kemhle's  mould. 

Success  on  the  Dublin  boards 
has  always  facilitated  a  London 
triumph.  It  therefore  excited  much 
surprise  that  she  who  had  been  the 
idol  of  the  Dublin  play-^oers  for  a 
lengthened  period,  should  make  so 
snoall  an  impression  in  London.  But 
Miss  O'Neill  had  had  the  start  of 
her,  and  her  own  once  attrac- 
tive person  was  fast  fading.    Miss 


Walstein  returned  to  Dublin,  and 
for  several  years  contuiaed  attached 
to  the  Crow  Street  Company. 

We  should  have  mentioiied  that 
amongst  others  who  went  to  witness 
the  acting  of  Miss  O'Neill  was  ^frs. 
Siddons,  and  it  is  on  record  that  the 
veteran  actress  ezpressedher  opinion 
in  terms  of  no  stinted  admiration. 
Looking  for  a  moment  atthemonej 
test  of  success,  before  Miss  O'Neill 
had  attained  her  twenty-third  year 
she  was  in  the  enjoyment  of  from 
twelve  to  thirteen  thousand  pounds 
per  annum.  During  the  famine  of 
1816  she  bestowed  upon  her  starr. 
ing  countrymen  one  of  the  most 
profitable  of  her  benefits. 

In  1 81 7  Miss  O'Nem  stood  a 
severe  test  of  popularity.  In  ihi 
year  Mrs.  Siddons  reappeared  npon 
the  stage ;  but  Miss  O'Neill  kU 
her  ground  well. 

In  1819  Miss  O'Neill  assisted  in 
bringing  to  an  effective  close  the 
Kilkenny  theatricals  of  that  je&r, 
long  a  centre  of  very  consideable 
attraction ;  and  this  proved  to  be 
an  occasion  of  the  highest  importp 
ance  in  her  personal  history.  Miss 
O'Neill  played  JuUet  to  Kcbrd 
Power's  Bomeo.  But  this  Eomeo 
was  not  destined  to  be  her  Borneo. 
On  the  contrary.  Friar  Lawrence, 
with  his  vows  of  celibacy,  who 
figured  in  the  same  piece,  wastlie 
man  whom  all  were  soon  toenvyfof 
the  completeness  of  his  conquest 
Mr.  Wilham  Wrixon  Becher,  M.P. 
for  Mallow,  whom  Moore  praises  in 
his  Diary  as  *a  good  fellow '  and'a 
good  speaker,'  casting  aside  his  cowl 
and  sandals,  led  Miss  O'Neill  to  tk 
altar.  He  is  described  by  Donald- 
son as  then  a  baronet,  but  it  in^ 
not  until  1831  that  he  received  thai^ 
dignity.  The  nuptial  ceremon^ 
took  place  on  December  18, 1819^ 
at  Kilsane  Church,  the  Dean  4 
Ossory  officiating.  The  entire  of  the 
fortune  realised  by  the  theatrical 
enterprise  of  Miss  O'NeiU  had  bee^ 
previously  settled  on  her  &inilj»| 
whose  interests  she  aftervrards  ad-| 


1873] 


The  late  Lady  Becker. 


481 


Yanoed  by  the  ezeridon  of  personal 
fnflnenoe  and  energy. 

The  manners  and  pose  of  Miss 
O'Nefll  are  described  bj  those  who 
net  her  in  society  as  theatrical, 
espedallj  her  attitude  on  entering 
a  room.  Like  Gkurrick,  she  was 
nataral  on  the  stage;  off  it  she 
sometimes  fonnd  herself  nnconsci- 
onsly  acting.  She  was  a  good  mn- 
flician,  and  sang  channingly. 

In  the  public  service  several  of 
Lady  Becner's  relatives  have  at- 
tained distinction,  one  especially 
in  a  military  capacity  in  India. 
A  nephew  of  hers  studied  for 
the  Church  at  Oxford,  and  dis- 
tinguished himself  by  his  abilities; 
hntf  trae  to  the  hereditary  instincts 
of  his  race,  when  the  time  came  for 
entering  on  a  curacy,  he  entered  a 
stage  door  instead ;  and  Donaldson, 
in  his  BecoUeeUone,  records  that  he 
net  him  at  Exeter,  put  very  much 
out  of  conceit  by  his  short  expe* 
rience  of  the   histrionic  art.    In- 


clination,' helped  by  classic  lore, 
did  not  suffice  to  make  an  actor,  and 
Mr.  O'Neill  abandoned  the  stage 
for  public  readings.  But  in  this 
rSle  he  fared  no  oetter,  although 
capable  of  going  through  the  whole 
of  lfac5e<^  without  book.  <  He  told 
me  himself,'  writes  Donaldson, 
'  that  in  a  considerable  town  he  gave 
a  reading — The  Merchant  of  Venice 
— ^to  four  persons:  one  was  the 
boots  at  the  inn  where  he  put  up, 
another  the  chambermaid,  the  third 
the  gasman,  and  the  fourth  the  town 
crier  who  had  delivered  his  bills.' 

Sir  William  Becher  enjoyed  the 
companionship  of  his  dove-like  wife 
until  1850,  when  he  died,  at  BaJly- 

g'blan,  near  Mallow,  county  Cork, 
is  accomplished  widow  has  sur- 
vived him  exactly  twenty- two  years. 
Her  loss  will  be  deeply  felt  in  Cork, 
especially  by  the  poor,  to  whom  she 
was  a  kmdly  motiber.  Her  funeral 
cortege  extended  beyond  an  Irish 
mile  in  length. 

W.  J.  P. 


[April 


MR.  BUCKLE'S  OOWPRIBUTION  TO  THE  NEW  MnLOSOPHY 

OF  HISTORY. 


rB)  publicatioii  of  Mr.  Baokle's 
CommonpliMae  Books  and  Jhis* 
torical  Jf otes  and  Fragments^  ap« 
pears  to  offer  a  ^Etyonrable  oc» 
oasion  for  briefly  reviewing  the 
histoiy  of  the  New  Philosophy  of 
History ;  and — in  connection  with- 
some  x>er8onal  reecdlections  of  dis* 
Gussions  with  Mr;  Bnckle-<-of  esti- 
mating what,  ten  years  after  his 
death,  would  appear  to  be  the  value, 
of  his  contribution^,  if  not  to  the 
results,  at  least  to  the  method  of 
those  studies  which,  though,  they 
are  yearly  having  a  more  and  more 
revolutionai^  effbot  on  the  tradi- 
tional opimons  of  Christendom, 
would  appear  to  be  still  inadequate 
to  iiiat  task  of  reconstruction  which 
the  destruction  they  are  effecting 
renders  necessary.  I  shall  first, 
therefore,  sketch  the  history  of 
those  historical  theories  now  cur- 
rent which,  viewed  in  their  connec- 
tion with  each  other,  appear  as  a 
general  Philosophy  of  History,  make 
the  whole  dogmatic  system  of  Chris- 
tianity stand  out  as,  in  &ct,  another 
Philosophy  of  History,  and  hence 
require  to  be  named  a  New  Philo- 
sophy of  History.  I  shall  then,  in 
personal  recollections  of  discussions 
with  him,  develop  the  correlates 
and  consequences  of  Mr.  Buckle's 
theory  of  the  non-effect  of  Moral 
Forces  as  historical  causes.  And 
finally,  I  shall,  in  a  third  sec- 
tion, estimate  the  value  of  Mr. 
Buckle's  work  in  relation  to  the 
most  general  results  hitherto  of  the 
New  Philosophy  of  History,  and,  in 
doing  so,  point  out  the  inadequacy, 
as  yet,  of  that  philosophy.  I  will 
but  add  to  these  introductory  re- 
marks, that,  only  in  relation  to  the 
general  movement  towards  a  New 
Philosophy  of  History,  can  anything 
better  thim  a  litterateur's  merely 


subjective  and  empirical  estimate 
be  formed  of  the  value  d  Mt. 
Bui^le's  work. 


Thb  History  of  t&b  New  Pjolosofst 
OF  History. 

I.  Let  us,  then,  cast  a  glance 
over  the.  history  of  these  new 
historical  theories.  But  first  note 
that,  with  that  strange  irony  so 
ofben  to  be  observed  in  Histoiy^and 
which,  judging  fi^m  his  tra^  re- 
presentations  of  human  life^.seems 
so  deeply  to  bave  impressed  Sc^pibo- 
kles,  it  was  the  trumpet  of  an  ort^ 
doz  bishop^.the  trumpet  of  Bossoet 
in  his  Diacoun  sur  VHieioire  unker^ 
9eZZe,*-r-'epicising  the  cabeGhism  aod 
concentrating  me  univeraal  .histKBj 
of  mankind  around  that  of  Judaism, 
the  Boman  Catholic  Hierarchy,  and 
the  monarchs  who  protected  and 
defended  it'  * — ^thia  was  the  trumpet 
that  sounded  the  challenge  to  the 
great  modem  movement  now  re- 
sulting in  the  general  substitution 
of  a  Philosophy  of  History,  founded 
on  the  conceptions  of  natural  evola- 
tion,  development,  and  progress,  for 
beliefs  concerning  it  based  on  the 
notion  of  supernatural  interference. 
By  forces  that  took  him  in  the  rear 
and  advanced  over  his  routed  bat- 
talions, the  trumpet  of  Bossuet  was 
answered.  After  the  Dt9C{>tcr8  of  Bos- 
suet (1679)  c&me  €he8cienzaNu<m 
ofVico  (1725).  As  to  Bossuet,  so  in- 
deed also  to  Vico,  historical  events 
were  under  the  inmiediate  superin- 
tendence of  God,  and  History  he  de- 
fined as  *  a  civil  theology  of  Divine 
Providence.'*  But  Vico  saw,  and 
set  himself  to  prove  the  Divine 
action,  not  only  as  an  external,  bat 
as  an  internal  Providence,  and  that, 
not  merely  in  the  history  of  the 


>  Bnnsen,  OuUinea  of  Universal  History,  yoL  L  p.  12. 
'  Scimza  Nuova,  1. 1,  ch.  iiL 


187S]  Mr.  Buckle's  Contribution  to  the  New  Phitoeophy  of  History.       488 


Jewish  race  and  Christian  Ghnrch, 
bat  eqnsUj,  thongh  in  diverse  man- 
ners, among  all  peoples.  And  hence, 
though  in  detail  vice  is  fall  of  er- 
roneous and  unscientific  views,  and 
though  in  his  theory,  more  especially, 
of  historic  cycles,  he  represents  pro- 
gress, not  as  it  is  now  found  to  be 
more  truly  conceived,  as  a  trajectory, 
bat  as  an  orbit ;  stilly  having  regard 
to  his  main  idea,  we  may  accord  him 
the  honour  of  having  first  conceived, 
in  the  scientific  form  required  by 
Western  intellects,  the  great  pro- 
blem of  History;  the  problem 
which,  as  I  may  elsewhere  have 
occasion  more  purticnlarly  to  point 
out,  originally  presented  itself  to  the 
Zoroastrian  sages  of  the  Orient; 
that  problem  of  hnman  destinies 
which  was  solved  with  apocalyptic 
rapture  by  those  nameless  Jewish 
prophets,  the  authors  of  the  books  of 
Enoch  and  of  Daniel,  who  immedi- 
ately preceded,  and  who  probably 
80  greatly  inflnenced  Him  of  Na- 
zareth. 

2.  But  that  Yico  is  to  be  named 
only  as  preluding,  and  not  as  truly 
initiating  the  great  modem  move- 
ment towards  a  New  Philosophy  of 
History  will,  I  think,  be  admitted, 
on  duly  comparing  his  work,  as  to 
method  and  scientific  value  through- 
oat,  with  those  which  in  France, 
Scotland,  and  Germany  did  folly 
initiate  the  movement.  Compare, 
then,  the  Scienza  Nuava,  first,  with 
those  works  which  in  France  ini- 
tiated the  New  Philosophy — Mon- 
tesquieu's Esprit  des  liois^  and 
I^rgot's  second  discourse  at  the  Sor-  * 
bonne,  Sur  lea  Progres  successifs  de 
'Esprit  kumain.  By  these  great 
hinkers,  as  also  by  their  contem- 
wraiy  Voltaire,  historical  events 
(rere  treated  as  a  connected  whole, 
depending  on  large  social  causes, 
ather  than  on  mere  individual 
^iosjncrasies.  It  is  no  small  honour 


to  Voltaire  to  be  acloiowIedgedaB 
the  originator  of  some  of  the  pnv 
foundest  remarks  that^  still  guide 
historical  speculation  and  research.^ 
But  by  Mo!ntesquieu  the  immensely 
significant  attempt  was  made  to 
effect  a  union  between  the  historical 
Science  of  Man  and  the  Sciences  of 
Nature.  And  by  Tui^t,  Hume 
and  Comte  were  anticipfSied  in  thai 
profoundly  revolutionary  generally 
sation  which  presents  the  notion  of 
Gh>dB,  and  hence  of  Miracles,  as  but 
an  early  stage  of  the  conception 
of  Causation.  Compared  with  views 
so  pregnant  and  profound  as  those 
of  Turgot  and  of  Montesquieu,  the 
place  that  has,  by  some,^  been 
claimed  for  Vice's  *  civil  theologv  of 
Divine  Providence,'  cannot^  I  thmk^ 
be  justly  maintained. 

3.  S^  less  can  Vice  be  con- 
sidered as  the  founder  of  the  New 
Philosophy  of  History,  when  we 
consider  those  works  of  Adam  Smith 
and  Hume  which  Scotland  oontri<* 
buted  to  the  initiation  of  this  grand 
and  revolutionaiy  direction  of  re- 
search. The  Theory  of  Moral  Sen* 
timenis,  and  the  Enquiry  into  the 
Wealth  of  NationSy  taken  together 
as  complementary  parts  of  one  great 
whole — and  as  such  they  must,  since 
Mr.  Buckle's  luminous  criticism,  be 
regarded^  —  were  the  largest  and 
most  systematic  foundations  that 
had  yet  been  laid  for  a  true  Philo- 
sophy of  EKstory.  But  consider 
these  works  of  Adam  Smith,  not  only 
in  relation  to  each  other,  but  both  in 
relation  to  those  of  his  yet  more  illus- 
trious friend  on  Human  Nature,  and 
on  the  Natural  History  of  Eeligion : 
the  contribution  made  by  Scotland 
towards  the  foundation  of  the  New 
Philosophy  of  History  will  then  ap- 
pear in  its  true  proportions.  Adam 
Smith  is  a  greater  Montesquieu; 
Hume,  a  greater  Turgot.  Yet  not 
only  has  the    importance  of   the 


'See,  for  a  statement  of  some  of  these   remarks,  Buckle,  History  qf  CfinUsaticm, 
ol  I.  pp.  740-2,  and  oompare  Horley,  Voltaire. 
*  See,  for  instance,  Hodgson,  Theory  ofPractieet  vol.  U.  pp.  128-30. 
^History  of  CimUaation,  voL  II.  p.  442. 


484> 


Mr,  Buchle*8  CorUrihtdion  to 


[April 


Natural  History  of  Religion  been 
ignored,  but  the  very  title  bas 
been  strangely  left  nnmentioned 
by  Comte  and  bis  disciples,^  and 
tbat,  even  wben  acknowledging 
tbe  great  pbilosopbio  merits  of 
Hnme.  But,  as  I  sball  have  occa- 
sion elsewbere  to  sbow,  Comte's  Law 
of  the  Three  Periods  was,  as  a  law, 
bat  a  formulising  of  Hume's  gene- 
ralisations with  respect  to  the  most 
important  phenomena  of  man's  de- 
velopment. And  hence,  published 
though  this  History  of  Hume's  was 
after  the  Discourse  of  Turgot;^  if 
Yico  must  be  acknowledged  as 
haying  first  conceived  the  problem 
of  the  Philosophy  of  History  in  a 
scientific  manner ;  Hume  must  take 
rank  as  the  thinker  who,  if  he  was 
not  the  first  to  see,  was  the  first 
to  give  anything  like  due  recog- 
nition and  development  to  that  pro- 
phetic generalisation  which  will,  I 
believe,  at  length,  take  its  true 
place  as  the  first  approximation  to 
the  solution  of  the  great  problem. 

4.  Herder,  though  later  than  all 
those  contemporaries  just  named,  is 
usually  considered  as,  in  his  Ideen 
fmr  PhUosophie  der  Oeschichte  der 
Menschheitj  the  initiator  of  Germany 
in  this  great  enterprise  of  European 
Philosophy.  But  it  must  be  noted 
that,  even  before  Herder's  work 
(1784-95),  the  universal  Kant  had 
published  his  little  known,  but 
important  opuscule  entitled  Idee  zu 
evner  allgemeinen  Geschichte  in 
weltbiirgerlicher  Ahsicht^  By  the 
theologian,  as  of  course  by  the 
philosopher,  the  history  of  Man  is 
conceived  as  a  series  of  natural 
phenomena,  which  has  discoverable 
laws.      The    theologian,    however. 


characteristically  supposes  a  first 
impulse  that  comes  neither  ^m 
external  Nature  nor  from  Man  him. 
self — a  primitive  and  supernatural 
revelation.  And  by  neiUier  is  any 
such  great  verifiable  law  indicated 
as  we  find  suggested,  at  least,  in 
Turgot  and  in  Hume.  Yet,  as  to 
the  relative  importance  of  Heider 
and  of  Kant  in  the  history  of  the 
New  Philosophy  of  History,  I  ren- 
ture  to  think  thiat  by  far  the  higher 
place  belongs  to  Kant.  That  Mod- 
tesquieu's  idea  of  the  connection 
of  human  development  with  phy. 
sical  conditions,  and  of  tbe  inter- 
relations of  Man  and  Nature,  slioold 
be  further  worked  out,  as  by  Herder, 
was  no  doubt  very  important  Bnt 
in  the  case  of  Kant,  as  in  that  of 
Hume,  we  cannot  rightly  judge  the 
work  in  which  he  treats  directly 
of  the  history  of  Mankind,  unless 
we  consider  it  in  relation  to  his 
philosophy  generally.  And  con- 
sidering the  Kantian  philosophy 
generally  in  its  relation  to  that 
historical  Law  of  Thought  in  which, 
as  we  shall  presently  see,  it  colmi- 
nated  in  the  Hegelian  Philosophy  ; 
we  shall,  I  think,  be  unable  to  donU 
that  Kant's  true  place,  not  only  with 
regard  to  philosophic  genius — ^that^ 
of  course,  is  utterly  beyond  question 
—but  with  respect  even  to  the  de- 
velopment of  the  New  Philosophy  of 
History,  is  fiw  above  that  of  Herder, 
thougn  it  is  Herder  alone  who  is 
usually  named  in  this  connection. 

5.  Thus,  before  the  destructire 
outbreak  of  the  French  EevolutioB, 
France,  Scotland,  and  Germany  may 
each  claim  to  have  initiated,  or 
rather  to  have  contemporaneouslT 
and  independently  contributed  to 


*  See  Philosophic  positive^  t.  11.,  p.  442 ;  Littr^,  A.  Comte  et  la  PhUosophie  ptmtivf, 
premiere  jpartie,  chaps.  III.  IV.  V. ;  and  Papillon,  David  Humey  Pricurseur  d'Auguste  QmU, 
m  the  chief  literary  organ  of  the  Comtists,  La  PhUosophie  positive^  t.  III.  pp.  292-30S. 

*  Turgot'a  Discourse  was  published  in  1750;  Hume's  History  of  Beligim  in  1757; 
but  his  Dialogues^  though  not  published  till  after  his  death,  were  written  aboot  the  sam* 
time  as  Turgot's  Discourse.  See  Burton,  Life  of  Hume,  vol.  I.  pp.  266-328,  and  roL  XL 
pp.  15-36.  For  some  remarks  curiously  indicative  of  the  state  of  opinion  and  feelix^ 
in  reference  to  these  yet  unpublished  Dialogues,  see  Monboddo,  Antlent  Metapkysie*. 
vol.  I.    Preface,  pp.  iv.  v. 

*  Werke,  b.  IH. 


1S73] 


the  New  'Philosophy  of  Sistory, 


485 


the  initiation    of  that   grand   re- 
constrnctive    acbievement — a   tme 
Philosophy  of  History.     Then  came 
the  difinsion  and  varied  develop- 
ment of  the  new    historical  idea. 
The  historical  sciences  of  Nature, 
or  the  sciences  of  Natural  Evolu- 
tion, were  all  founded  after,  or  con- 
temporaneously with  the  foundation 
by  Tnrgot,  Hume,  and  Kant  of  the 
general  historical  science  of  Man. 
The    astronomical    theory   of   the 
eyolntion'    of    solar     systems,    the 
geological  theory  of  the  formation 
of  the    earth,    and   the  biological 
theory  of  the   evolution  of  living 
beings,  all  date  from  the  same  great 
era — nay,  of  the  first,  if  not  also  of 
the  second  of  these  two  theories, 
Kant    himself    was   the    founder.^ 
Then  consider  literary  criticism.    It 
isonly  fix)m  the  new  philosophical  era 
opened  by  Hume  and  Kant,  that  the 
iiistorical  idea,  now  paramount  in  all 
the  best  criticism,  dates.   So  too  with 
poetry.     And    it  is   remarkable  to 
observe  that  not  only  such  poets  as 
Goethe,   Byron,    and   Shelley,   but 
snch    anti-revolutionary  poets   as, 
for  instance,  Sir  Walter  Scott,  are, 
if  men  of  genius,  unconsciously  led 
into  developing  in  some  new  direc- 
tion that  very  historical  idea  which 
is  the  most  revolutionary  of  all,  or 
rather  which   gives  to  all  the  rest 
their  unity    and  force.      For    Mo 
find  a  tme  and  positive,  not  nega- 
tive   solution    of   the    problem  of 
the  Philosophy  of  History  may  be 
said,*    remarks   Bunsen,    '  to    have 
formed,   and   to  continue  to  form, 
consciously     or  unconsciously,   the 
ultimate  object  of  that  great  effort 
3f  the  German  mind  which  has  pro- 
luced  Goethe  and  Schiller  in  litera- 
nre ;  Kant,  Fichte,  .Schelling,  and 
iegel     in     philosophy ;     Lessing, 
:>chlegel,  and  Niebuhr  in  criticism 
ind  historical  research.*  *®    But  it  is 


a  vain  presumption  to  talk  of  the  new 
historical  idea  as  peculiarly  German. 
It  is  European.  Germany  was  in- 
deed, as  we  have  seen,  the  last 
country  to  take  it  up.  The  solution 
of  the  problem  of  History  should 
rather  be  said  to  have  been  the 
object  of  that  effort  of  the  European 
mind  which  has  produced  all  that  is 
greatest  in  modem  science,  litera- 
ture,  and  art.  And  the  labours  of 
all  the  greatest  thinkers,  discoverers, 
scholars,  critics,  and  poets,  of  the 
eighteenth  and  nineteenth  centuries 
will,  we  may  confidently  predict,  be 
more  and  more  clearly  seen  to  have  in 
this  their  unity — in  contributing  to, 
or  in  establishing  a  New  Philosophy 
of  History,  and  therewith  also  a 
New  Ideal. 

6.  But  we  must  now  briefly 
advert  to  the  works  in  which  the 
movement  towards  a  New  Philo- 
sophy of  History  has,  so  far  as  it  has 
yet  gone,  culminated,  and  which 
must,  therefore,  be  the  starting- 
points  of  any  farther  advance.  The 
movement  initiated  in  France  by 
Montesquieu  and  Turgot  did  not 
fail  to  be  carried  on  as  might  have 
been  anticipated  from  the  large, 
ardent,  and  scientific  genius  of  the 
people.  Condorcet  worthily  followed 
these  great  thinkers  with  his  Es^ 
qvisse  d'un  Tableau  historique  des- 
Progres  de  VEsprit  humai/n.  Sin- 
gularly tragic  is  the  fact  of  its  hav- 
ing been  written  in  prison,  under 
sentence  of  death  by  a  revolutionary 
tribunal.  To  this  work  Comte  ac- 
knowledges his  indebtedness  for 
Ma  conception  g6n6rale  du  travail 
propre  k  Clever  la  politique  au 
rang  des  sciences  d'observation.*  ^* 
And  it  is  in  the  Philosophie  positive^ 
— which,  whatever  may  be  its  de- 
fects, must  still  be  considered  as 
beyond  comparison  the  greatest 
philosophical  work  which   Prance 


•  See  his  Allgemeine  Naturgeschichte  und  Theorie  des  HimmeU^  Werke,  b.  VIII.  p.  2 1 7 ;  and 
is  Physidche  Geographies  1 V.  Ahschn,  Geschichte  dcr  arossen  Verdnderutty,  welche  die 
^rde  ekedem  erlitten  hat  und  nook  erUidct.     Werke^  b.  IX.  p.  307. 

*•  Outlines  of  TJnieenal  History,  vol.  I.  p.  28. 

"  SysUme  de  Politiqrte  positive ^  t.  I.  p.  I  32. 

VOL.  VIT. KO.  XL.  NEW  SERIES.  L  L 


486 


Mr.  BuckWs  Contribtdion  to 


[April 


has,  in  this  century,  produced — 
that  the  morement  towards  a  New 
Philosophy  of  History  has,  in 
France,  cnlminated.  For  the  whole 
system  of  Comte  may — ^like,  as  we 
shall  presently  see,  the  whole  sys- 
tem of  Hegel— be  characterised  as 
but  a  variously  wrought-out  com- 
mentary on  an  Historical  Law. 
Important,  certainly,  and  most  sug- 
gestive, is  the  recently  published 
work  in  which  Qoinet  has  proposed 
to  himself  the  great  aim,  '  de  £edre 
entrer  la  revolution  contemporaine 
de  rhistoire  naturelle  dans  le  do- 
maine  g6n^ral  de  T esprit  humain. 
....  n  s'agit  de  d^oouvrir  les 
points  de  relation  entre  le  domaine 
des  scionoes  naturelles  et  celui  des 
sciences  historiques,  morales,  litt^- 

raires La  nature  s'expli- 

quait  par  Thistoire,  I'histoire  par  la 
nature.*'*  Butas Comte *s Empirical 
Law  has  not  yet  been  transformed 
into  an  Ultimate  Law,  he  still 
represents  the  last  stage  of  the 
development,  in  France,  of  the 
New  Philosophy. 

7.  By  Scotlcaid,  though,  as  we 
have  seen,  standing  foremost  among 
the  eighteenth-centuiy  initiators  of 
the  great  European  movement  to- 
wards a  New  Philosophy  of  History, 
little  of  a  direct  kind  has,  in  tms 
century,  as  yet  been  accomplished. 
What  the  causes  of  this  have  been,  it 
would  be  interesting,  but  here  irre- 
levant, to  enquire.  And  I  shall  only 
note  that,  among  the  proximate 
causes,  the  most  powerful  will  pro- 
bably be  found  to  have  been  the 
adoption,  owing  to  the  reaction 
against  the  French  Revolution,  of 
the  works  of  Reid  and  Stewart 
instead  of  those  of  Adam  Smith  and 
Hume,  as  University  text-books.  Yet 
in  the  general  movement  towards  a 
New  Philosophy  of  History,  Scot- 
land has  still  retained  her  place. 
For  the  science  founded  by  Hutton 
has  been  worthily  developed  by  his 
countrymen  Lyell  and  Murchison. 


And  thus  if  Scotland  has,  in  this 
century,  as  yet  contributed  but  little 
to  the  direct  development;  she  bas- 
in what  she  has  done  towards  elaci- 
dating  the  true  origin  of  Man,  and 
history  of  his  dweUing-plaee— con- 
tributed much  to  the  indirect  confir- 
nuition  of  Hume's  most  pregnant 
theory  of  the  history  of  rehgion,  and 
hence,  of  the  orig^  of  our  mytiiica! 
notions  of  the  history  of  the  Eartli 
and  of  Man .  But  if  Scotland  has  for 
a  time  retired  from  the  direct  line  of 
research,  England  has  at  length  en- 
tered the  field.  She  can,  however, 
as  yet  show,  and  that  only  in  a 
fragment,  Mr.  Buckle's  EUtorji  •; 
Civilisation.  It  has  been  succeeded 
by  historical  works  so  important, 
and  in  so  many  respects  admirable, 
as  those,  for  instance,  of  the  Irish- 
man Mr.  Lecky,  and  the  Amencao 
Mr.  Draper.  But  there  are  in  these 
later  works  no  such  new  systematic 
views  on  the  Philosophy  of  Historjas 
to  entitle  them  to  be  considered  as  in 
any  important  degree  advandng  the 
solution  of  the  problem.  And  Mr. 
Buckle's  work  may  thus  be  said  to 
mark  the  last  stage  not  only  o( 
English,  but  of  English-wntten 
speculation  directly  and  spedaUv 
occupied  with  the  history  of  Man. 
8.  Thus,  then,  stand  Franoe  ani 
Britain  in  the  great  race,  of  which 
the  torch  was  seized  for  the  one  br 
Montesquieu  and  Turgot,  aod  for 
the  other,  by  Adam  Smith  and 
Hume.  But  Germany,  though,  l«^ 
of  all,  her  champions  started,  has  had 
the  torch  carried  on  with  the  most 
splendid  vigour  of  alL  Imi^';- 
taut  as  are  the  few  pages,  which 
were  all  that  Kant  devoted  to  tk 
direct  consideration  of  History, 
weltbiirgerlichsr  Ahsickty  we  ^'\ 
not,  as  I  have  already  said,  fairlj 
judge  the  value  of  his  contribution 
to  the  New  Philosophy  of  Historj. 
except  we  consider  the  relation 
thereto  of  his  general  philosophic^- 
system.  And  similarly,  if  we  wonia 


"  La  Criaiion,  Preface,  pp.  i.,  ii.,  and  iv. 


1878] 


ike  New  Philosophy  of  Eietcry. 


487 


trolj  judge  the  yalne  of  what  Qer- 
many  lias  oontribated  to  ibe  New 
Philosophy  of  Hisiory ;  it  is  not  so 
much  the  works  directly  bearing  on 
the  history  of  Man,  nnmeroos  and 
important  as  these  have  been,  that, 
i(  we  would  either  do  her  jusiice^ 
or  penetrate  to  the  core  of  the  de- 
relopment^  we  mnst  consider;  but 
the  general  ontoome,  in  relation  to 
our  conception  of  Bistory,  and  the 
logical  sequence  of  the  systems  of 
Kant)  Fichte,  Scbelling,  and  Hegel. 
9.  And  now,  what  is  the  general 
result  of  this  survey  of  the  history 
of  the  New  Philosophy  of  History  ? 
Does  it  enable  us  to  give  any  satis- 
factory answer  to  those  who  deny 
the  possibility  of  a  Science  of  His«- 
tory  ?    And  with  reference  to  the 
sul^ect  more  inmiediately  before  us, 
what  result  have  we  obtained  for 
the  criticism  of  Mr.  Bnokle's  con- 
tribntion  to  the  New  Philosophy  of 
History  ?  As  general  result^  I  think 
we  may  now  see  something  of  the 
astonishing   nnity  of   the  various 
developments    of    that    historical 
idea,  or  notion  of  Law  in  History, 
which  has  distingaished  that  philo- 
sophical period  opened  by  Hume 
and  Eant ;    nor  see  the  unity  only, 
bnt  the   profound   significance  of 
these  various  developments ;  for  they 
are  not  only  traceable  to  the  specu* 
lations  of  such  thinkers  as  Hume 
and  Eant,  bnt  are,  through  them, 
brought  into  connection  with,  and 
shown  to  be  the  normal  develop* 
ment  of,  the  whole  antecedent  history 
of  philosophic  thought,  as  the  gra- 
dual breadthenin^  and  wider  appli- 
cation of  the  notion  of  Law.    And 
as  answer  to  those  who  deny  the 
possibility  of  a  Science  of  History, 
oar  foregoing  survey  enables  us,  I 
think,   to   say  that,  justifiable  as 
many  objections  may — ^and  for  rea- 
sons presently  to  be  pointed  out — ^be ; 
yet  the  &ct  is  that,  so  £a.r  from  its 
being  impossible  to  discover  any 
laws  of  History  approximately,  at 
least,  verifiable,  the  speculations  of 
Hume  have,  in  the  course  of  a  brief 


oentDxy,  issued  in  that  Law  of 
Gomte's  which,  though  empirical, 
has,  notwithstanding  the  defects 
necessarily  attaching  to  such  a  law, 
been  actually  found,  when  properly 
understood,  in  very  remarkable  ac- 
cordance with  facts ;  while,  in  the 
same  brief  period,  the  speculations 
of  Kant  have  issued  in  that  Law  of 
Hegel's  which,  though  cei-tainly  not 
as  yet  satisfactorily  enunciated  as 
an  ultimate  law,  has  not  only  been 
found  by  all  the  more  philosophic 
students,  bothof  Natureandof  Mind, 
to  have  in  it  a  most  important  core, 
at  least,  of  truth,  but  has  been  found 
also  to  have  nothing  in  it  contra- 
dictory of  the  empirical  law  of 
Comte.  But  such  being  the  results 
of  our  survey  of  the  history  of  the 
New  Philosophy  of  History,  the  fur- 
ther result  with  reference  to  the  cri- 
ticism of  Mr.  Buckle  is  evident.  As 
distinguished  from  that  litterateur- 
criticism,  which  has  for  its  st^^ndard 
a  mere  subjective  opinion^  scien- 
tific criticism  has  a  verifiable  ob- 
jective standard.  Such  a  standard 
for  the  criticism  of  any  work  with 
the  pretension  of  contributing  aught 
to  the  Philosophy  of  History,  is  given 
us  by  the  facts  of  the  development 
of  that  philosophy,  and  particularly 
by  its  chief  results  hitherto — the 
Laws  of  Comte  and  of  Hegel.  By 
its  relation  to  these  laws,  therefore, 
we  must  judge  of  the  value  of  Mr. 
Buckle's  contribution  to  the  New 
Philosophy  of  History. 

n. 

Mb.  Bvcklb's  Thbobt  of  thb  Kom- 
Effbct  of  Mobal  Fobces. 

I.  Such,  then,  having  been  the 
history,  and  such  the  results  of  the 
New  Philosophy  of  History,  by 
which  we  must  judge  of  the  value 
of  any  farther,  and  particularly  of 
Mr.  Buckle's  contribution  to  it, 
what  was  his  distinctive  historical 
theory  ?  Unquestionably  his  theory 
of  the  non-efiect  of  Moral  Forces  as 
historical  causes.  To  this  all  his 
other  views  either  led  up,  or  from 
L  L  2 


488 


Mr,  Buckleys  OowtnbwUon  to 


[April 


this  they  were  dedncible.  '  Be- 
garding  civilisation  as  the  prodnct 
of  Moral  and  Intellectnal  Agen- 
cies,* *'  he  declared  that  '  the  ac- 
tions of  mankind  are  left  to  be 
regnlated  by  the  total  knowledge 
of  which  mankind  is  possessed.*  '^ 
Thus  Moral  Forces  were  eliminated 
as  historical  canses.  And  this,  ex- 
plicitly, not  on  such  gronndis  of 
convenience  merely  as  those  on 
which  Adam  Smith  isolated,  first, 
the  tendency  to  sympathy,  and  then 
that  to  selfishness,  in  order  to  the 
more  clear  scientific  investigation  of 
each,  but  on  the  ground  that  Moral 
Forces  are  positively  ineffective  on 
the  great  stage  of  Histoiy. 

2.  It  was  at  Assoudn,  the  classical 
Syen^,  to  which  Juvenal  was  ba- 
nished, and  the  Egyptian  Souan,  or 
'  Opening '  into  Nubia,  more  than 
700  miles  up  the  Nile,  that,  as  I 
have  already  narrated  in  the  pages 
of  this  Magazine, ^^  I  first  met  Mr. 
Buckle.     B«flecting  afterwards  on 
our   meeting,   and  the    discussion 
which  makes  it  memorable,  it  ap- 
peared to  me  altogether  a  strange 
adventure ;    strange,  this  meeting 
on  the  confines   of  Nubia  with  a 
recluse  student  whom  I  had  only 
once  previously  seen,  and  that  in 
London,  and   under  circumstances 
so  different ;  and  still  more  strange 
that,  without  any  conscious  link  of 
association  with  the  place,  the  chief 
subject  of  our  conversation  at  this 
frontier-town  between  Egypt  and 
Ethiopia — the  immemorial  lands  of 
magic,     incantation,     and     necro- 
mancy— should   have  happened  to 
be  '  Spiritualism,'  or,  as  I  think  it 
would  be  less  misleadingly  designat- 
ed. Spiritism.  As  here  in  our  dahabi- 
yehs,  so  here  in  our  talk ;  as  here, 
on  the  confines  of  civilisation,  so 
here,  on  the  confines  of  knowledge ; 
we   foand   ourselves    on  the   bor- 
ders of  a  magical  wonderland  of 
unexplored  phenomena,  into  which 
few  as  yet  enter  but  wild  huntsmen, 


and  quite  unscientific  pioneers.  And 
strange  it  appeared  to  me  that  our 
discussions  of  the  the(»ry  of  Moral 
Forces,  and  their  influence  as  his- 
torical causes,  should  have  such  an 
opening.  For,  as  I  maintained  in 
concluding  our  discussion,  it  is 
Moral  Want  that,  in  these  days, 
chiefly  gives  persuasiveness  to  the 
theory  of  Spiritism,  which  properlj 
belongs  only  to  the  lowest  stages  of 
culture.  *  Man  cannot  live  by  bread 
alone;'  cannot  live  without  the 
Ideal ;  and  the  fit  Spiritualism  of  a 
materialist  age  is  Spiritism. 

3.  Hoping     to    meet    again    at 
Cairo,  we  parted,  Mr.  Buckle  con- 
tinuing his  voyage  next  morning 
down  the  Nile,  while  I  continTied 
mine  towards  that  goal  of  the  ordi- 
nary Nile- voyager,  the  thonsand-mile 
limit  of  the  Rock  of  Abou-  Seer.  And 
walking  up    and  down    our  little 
quarter-deck    the    night    we   left 
Abou-Simbel — after  a  day  spent  in 
the  rock-hewn  adytum  of  the  Tem- 
ple of  the  Sun  there,   and  in  the 
presence  of  the  colossal  Oods  that, 
in  the  ineffable  majesty  of  their 
serene  beauty,  sit  enthroned  at  its 
entrance — scudding  before  the  gale 
that  seems  usually  to  blow  as  one 
approaches  the  Second  Cataract;  the 
vast  stillness  unbroken  save  by  the 
whish  of  the  water,  and  the  creak 
of  the  rudder;    and  overhead,  the 
stany  worlds  that  are  the  glory  of 
the    night-sky    of  the  tropics; — I 
seemed  to  have  got  some  clearness 
as  to  those  Moral  Forces  the  efficacy 
of  which  as  historical  causes  Mr. 
Buckle  denied.     The  old  creations 
ceased,    but  that  a  new  order  of 
creations  might  begin.  The  creations 
of  Consciousness  succeeded  those  of 
Nature.     And  of  this  new  order  of 
creations,  the  inmost  and  perennia} 
sources  are  the  Moral   Forces  of 
Humanity.    No  doubt  the  long  ages 
of  ignorance,  to  which  physical  fatel- 
ities  condemned  the  Human  Con- 
sciousness, have  given,  to  the  crea- 


"  Historif  of  Civilisation,  vol.  I.  p.  165.        »  Ibid,,  p.  208.         »  August  id,  1863. 


187S] 


the  New  Philosophy  of  History, 


tions  of  its  Moral  Forces,  forms,  &lse 
and  pemicions.    But  we  are  almost 
ashamed  of  ridicale,  even  of  what 
is  nnqaestionablj  false  and  perni- 
cious, when  we  are  brought  to  see 
something  of  the  depth  and  height 
of  those  sacred  emotions  and  divine 
wants,  without  the  assumption  of 
which  the  greater  religions,  at  least, 
of  Mankind,  and  the  sublime  ex- 
pression   of    their    ideas    in    Art, 
are,  save  to  the  most  superficial  re- 
flection, utterly  inexplicable.     And 
when  we  thus  see,  in  the  Past,  the 
creative  might  of  the  Moral  Forces 
of  Hnmanity,  we  feel  assured  that, 
however  completely  our  new  know- 
ledge may  destroy  and  lay  in  ruins 
the  fabric  of  old  faiths,  the  elements 
that  created   these  are  perennial, 
and  will    anew  create   the  Ideal. 
New  knowledge  may,  indeed,  de- 
stroy old  creeds  ;  but  as  ignorance 
did,  in  the  Past,  our  science  will,  in 
the  Future,  work  with  our  Moral 
Forces   in  that  divinest    kind    of 
ci-eation  which  is  Man's ;  that  kind 
of  creation  which  gives  form  and 
satisfaction  to  the  distinctively  hu- 
man consciousness  of  the  wonder,|the 
heauty,  and  the  tragedy  of  Existence. 
4.  On  my  return  to  Cairo,  some 
six  or  seven  weeks  after  our  first 
meeting,  I  again  met  Mr.  Buckle, 
and  as  he  kindly  renewed  his  ur- 
gent request  that  I  should  join  him 
in  his  further  contemplated  journey 
through  Arabia,  by  Petra,  to  Jeru- 
salem, and  thence  to  Beirut — after 
takinga  day  to  consider  it — I  agreed. 
And  confining  myself  here  to  brief 
notices  of   those  discussions  only 
which  more   particularly    bear  on 
the   illustration    of     the    general 
principles  and  results  of  his  his- 
torical   method,     I    pass    on     at 
once  to  that  discussion,  or  rather 
ahniptly  terminated  commencement 
of  a  discussion,  which  makes  the 
Wells  of  Idbses  and  our  first  night 
^  the  desert    memorable  to  me. 
Suddenly  stopping,  as  he  walked, 
leaning  on  my  arm,  looking  up  at 
the  bright  stars,  Mr.  Buckle  re- 


489 
in  the 


Stated  that  sublime 
erchant  of  Venice — 

Look  how  the  floor  of  heaven 
Is  thick  inlaid  with  patines  of  bright  gold  : 
There's  not  the  smallest  orb  which  thoa 

behold'st 
Bat  in  his  motion  like  an  angel  sings, 
Still  quiring  to  the  young-eyed  cherubim ; 
Such  harmony  is  in  immortal  souls; 
But  whilst  this  muddy  vesture  of  decay 
Doth  grossly  close  it  in,  we  cannot  hear  it. 

I  replied  with  favourite  lines  of  my 
boyhood — 

At  tibi  jurentus,  at  tibi  immortalitas  ; 
Tibi  paita  diviim  est  vita.  Periment  mutuis 
Elementa  sese,  et  interibunt  ictibus. 
Tu  permanebis  sola  semper  integra, 
Tu  cuncta  rerum  quassa,  cuncta  naufraga, 
Jam  portu  in  ipso  tuta  contemplabere. 

And  I  recalled  the  famous  question 
which  Socrates  in  the  Oorgias 
quotes  from  Euripides — 

Tis  8*  olScy  c!  t^  Qv  fi4v  iari  KvrBaimv^ 
Ih  Kcerikuftiy  8i  '(fy  ; 

Who  knows  but  that  to  live  is  death, 
And  death,  to  live  ? 

Mr.  Buckle  then  set  forth  in  elo- 
quent and  glowing  language  those 
grounds  of  belief  in  a  personal  im- 
mortaliiy  which  he  has  called  '  the 
argument  from  the  affections.'  But 
finding — ^rather,  however,  from  my 
silence  than  from  anything  I  ven- 
tured to  say, — that  I  considered  this 
argument  by  no  means  conclusive, 
he  suddenly  expressed  himself  un- 
able to  discuss  the  subject,  and  with 
an  abrupt  *  Qtood  night,*  retired  to 
his  tent — ^leaving  me,  however,  not 
without  increased  liking  for  the 
man  who  thus  revealed  such  depth 
of  feeling  in  the  passionate  hope  of 
rejoining  a  beloved,  and  recently  lost 
mother. 

5.  Left  alone  with  the  desert 
and  the  stany  heavens,  thought 
was  long  occupied  with  the  great 
subject  thus  suggested.  But  it 
were  irrelevant  to  my  present  pur- 
pose here  to  do  more  than  point  out 
the  curious  connection  between  the 
assumption  on  which  Mr.  Buckle's 
arguments  for  a  personal  im« 
mortality    are    founded,    and    his 


490 


Mr.  BuckWa  ChntribiUian  to 


[^prU 


ihndamental  theory  of  the  non-effect 
of  Moral  Forces  in  determining  the 
greater  phenomena  of  Man's  his- 
tory. The  postulate  of  Mr.  Buckle's 
argnments  for  immortality  was  the 
credibility  of  the  *  forecasts  *  of  the 
affections.  But  suppose  we  find 
that  Moral  Forces  are  not  only,  as 
Mr.  Buckle  affirmed,  of  as  great 
importance  as  Intellectual  Forces  in 
the    determination    of    individual 

Shenomena;  but,  as  Mr.  Buckle 
enied,  of  as  great  importance  as 
Intellectual  Forces  in  the  determina- 
tion of  historical  phenomena  ;  and 
suppose  further  that  we  find  the 
historical  function  of  intellect  and 
office  of  science  to  be,  to  give  forms 
in  accordance  with  the  reality  of 
things,  or  true  forms  to  the  ideal 
constructions  of  the  affections,  or 
Moral  Forces  of  our  nature ;  then, 
evidently,  such  an  historical  theory 
will  make  it  impossible  for  us  to 
consider  such  an  argument  for  im- 
mortality as  that  offered  by  Mr. 
Buckle,  in  any  degree  satisfactory, 
or  indeed,  to  regard  it  as  otherwise 
than  entirely  delusive.  Had  Mr. 
Buckle  therefore  seen  how  great  is 
the  part  played  by  Moral  Forces  in 
the  determination  of  historical  phe- 
nomena, he  would  hardly  have 
missed  seeing  also  that  *  forecasts  *  of 
the  affections  cannot  be  ad^nitted  to 
have  any  validity  till  substantiated 
by  the  intellect.  And  hence,  para- 
doxical as  it  may  at  first  sight 
appear,  had  Mr.  Buckle's  theory  of 
History  been  less  purely  materialist, 
his  arguments  for  immortality  would 
have  been  less  purely  mystical. 

6.  We  continued  our  journey,  as 
I  formerly  narrated,  till  in  about  a 
week  we  came  to  the  Wady  Mu- 
katteb,  the  fiEimous  glen  of  the 
Binaitic  inscriptions.  But  not  of 
what  these  might  mean  was  our 
talk,  but,  like  Milton's  demons — 
and  indeed  it  was  hot  and  desolate 
enough  for  Pandemonium — we  dis- 
coursed of 

Fixed  f5ate,  free-will,  foreknowledge  abso- 
lute. 


In  other  words,  our  general  discus- 
sion of  Causation  touched  to-day, 
more  particularly,  on  the  ideas  of 
Matter  and  Force,  Substance,  Moral 
B^sponsibility,  Law,  and  Freedom. 
We  were  thus  beguiled  into  stay- 
ing too    long  in   the   shade  of  a 
solitary  mimosa-tree.     And  before 
we    reached    the    oasis    of  Wady 
Feiran,  the  termination  of  our  day's 
journey,  the  sun  had  set,  and  the 
stars  been  revealed ;  and  Mr.  Buckle, 
too  tired  to  sit  his  donkey,  conld 
but  stagger  along,  leaning  heavily 
on  my  arm,   and    hardly  able  to 
speak,  much    less    converse.    Up 
betimes    the     following    morning, 
while  Mr.  Buckle  was  recovering 
from  the  previous  day's  over-fatigTie 
I  spent  some  hours  exploring  this 
most  interesting  site  of  a  bi^opric 
of  the  first  enthusiastic   centuries 
of  the  Christian   fisdth.     And  this 
morning's  meditation  somehow  ever 
connects    itself  in    memory  with 
that  of  the  night  at  the  Wells  of 
Moses.      The   fact    is,    that  long 
after  the  complete   transformation 
of  an    old    faith,   long    after  the 
new  is  found  clear  and  sufficient, 
long  after  the  old  is  regarded  no 
otherwise  than  as'  one  regards  the 
atmosphere  and  ideals  of  childhood. 
certain  scenes  and    circumstances 
may  fill  the  soul  with  the  echoes,  as  it 
were,  of  an  afterclaug  of  sentiment. 
And  so,  wandering  about  alone,  in 
the  fair  morning  light,  among  the 
ruined  cells  of  hermits — ^not  a  few 
doubtless,  in  those  days,  saintly  and 
heroic  men — ^the  visionary  world  in 
which  they  had  lived  was  present 
with  me  in  all  its  tenderness,  and 
beauty,  and  sublimity ;  present  with 
me,  too,  even  as  a  world  in  which  I 
myself  had  lived  in  bygone  years; 
and  all  the  sweet  voices  about  roe-- 
the  murmurs  of  the  brooks  and  httle 
runnels  of  wat<er  among  the  tender 
grasses,  the  sighinga  of  the  breeze 
that    stirred    the    palm-t(^  and 
moved  the  blossoming  asphodel  in 
the  crevices  of  the  rocks*-«ii  seemed 
to  have  but  one  burden  of  yeaming 


ms] 


the  New  Philosophy  of  History, 


491 


tmd  of  love ;  all  these  sweet  low 
voices  seemed  to  have  but  these  in- 
expressiblj  toaching  words  over  and 
over  again  to    repeat — ^lipav    roy 

airroK.  *  Thej  have  taken  away 
my  Lord,  and  I  know  not  where 
thej  have  laid  Him.' 

7.  But  weak,  cowardly,  and  ut- 
terly unworthy  of  manhood  is  it  to 
permit  mere  sentiment  so  to  fill  one's 
eyes  as  to  blind  one  to  the  facts  of 
things ;  to  persuade  one  to  ignoble 
flight,  or  to  nse  the  mere  conjuror's 
tricks  by  which  so  many  in  these 
days  seek,  in  their  adult  age,  to  call 
np  again,  for  an  ostrich- like  refuge, 
the  visionary  world   of  childhood 
and  of  youth.    So,  as  I  mounted  mv 
diomeaary,  aiid  rode  away,  through 
the  palms  and  tamarisks,  to  over- 
take the  caravan,  that  had  already 
started  on  the  day's  journey,  I  felt, 
only  more  strongly  than  ever,  not 
merely  the  necessity  of  the  Ideal 
for  a  noble  and  happy  life ;  but  the 
necessity  of  mastering  those  philo- 
sophical problems  on  the  solution 
of  which  alone  it  can  be  soHdly 
reconstructed;  or  rather  the  solntion 
of  which  will,  in  the  synthesis  to 
which  it  leads,  be  itself,  in  its  emo- 
tional a8x>ect,  that  true  Ideal  which 
will  replace,    at  length,  the  false, 
and  hence  pernicious  Ideals  of  the 
popular  religions.     More  animated, 
therefore,  than  usual,  was  this  day's 
discussion  of  the  fundamental  ques- 
tions of  Causation  and  of  Method. 
For  with  that  elasticity  which  is 
generally  characteristic  of  the  ner- 
vous temperament,  Mr.  Buckle  had 
completely     recovered    from     the 
&tigue  of  the  previous  day.  And  so 
we  ioumeyed  on,  often  looking  back 
on  Uie  five  grandly  precipitous  peaks 
of  Serbal  towering  over  that  para- 
dise oi  the  Bedawin  which  we  had 
just  left,  but  not^  however,  permit- 
ting our  admiration  to  interrupt  our 
argument*     In  the  afternoon  of  the 
next  day,  taming  out  of  Wady-es- 
Sheiky  into  a  nanpw  glen  along  the 
base  of  Horeb,  we  found  the  viata 


closed  by  fruit-trees  and  cypresses, 
surrounding  lofty  and  irregular 
walls,  and  knew  it  to  be  the  Con- 
vent of  Mopnt  Sinai,  itself  sur- 
rounding the  sacred  church  of  the 
Transfiguration,  built  by  the  Em- 
peror Justinian  nearly  one  thousand 
three  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago. 
We  were  encamped  for  three  or 
four  days  under  the  precipices  of 
Sinai,  but  I  had  no  discussions  with 
Mr.  Buckle  during  that  time.  As 
effect,  or  rather,  perhaps,  as  cause  of 
his  theory  of  the  inefficacy  of  Moral 
Forces  as  historical  causes,  he 
seemed  to  see  nothing  of  that  terri- 
bly tragic  aspect  of  Modem  Thought 
which  here  oppressed  me  beyond 
companionship.  For  Nature  is  the 
interpreter  of  the  soul  to  itself.  In 
Sinai  there  is  '  the  death-like  still- 
ness of  a  region  where  the  fall  of 
waters,  even  the  trickling  of  brooks, 
is  unknown : '  it  has  been  graphical  ly 
described  as  '  the  Alps  unclothed.' 
And  visible  before  roe  appeared  the 
silent,  because  unutterable  desola- 
tion of  an  unclothed,  a  dream- 
naked  world;  Alps  of  human  passion, 
of  infinite  longing,  and  of  unap- 
peasable love,  insatiate  in  self-sacri- 
fice ;  and  these  living  Alps  blasted 
by  lightnings,  stripped  by  thunder- 
torrents,  left  naked  of  the  dreams 
with  which  they  had  clothed  them- 
selves. Moral  Forces  of  no  account 
as  historical  causes?  What  but 
Moral  Forces  clothed  this  desert- 
world  with  the  bright  ideals  of 
Christianity  ?  And  in  what  is  there 
hope  of  that  guidance  and  joy  which 
the  Ideal  alone  can  give,  but  in  the 
historical  action,  once  more,  of 
Moral  Forces,  the  profound  nlbral 
wants  of  those  to  whom  the  world, 
stripped  of  Christianity,  is  a  Sinai- 
desolation  ? 

8.  The  most  uninterrupted,  most 
varied,  andj  as  it  appeared  to  me, 
most  conclusive  series  of  our  dis- 
cussions was  that  which  occupied 
the  seven  or  eight  days  of  our  jour- 
ney from  the  Convent  of  Mount 
Sinai  to  the  palm-grove  at  the  head 


492 


Mi\  Buckled  Goutrlhuilun  to 


[April 


of  ihe  Oalf  of  Akaba.  And  the 
glorious  scene  of  them  too  has 
made  this  series  of  discussions 
especially  memorable.  In  the  re- 
action, however,  after  the  vision  of 
Sinai,  our  discussion  was,  at  first, 
chiefly  confined  to  the  subject  of 
Style,  the  lighter  aspect  of  the 
subject  of  Method,  and  with  re- 
spect to  which,  therefore,  our  diflfer- 
ences  were  of  their  usual  charac- 
ter. But  Art-epochs  differ  chiefly 
in  the  relations  to  each  other  of 
the  two  elements  of  the  Formal 
and  Ideal  in  the  products  of  such 
epochs.  We  are  thus  brought  to 
the  question,  Whence  arises  this 
ideal  element,  and  what  determines 
its  variability  ?  And  considering 
the  relations  of  Art  and  Religion, 
it  seemed  to  me,  at  length,  that  we 
should  more  definitely,  at  once,  and 
^comprehensively  state  the  question 
as.  What  is  the  cause  of  the  origin  of 
a  new  Religion  P  This,  then,  became 
the  great  subject  of  our  discussions 
on  the  shore  of  the  Sea  of  Coral. 
And  it  is  evident  that,  as  no  moral 
phenomenon  is  more  important  than 
a  now  religion,  there  can  be  none, 
An  examination  of  which  will  more 
certainly  prove,  or  more  clearly 
Tefute  a  theory  of  the  historical 
non-effect  of  Moral  Forces.  But  to 
refute  such  a  theory  by  pointing 
out  the  circumstances  under  which 
such  religions,  particularly,  as  Budd- 
hism, Christianity,  and  Mohammed- 
anism arose,  appeared  to  me  too 
easy.  I  challenged  him,  therefore, 
on  his  own  ground  of  the  Middle 
Ages.  True,  all  our  modem 
progress  dates  from  the  Revival  of 
Leiurning.  But  whence  came  that 
new  spirit  of  enquiry  which  was 
:6nrely  the  cause  rather  than  the 
^effect  of  that  Revival  ?  And  if  we 
should  find  that  moral  agencies  can- 
not be  disregarded  in  considering 
the  historical  phenomenon  of  new 
Sciences,  d  fortiori  they  cannot  be 


disregarded  in  considering  the  his- 
torical phenomenon  of  a  new  Reli- 
gion. But  the  subject  of  the  Middle 
Ages  thus  being  introduced,  and  onr 
judgment  of  them  differing  con- 
siderably,  we  were  finally  led  into  a 
discussion  of  the  test  and  standaid 
of  Moral  Judgments.  And  thus  this 
series  of  discussions  logically  ter- 
minated as  we  journeyed  from  onr 
encampment,  opposite  an  island- 
castle  of  the  Saracens  besieged  bv 
the  Crusaders,  and  rounded  the  head 
of  the  gulf  towards  the  pahn-grore 
on  its  eastern  shore. 

9.  Again  the  regularity  of  onr 
discussions  was  for  some  time  in- 
terrupted, by  our  having  to  join 
three  other  parties  at  Akaba,  in 
order  to  make  up  a  sufficiently  for- 
midable carps  d'armee  suooessfhllj 
to  achieve  the  adventure  of  Fetia. 
Our  dialogues,  or,  on  Mr.  Buckle's 
part,  sometimes  monologues,  were 
therefore  now  of  a  less  connected 
character.  But  one  of  these,  par- 
ticularly, is  not  to  be,  in  so  brief  a 
sunmiary  even  as  this,  passed  over 
quite  without  note.  Going  up  to  tbe 
Sanctuary  of  Petra,  Ed-Deir — ^the 
Holy  Place  of  Kade8h»«  (?)— at  a 
little  landing-place  of  the  mountain 
staircase,  under  a  niche  in  the 
walling  rock,  we  had  a  long  rest, 
and  Mr.  Buckle  made  a  profession 
of  his  faith  as  a  Deist.  To  me  it 
seemed  that,  to  conceive  Gbd  as  but 
a  mere  mechanical  First  Cause,  was 
to  be  more  &d€0£  kv  r^  Koc^nf^ 
*  without  Gk)d  in  the  world,'  than  an 
Atheist.  But  I  said  nothing.  For 
our  Gods  are  the  expressions  of  oar 
own  inmost  natures.  And  none  has 
a  right  to  revile  the  God  of  an- 
other. Yet  no  such  Voltairian  God 
could,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  satisfy 
any  deep  moral  Want.  And  wan- 
dering away,  at  length,  alone  with 
a  grotesque  savage  I  had  taken  a 
likmg  to,  and  named  CahlNm,  I 
came  to  a  precipitous  '  High  Place ' 


1'  Stanley,  Sinai  and  Palestine,  p.  98. 
^oL  IL  p.  58a. 


But  compare  Bobixiaoii,  BibHeal  Beeeenkee, 


isrs] 


the  New  Philosophy  of  History. 


493 


fronting  Hoant  Hor ;  and  there 
meditating  long  on  the  primaaval 
worship  on  High  Places,  it  seemed 
to  me  finally  that,  wholly  withont 
belief  as  one  may  be  in  the  Oods  of 
the  mnltitade,  the  idols  of  super- 
stition ;  Atheist  one  is  not^  if  belief 
in  God  means  a  feeling  too  deep  of 
the  spirituality  of  Nature,  to  satisfy 
itself  with  belief  in  a  retired  First 
Caase — a  feeling  unutterable  of  the 
mjsteiy  of  Existence,  and  of  our 
little  lives  as  even  now  in  the  midst 
of  theEtemal  and  the  Infinite ;  Athe- 
ist one  is  not,  if  belief  in  God  means 
belief  in  the  triumph  of  Truth  and  of 
Justice,  and  belief  in  the  duty  of 
devoting  oneself  to  contributing 
what  one  may  to  such  triumph ; 
Atheist  one  is  not,  if  the  fountains 
of  one's  life  a^e  found  in  worship 
on  High  Places. 

10.  It  was   not  till  the  end  of 
onr  desert  journey,  and  when,  in 
Palestine,  we  were  again  travelling 
together  alone,  that  our  discussions 
were  resnmed  in  the  same  prolonged 
loanner  and  logical  sequence  as  be- 
fore. And  it  chanced  that,  having  at 
Hebron  exchanged  our  dromedaries 
for  horses,  and  so  journeying  to  Jeru- 
salem, our  subject  of  discussion  was 
the  Summum    Bonum,    the  Ideal, 
the  Highest   Good.      Thus  a  new 
series  of   discnssionB  was  opened 
which  occupied  us  all  through  the 
Holy  Land.     But    essentially    the 
same  principles  were    in    dispute 
in  both  series;    only  in  the  first, 
they   were    considered    chiefly    in 
their  metaphysical,  in  the  second, 
chiefly    in     their    ethical    aspect, 
^'or  maintaining,    in    his    theory 
of    logical    Method,    that    Moral 
Forces  are  to  be  disregarded  as  his- 
torical causes,  Mr.  Buckle  consis- 
tently maintained  in  his  theory  of 
«thical  Good,  that  the  Summum  Bo- 
nnm  is  the  highest  intellectual  and 
sensual  gratification  accordant  with 
the  rights  of  others.     The  fatal  ob- 
jection, however,  to  such  an  Ideal 
appeared  to  me  to  be  its  merely 
individual  character.    For  it  makes 


oneself  the  judge  of  what  is  accor- 
dant with  the  rights  of  others,  and 
it  provides  no  means  of  purifying 
and  keeping  pure  the  Conscience 
from  merely  selfish  aims.  Such  an 
Ideal  is,  indeed,  rather  the  justifica- 
tion of  selfishness,  than  its  reproba- 
tion. And  maintaining,againstMr. 
Buckle,  that  Moral  Forces  cannot, 
if  we  would  truly  conceive  the 
causes  of  historical  phenomena,  be 
disregarded,  I  maintained  that  our 
definition  of  the  Ideal  should  have 
regard  to  subjective  aim  as  well  as 
to  objective  result.  And,  finally,  I 
ventured  to  define  the  Summum 
Bonum  as  a  Will  having,  as  aim 
cmd  result^  oneness  with  others^  and 
the  oneness  of  each  with  aU\  or — if 
in  one  word  I  might  name  it^ — 
Love,  as  subjective  affection,  and 
objective  harmony.  For,  by  that 
word  I  did  not  mean  mereljr  that 
affection  of,  or  for  an  individual, 
whichis  seldom,  except  for  moments, 
perfect,  or  absolutely  mutual;  al- 
most always  founded  on  illusion; 
and  never,  perhaps,  except  in  the 
case  of  a  mother,  quite  pure,  selfless, 
and  beyond  the  reach  of  misunder- 
standing and  change.  Not  the 
affection  of  which  the  object  de- 
sired and,  at  length,  possessed,  is  the 
ai^pohirri  vdyirifioi',  Earthly  Beauty, 
but  that  of  which  the  object  of  desire 
and  possession  is  the  h^poUni  ovpavla. 
Heavenly  Beauty;  that  straining 
after,  and  consciousness  of  harmony 
of  relation  with  something  out  of, 
and  above  oneself,  and  insatiable 
save  by  such  objects  as  Gk)d,  or 
Humanity ;  that  divine  Want,  per- 
sonified by  Diotima  in  the  %m- 
posivm^  as  the  Child  of  Poverty  and 
Plenty,  the  fearless,  the  vehement, 
and  the  strong,  the  hunter,  the 
philosopher,  and  the  enchanter, — 
such  Want,  and  its  divine  satis&c- 
tion,  I  desired  to  be  understood  by 
the  word  Love. 

II.  The  development  in  subse- 
quent discussions  of  those  ethical 
principles  which  were  thus  brought 
into  definite  and  express  antago- 


494 


Mr,  BuckWs  G(mbntmUon  to 


[kY^ 


nism,  as  we  came  to  that  torn  of  the 
road  where  travellers  from  the  soath 
first  catch  sight  of  Jerusalem,  it  is 
unnecessary  for  my  present  purpose 
here  to  note  in  detail.  Suffice  it 
to  say  that  it  was,  as  we  were  jour- 
neying, about  a  fortnight  later,  over 
the  pkin  of  Esdraelon,  the  prophetic 
batuefield  of  Armageddon,  that 
these  general  principles  were  carried 
out  to  their  legitimate  political  con- 
clusions in  the  different  views  to 
which  they  led  of  liberty,  of  political 
intervention,  and  of  toleration. 
Liberty,  with  Mr.  Buckle,  was  an 
end ;  with  me,  only  a  means.  Po- 
litical intervention  he  absolutely 
reprobated ;  I,  only  in  the  mean- 
time— only  till  the  republican  and 
new  social  party  should  be  suf- 
ficiently strong  to  direct  the  inter- 
vention. Toleration  was  likewise, 
for  Mr.  Buckle,  an  end  in  itself; 
for  me,  only  the  mark  of  a  transi- 
tional period.  Never,  when  any 
large  and  powerful  body  of  men 
have  been  animated  by  the  enthusi- 
asm of  a  great  Ideal,  have  they 
tolerated,  nor  will  they  ever,  when 
so  animated,  tolerate — save  so  &r  as 
may  be  expedient — either  those 
whom  they  justly  contenm  as,  in 
old  language,  'without  God;'  or 
hate  as  the  upholders  of  what  to 
them  may  appear  a  false,  and  there- 
fore, pernicious  Ideal.  We  tolerate 
now,  simply  bebaase  we  do  not 
believe;  or  because  those  who  do 
believe  are  in  the  minority.  And 
if  a  new  Ideal  should  once  more 
bind  men  together  in  an  enthusias- 
tic faith,  and  if  they  should  then 
tolerate,  this  will  not  be  on  the 
principle  of  toleration  as  commonly 
stated ;  but  because,  and  only  so  far 
as,  the  existence  of  other  Ideals  may 
accord  with  the  fundamental  views 
of  human  life  and  destiny  given  by 
such  new  Ideal.  But  the  discussion 
was  too  soon  brought  to  a  dose  by 
Mr.  Buckle's  Budde&};f  fiUling  ill. 
He  had,  on  setting  out  in  the  morn- 
ing, expressed  lumself  as  feeling  a 
more  superabundant   vigour  than 


ever  before  in  his  life.  Strange  irony 
of  Fate !  This  was  the  last  impor- 
taut  conversation  which  illness  or 
weakness  ever  permitted  us  to  have. 
But  the  antagonism  of  onr  fimda« 
mental  principles  could  hardly  hare 
been  carried  much  ficurther. 

1 2.  And  now  to  sum  up.    Before 
entering  on  the  direct  examination 
of     Mr.     Buckle's     characteristic 
theory,  we  thought  it  desii^able  io 
present  it,  in  some  of  its  various 
aspects  and  consequences,  as  they 
successively  became  apparent  in  the 
course  of  our  discussions  during  this 
Eastern  journey.   And  we  have  seen 
his  theory  of  the  non-effect  of  Moral 
Forces  leading  to  greatmisjudgment, 
as  it  appeared,  of  the  true  canse  of 
the  modem  revival  of  Spiritism; 
permitting  him  to  rely  on  an  ar- 
gament  for  a  personal  immortality 
which  a  truer  theory  of  the  relation 
of  Moral  and  Intellectual  Poices 
would  have  shqwn  him  the  falkry 
of;  concealing  from  him  altogether 
the  tragic  aspect  of  Modem  Thought 
and  its  results,  and  hence,  conoealmg 
firom  him  also  those  reconstnictiTe 
forces  which,  from  the  very  despair 
caused  by  destruction,  arise;  lead- 
ing him  to  make  much  of  Style,  and^ 
in  Art  generally,   to   look  to  the 
formal    rather    than    to  the  ideal 
element ;    depriving  him  of  sym- 
pathy with  religious    phenomena, 
and  rendering  inexplicable  the  rise 
of  new   religions,  or   even,  in  its 
profoundest  causes,  of  a  revival  of 
learning;    leading  him    to   jndge 
historical   personages  and  perio«l9 
merely  by  outward  acts,  and  not  at 
all    by  ideal  motives;    making  it 
possible    for    him    to    be    content 
with  the  Deist's  conception  of  God 
as  a  mere  mechanical  First  Canse; 
giving  him  a  standard  of  monditj 
and  an  Ideal  of  a  wholly  indiyidnal 
and  negative  character ;  and  hence, 
finally,  leadiag    to  ooncaptionB  Q\ 
policy  in  accordanoe  therewith,  and 
with   the    pzindpleB  merely  of  a 
destractive  and  transitional  period. 
Such  are  some  of  the  owrdatea  or 


187S] 


the  New  Philosophy  of  History. 


495 


consequences  of  a  logicallj  held 
Uieorj  of  the  non-effect  of  Moral 
Forces  as  historical  causes.  Let 
OS  now  examine  the  gronnds  of  the 
theory,  and  its  relation  to  the 
general  development  of  the  New 
Philosophy  of  History. 

ni. 

Thb  Inadeqitact  of  thb  Nbw  Philosopht 
op  hi8tobt. 

I.  In  conclnding  our  review  of 
the  New  Philosophy  of  History,  we 
fouxd  that  its  highest  results  were 
two  general  historical  Laws  of  Men- 
tal Development ;  hut  the  fact  that 
these  highest  results  are,  the  one,  a 
law— that  of  Oomte — which,  though 
remarkably  verified,  is  still  but  em- 
pirical ;  and  the  other,  a  law — ^that 
of  Hegel — ^which,  though  stated  as 
ultimate,   is   enunciated  in  a  form 
capable  only  of  the  most  general 
psychological,  and  not  of  assured 
historical     verification — this    fact 
alone  proves  a  fundamental  defect 
m  the  New  Philosophy  of  History. 
For  the  method  of  a  philosophy 
which  issues  only  in  empirical  laws 
is  founded  on  but  a  materialist,  and 
the  method  of  a  philosophy  which 
issues  in  laws  only  nominally  ulti- 
mate, and  not  accurately  verifiable, 
is  founded  on  but  an  idealist  theory 
of  Causation.     Until  these  funda- 
mental antagonisms  are  reconciled 
there  can  be  no  adequate  Philosophy 
of  History,  and  we  ask,  therefore, 
what  Mr.  Buckle  has  contributed 
to  the  New  Philosophy  of  History, 
judging   his    work   by  the  results 
previously  obtained  by  Hegel  and 
by  Comte;  judging  it  also  by  tixe 
intrinsic  trath  or  falsehood  of  its 
characteristic  theory  ;  and  judging 
it  finally  by  the  worth  of  what  it 
may  have  contributed  to  the  recon- 
ciliation  of  that  fundamental  an- 
tagonism  which    we    find    in  the 
methods     of   the     Hegelian     and 
Comtean  philosophies  ? 
2.  Now,  the  ablest  expositor  of 


Hegel,  and  the  most  illustrious 
disciple  of  Comte,  have  each  oriti- 
oised  the  History  of  OimUsation,  and 
each,  judging  it  in  relation  to  the 
system  of  his  master,  has  shown  its 
distinctive  views,  principles,  and 
laws  to  be  utterly  feUacious  and 
nugatory.  Nor,  with  reference 
particularly  to  Hegel,  need  this  be 
at  all  surprising.  With  German 
philosophy,  generally,  Mr.  Buckle's 
acquaintance  seems  to  have  been  of 
the  most  superficial  character ;  his 
misunderstandings  and  misconcep- 
tions even  of  Kant,  as  Dr.  Stirling 
has  shown,  ^'  are  of  the  grossest  kind; 
while  even  of  the  fact  that  Hegel  had 
discovered  a  Law  of  Thought,  or 
of  the  relation  thereto  of  those  laws 
of  evolution  and  of  development 
stated  and  worked  out  by  Mr. 
Spencer— confessedly  derived  from 
Von  Bahr,  and  thus  at  least  indi- 
rectly connected  with  the  develop- 
ment of  the  Hegelian  Notion — Mr, 
Buckle  does  not  seem  to  have  had 
even  the  faintest  suspicion.  We 
can  hardly,  therefore,  wonder  at  the 
tone  in  which  Dr.  Stirling  writes 
of  Mr.  Buckle;  for  he  considers 
more  particularly  Mr.  Buckle's 
views  with  reference  to  metaphysic 
and  its  method  ;  and  it  is,  no  doubt, 
highly  provoking  to  find  a  method 
condemned — and,  so  fiur  as  in  the 
critic's  power,  swept  away — of  the 
principles,  and,  still  more,  of  the 
results,  of  which  the  critic  shows 
himself  almost  entirely  ignorant. 
This  is  not,  however,  the  place  to 
enter  into  detail  in  considering  the 
relation  of  Mr.  Buckle's  views  of 
historical  method  and  laws  to  the 
infinitely  larger  and  more  profound 
theories  of  Heeel.  Suffice  it  to  say 
that  it  is  omy  his  subject,  the 
Philosophy  of  History,  and  the 
pretension  to  have  contributed  some- 
thing of  positive  value  to  the  de- 
velopment of  it,  that  can  justify  the 
bringing  of  him  into  even  mo- 
mentary relation  with  Hegel. 


>'  North  American  BevieWt  July  1872. 


496 


Mr,  Buckleys  Contribution  to 


[April 


3.  But  though  apparently  utterly 
unacquainted  with  what  Hegel,  Mr. 
Buckle  was  well  acquainted  with 
what  Comte  had  done.  How  did  he 
profit  by  that  acquaintance?  Re- 
markably little,  as  it  appears,  even 
to  Mr.  Mill ;  *®  and  the  criticism  of 
Comte's  most  illustrious  disciple, 
M.  Littre,*^  may  be  thus  summed  up. 
It  is  not  true  that  process  gene- 
rally depends — as  Mr.  Buckle  af- 
firms— on  the  investigation  of  the 
laws  of  nature  ;  this  is  true  only  of 
progress  from  the  metaphysical  to 
the  positive  stage.  Nor  is  it  true 
that  theological  doubt  or  scepticism 
is  necessary  to  progress,  except  also 
in  the  present  stage  of  develop- 
ment. Nor  is  it  true  that  the  rela- 
tion between  Intellectual  and  Moral 
Forces  is  what  Mr.  Buckle  states  it 
to  be ;  for  Mr.  Buckle's  theory  is 
not  in  accordance  with  the  fact  of 
progress  through  three  stages,  which 
may  be  distinguished  as  respectively 
the  industrial,  the  religious  or 
moral,  and  the  intellectual.  Nor  is 
it  true,  except  as  before,  in  reference 
to  our  present  transitional  period, 
that  what  Mr.  Buckle  calls  'the 
protective  spirit '  is  the  great  enemy 
of  progress.  And,  finally,  that 
distinction  between  European  and 
non-European  civilisation  which  Mr. 
Buckle  stated  as  the  basis  of  a  philo- 
sophical history  of  Man,  would  have 
even  a  semblance  of  truth  only  if  Eu- 
ropean civilisation  were  autochtho- 
nous, or  aboriginal ;  which  it  is  not. 
In  a  word,  that  increase  and  diffusion 
of  knowledge,  which  is  the  main  con- 
dition of  progress  now,  Mr.  Buckle 
has,  with  but  little  clearness  and 
less  proftmdity  of  thought,  assumed 
to  be  the  condition  of  progress 
generally  ;  and  hence  he  has  stated 
as  general  historical  laws  what  are 
but  crude  generalisations,  applicable 
only,  at  best,  to  the  present  stage  of 
development. 


4.  Such  would  appear  to  be  the 
judgments  which  we  must  pass 
on  Mr.  Buckle's  work,  considered 
in  its  relation  to  the  two  chief 
historical  systems  by  which  it 
had  been  preceded.  Let  us  now 
examine  the  three  main  arguments 
by  which  he  supported  that  cha- 
racteristic theory  of  his  which 
eliminated  Moral  Forces  as  histo- 
rical causes.  In  the  first  place  he 
assumed  Moral  Agencies  to  he 
'  stationary,'  because  it  appeared  to 
him  Hhat  there  is  unquestdonably 
nothing  to  be  found  in  the  world 
which  has  undergone  so  little  change 
as  those  great  dogmas  of  which 
moral  systems  are  composed.*®  But 
moral  dogmas  are  not  in  themselves 
moral  agencies,  but  are  the  product 
of,  and  have  efficacy  given  to  them 
only  by  moral  agencies,  or  rather, 
moral  conjoined  with  intellectnal 
agencies.  Even  then,  if  it  were  ad- 
mitted that  *  moral  dogmas '  are 
'  stationary,'  there  could  be  no 
argument  in  this,  for  the  unchanging 
character  in  intensity  and  direction, 
and  hence  for  the  elimination,  of  the 
element  without  which  they  would 
never  have  been  formulated,  or^ 
being  formulated,  would  never  hare 
had  any  effect  on  conduct.  So  great 
a  confusion  of  thought  is,  indeed, 
altogether  surprising.  For  who 
woidd  maintain  that  moral  agencies 
are  to  be  eliminated  in  considering 
the  causes  of  a  man's  conduct,  be- 
cause, as  may  well  have  happened, 
the  moral  dogmas  of  his  creed  have 
been'  stationary  *  throughout  his  lifer 
Mr.  Buckle  certainly  would  not  have 
maintained  anything  so  absurd.  For 
he  expressly  admits  that '  the  actions 
of  individuals  are  greatly  affected  br 
their  moral  feelings,  and  by  thar 
passions.'*^  But  in  admitting  in 
individuals  other  moral  agencies 
than  moral  dogmas,  Mr.  Buckle 
himself  virtually   refoted  his  own 


'"  Auguste  Comte  and  PosUiviam, 

••  History  qf  CimtUation,  vol.  I.  p.  1 63. 


**  La  Phiioeophie  positive,  t.  IL 
« Ibid.,  p.  208. 


187S] 


the  New  Phiheophy  of  History, 


4»7 


first  argument  for  the  elimination  of 
Moral  Forces  in  investigating  the 
causes  of  historical  phenomena. 

5.  The  second  argument  on  which 
the  great  paradox  rests  of  Mr. 
Backle's  hook  is,  'that  the  two 
greatest  evils  known  to  mankind 
have  not  heen  diminished  by  moral 
improvement;  but  have  been,  and 
still  are  yielding  to  the  influence  of 
intellectual  discoveries.'*'  But  let  it 
be  admitted  that  many  of  the  moral 
improvements  commonly  attributed 
to  moral  agencies,  and  particularly 
the  diminution  of  persecution  and 
war,  have  been  due  rather  to  in- 
tellectual agencies;  and  let  the 
service  rendered  by  Mr.  Buckle  in ' 
pointing  out  the  immense  influence 
of  the  increase  and  diffusion  of 
knowledge  on  the  progress  of  Modem 
Civilisation  be  fullv  acknowledged ; 
at  the  very  most  this  would  only  go 
to  prove  that  moral  agencies  might 
be  safely  neglected  in  treating  of 
the  causes  of  change  during  our 
present  historical  period.  Proof 
there  would  be  none  in  the  least 
degree  adequate  to  support  so  large 
and  rash  a  generalisation  asthat  'the 
actions  of  mankind  are  left  to  be 
regulated  by  the  total  knowledge  of 
which  mankind  is  possessed. '  ^  And 
this  will  become  manifest  when  we 
reflect  that  knowledge,  though 
certainly  of  the  utmost  importance 
as  a  cause  of  progress  now,  could 
not  have  been  a  cause  of  advance  in 
the  earlier  periods  of  Man's  history, 
because  knowledge — that  is,  scien- 
tific knowledge,  or  the  cognition  of 
things  as  related  to  each  other, 
rather  than  to  indwelling  or  over- 
ruling supernatural  beings — did  not 
then  exist,  or  existed  only  but  with 
respect  to  the  simplest  phenomena. 
And  Mr.  Buckle's  use  of  the  word 
f'nowjedge  must  have  been  strangely 
varymg  and  confused ;  and,  con- 
sidering his  study  of  the  PhiloBophie 
pmtive^  his  conception  of  the  history 
of  Man  must  have  been  strangely 


inadequato ;  or  it  would  have  been 
impossible  for  him  to  maintain,  in 
face  of  such  moral  revolutions  as 
Buddhism,  Christianily,  and  Moham- 
medanism, that  moral  laws  are  to  be 
disregarded  in  the  investigation  of 
the  progress  of  Humanity.  Know- 
ing, as  we  do,  what  was  the  relation, 
even  to  the  rudimentary  scientific 
knowledge  of  their  time,  of  the  Foun- 
der and  Apostles  of  Christianity,  it  is 
difficult  to  conceive  how  it  can  be 
maintained  that  intollectuallaws  are 
all  that  is  needed  to  explain  such 
a  new  outburst  of  enthusiasm,  and 
such  a  new  creation  of  ideals.  And 
the  difficulty  is  no  less  in  the 
analogous  cases  of  Mohammedanism 
and  Buddhism.  For  though  the 
Founders  of  these  religions  were 
among  the  most  learned  of  their 
contemporaries,  there  was  then 
certainly  no  such  general  increase 
of  scientific  knowledge,or  knowledge 
of  the  mutual  rela^ons  of  pheno- 
mena, as  to  make  it  possible  there- 
from to  account  for  these  immense 
moral  revolutions. 

6.  But  Mr.  Buckle  has  a  third 
argument  in  support  of  his  paradox, 
wiuch  is,  however,  in  £a.ct  a  direct 
refutation  of  his  first.  I  have  already 
pointed  out  that,  in  admitting,  in 
individuals,  other  moral  agencies 
than  moral  dogmas,  Mr.  Buclde  him- 
self virtually  refuted  his  own  first 
argument  for  the  elimination  of 
Moral  Forces.  But  he  not  only 
thus  indirectly,  but  directly  also 
refuted  his  own  first  argument. 
For  if  moral  agencies  were  reallj 
identical  with  moral  dogmas,  it 
would  be  quite  superfluous  to  do 
more  than  show  that  these  are 
stationary,  in  order  to  their  being 
eliminated  as  historical  causes.  But 
Mr.  Buckle,  virtually  admitting  that 
Moral  Forces  are  something  quite 
different  from  Moral  Formube,  pro- 
ceeds to  argue  that,  though 
moral  feelings  influence  individusus, 
they  do  not  affect   society  in  the 


"  Bid,,  p.  165. 


••  Ibid,  p.  208. 


498 


Mr.  BucMe*t  ContrilnUion  to 


[k^r\ 


aggregate,  becanse  of  tiie  '  law  of 
avenges.'  *  One  law/  he  was  con- 
stanilj  in  the  habit  of  saying,  '  one 
law  fbr  the  separate  elements,  an- 
other for  the  entire  compoond.'  Now 
this  is  no  donbt  a  truth,  and  an 
important  truth,  if  one  means  tiiere- 
hj  merely  to  say  that  general  laws 
may,  by  the  method  of  averages,  be 
discoyered  which  hold  good  for  the 
mass  but  not  for  the  indiyidnal.  The 
registrar  of  the  births  of  a  nation 
finds  that  the  births  of  boys  and 
girls  aro  very  nearly  equal,  and  that 
averages  give  2 1  of  the  sex  that  is 
more,  to  20  of  that  which  is  less 
exposed  to  life-perils.  One  couple 
may,  however,  have  m^ny  more  boys 
tluui  girls,  or  girls  than  boys.  For 
the  general  kiw  results  m>m  the 
mutual  elimination  of  inequalities, 
and  the  babincing  of  +  and  — 
quantities.  So  febr,  therefore,  it  is 
iaue  that  there  is  one  law  for  the 
mass,  another  for  the  individual. 
But  it  by  no  means  follows  that^  be- 
cause of  this,  the  moral  principle 
which,  as  Mr.  Buckle  admitted,  *  is 
conspicuous  with  regard  to  the  in- 
dividual,''^ shall  be  of  no  account 
when,  as  in  historical  phenomena, 
the  mass  is  considered.  This  would 
only  follow  from  showing  that  there 
are  mutually  eliminating  differences 
in  the  historical  manifestations  of 
Moral  Forces.  And  to  show,  as  Mr. 
Buekle  so  triumphantly  did,'^  that 
statistics  prove  the  regularity  of 
actions  in  regard  to  murders  and 
other  crimes,  the  number  of  mar- 
riages annually  contracted,  and  the 
number  of  letters  sent  undirected,' 
has  little  or  nothing  to  do  with  what 
has  really  to  be  proved,*^  if  Moral 
Forces  are  to  be,  on  the  principle  of 
the  Method  of  Averages,  eliminated 
from  among  the  causes  to  be  con- 
sidered by  the  historian. 

7.  Yet  it  is  but  a  small  thing  to 
point  out  merely  the  fallacies  of  Mr. 


Buckle's  views  on  historical  meihod. 
Let  these  be  admitted;  and  admitted 
that  Moral  Forces  are  of  snch  im- 
portance  as  historical  causes,  i^t 
they  not  only 'cannot  be  disregarded, 
but  must  be  in  an  especial  maimer 
both  critically  investigated  and 
sympathetically  realised  by  tbe 
historian;  how  are  they  to  be  scien- 
tifically  conceived,  and  how  treated 
in  a  scientific  metibod  ?  That  is  the 
question.  And  of  such  profoimd 
difficulty  is  this  question  seen  to 
be,  the  more  it  is  reflected  on,  that 
Mr.  Buckle  is  easily  forgiven  his 
attempt  to  excuse  himself  fi*om  the 
necessity  of  solving  it^  by  denying 
the  importance  of  those  forces  whid 
make  the  solution  of  such  a  problem 
necessaiy.  He  would,  no  donbt, 
have  shown  greater  philosophic 
penetration,  had  he  seen  how  in- 
adequate must  be  a  method,  that 
takes  no  account  of  Moral  Forces. 
But  had  he  possessed  a  profoonder 
view  of  the  historical  problem,  he 
might  possibly  never  have  accom- 
plished anything.  Bushing  into 
speech,  he  has  not  only  given  us  se- 
veral admirable  historical  sketches, 
illustrative  of  the  influence  of  the 
aocumulation  and  division  of  know- 
ledge on  the  progress  characteris^c 
of  our  present  historical  period ;  but 
he  has  made  it  impossible,  hence- 
forth, rationally  to  aUempt  a  philoso- 
phical treatment  of  History,  without 
either  showing,  on  the  one  hand^^ 
stronger  grounds  than  any  adT&nced 
by  himself  for  eliminatiDg  Moral 
Forces  in  our  reckoning  of  fistorical 
causes;  or,  on  the  other  band. 
showing  how  such  forces  are  to  be 
scientiflcally  conceived,  how  tber 
action  in  History  is  to  be  invipsti- 
gated,  and  what  have  been  the  Iswe 
of  that  action.  In  a  word,  the 
necessity  of  a  more  adequate  theorr 
of  Causation,  as  tbe  basis  of  a  less 
inadequate     Philosophy    of    His- 


'*  History  of  Civilisation^  vol.  I.  p.  165. 

•*  Ihid.,  p.  208,  and  compare  generallj,  chap.  I. 

"  See  Mill,  System  of  Logic,  vol.  II.  p.  529. 


1878] 


the  New  PhUosoph/y  of  History. 


499 


toiy,  is  not  only  now  manifest,  bnt 
has  become,  through  Mr.  Budde's 
work — ^though  only,  it  is  true, 
throngh  the  eizposnre  of  its  fallacies 
—more  definitely  choracterisable 
as  the  necessity  of  a  tme  definition 
of  Moral  Forces.  To  have  made  this 
clear  appears  to  me  to  have  been 
the  most  important  result  of  Mr. 
Buckle's  work,  considered  in  its  re- 
lation to  the  development  generally 
of  the  New  Philosophy  of  History. 


And  now,  on  the  whole' case,  I 
would  make  but  these  brief  conclud- 
ing remarks.  One  cannot  possibly 
escape  the  problem  of  Causation, 
if  one  ventures  to  advance  theories 
of  History;  one  only  solves  the 
problem  wrongly  and  confusedly  in 
pretending  to  pass  it  over;  and 
hence  it  is  better  to  face  it  at 
once  boldly,  and,  accurately  defin- 
ing, study  it  thoroughly.  Magni- 
ficent, then,  as  were  the  general 
views  presented  by  the  Philosophies 
of  Eistorjy  we  could  not  but  acknow- 
ledge in  them  a  fundamental  in- 
adequacy ;  and,  to  amend  this,  we 
turned  from  these  high  speculations 
with  reference  to  the  Past  to  the 
study  of  the  Present  in  the  most 
general  and  certain  results  of  its 
new  knowledge.  These,  in  their 
inmost  meaning,  we  endeavoured  to 
master,  these  to  evaluate,  and  as 
folly  as  possible  develop  in  those 
more  true  conceptions  which  they 
seemed  to  afford  of  Causation,  before 


we  made  any  further  attempt  at  a 
scientificcomprehension  of  the  starry 
sphere  of  History.  Newton  laid  aside 
his  researches  on  the  orbits  of  the 
planets  till  he  had  obtained  a  more 
exact  value  of  the  semi-diameter  of 
the  Earth  ;^  and  we  hoped  that 
when,  after  a  like  evaluation  of  the 
ground  on  which  we  stand,  we 
resumed  our  study  of  the  enspher- 
ing system  of  Humanity,  we  should 
gather  knowledge  not  inapproxi- 
mately,  perhaps,  as  accurate  as  that 
of  the  astronomers  from  the  base 
which  thoy  had  thus  ascertained. 
And  this  will  be  acknowledged  to 
have  been  no  vain  hope  if  it  should  be 
found  that,  through  the  systematic 
study  of  human  conceptions  of  Causa- 
tion, in  the  Present  and  in  the  Past, 
there  has  indeed  been  discovered  a 
verifiable  Ultimate  Law  of  History, 
integrating  what  is  true  b9th  in 
Hegel's  Law  of  Thought^  and  in 
Comte's  Empirical  Law,  and  thus 
completing  the  development  of 
Hume's  profound  Theory  of  the 
'  Natural  History  of  Beligion.'  But 
even  such  a  Law  was  not  our  final 
aim.  We  sought  it  but  that,  in  the 
synthesis,  which  it  would  effect,  we 
might  gain  a  true  Ideal ;  an  Ideal  in 
accordance  with  the  highest  results 
of  Science,  the  most  general  con- 
ceptions of  Law ;  an  Ideal,  no  more, 
as  hitherto,  an  unverified,  or  unveri- 
fiable  dream,  but  the  splendour  of 
Truth. 

J.  S.  Stuabt-Glenkie. 


"  In  Ficard's  more  accarate  measorement  of  an  are  of  the  meridian,  correctii^ 
Nevton's  estimate  of  sixty  miles  to  a  deg^e,  and  henoe  giying  greater  aocnracy  to  his 
cdcnlatioa  of  the  moon's  distance  in  semi-diameters  of  the  Earth.  See  Grant,  History 
of  Pkyaieal  MtronoTny,  p.  24. 


^«^p^ 


500 


[April 


A  PEEP  AT  ANCIENT  ETRUBIA. 


AFTER  spending  a  good  many 
pleasant  weeks  in  Florence  it 
seemed  to  ns  that  the  time  had 
come  to  cany  out  onr  project  of  a 
little  tour  through  some  of  the  less 
known  towns  of  Middle  Italy  which 
we  had  passed  by  on  former  jonr- 
neys.  Among  these  were  the  chief 
Etruscan  cities  of  South  Tascany. 
But  we  had  no  notion  of  facing 
certain  discomfort  and  the  chances 
of  ague  fever  by  following  the  foot- 
steps of  Dennis  along  the  swampy 
coast  and  still  more  unhealthy  lull 
tracts  of  the  Marenmia.  We  came 
to  the  modesty  not  to  say  faint- 
hearted, conclusion  that  Volterra, 
Ghiusi,  and  Cortona  would  suffice  to 
give  us  a  tolerably  lively  idea  of 
such  remains  as  are  still  extant  of  a 
people  whose  civilisation  dates  in 
the  order  of  antiquity  next  after 
that  of  Egypt  and  Assyria. 

When  we  mentioned  to  our 
Florentine  friends  our  intended 
ramble  in  the  provinces,  they  shook 
their  heads  and  looked  solemn. 
Countless  discomforts  and  perhaps 
dangers  were  in  store  for  us,  they 
said  —  dreadful  roads,  bad  inns, 
nothing  to  eat,  rough  people,  rob- 
bers in  the  Apennines,  and  what  not ! 
When  we  added  that  we  proposed 
travelling  in  a  baroccino,  their 
countenances  showed  supreme  dis- 
gust, and  it  is  only  fair  to  say 
that  subsequent  experience  proved 
they  were  not  far  wrong  in  threa- 
tening us  with  *  being  shaken  to 
death.' 

Altogether  our  good  friends 
showed  very  clearly  how  sorely 
puzzled  they  were  as  to  what  we 
could  find  to  do  or  see  in  those 
piccoU  paesi,  as  Italians  always 
call  country  parts. 

Melancholy  forebodings  and  ad- 
verse criticism  notwithstanding,  we 
took  the  train  one  fine  morning 
from  the  station  of  Santa  Maria 
Novella  for  Pontedera,  whence  we 


were  to  start  for  Volterra.  On 
reaching  our  destination  we  found 
the  carriage  and  horses  we  had 
telegraphed  for,  and  a  smart  driver 
who  undertook  to  convey  us  to  our 
journey's  end  in  six  hours. 

What  a  pleasant  drive  it  was! 
The   brightest  of  suns  in  a  deep 
blue  sky,  a  fresh  breeze  blowing, 
the     country     all     a-bloom    wifii 
flowers,  gay-looking  villas  frequent 
on  the  hUl-tops,  and  the  vines,  mnl- 
berries,  and  young  com  green  with 
the  tender  tmt  of  spring !     Rustic 
life    was    bu^    along     the   road: 
jauntily    perched    on    their   cam 
rode  picturesque  peasants  with  red 
tulips  stuck  into  their  conical  hats ; 
children  in  scanty  clothing,  which 
disclosed  beautifully  modell^  hmbs, 
were  leading  their  sheep  and  their 
goats ;   dark-eyed  damsels  tripped 
along  under  huge  bright  bundles  of 
freshly- cut     forage  ;    old     women 
plied    the    distaff    on     the    door- 
steps; younger  ones  plaited  straw, 
darting  the  while  swift  glances  at 
the  passers-by;   and  those  statehr 
Tuscan  oxen  of  the  large  lustrous 
eyes  ploughed  away  in  patient  dig- 
nity.     As  we  advanced,  howerer, 
the  hills  grew  bare,  the  cultivatioD 
more  scattered,    and    villas,  trees, 
and  population   scantier   and  less 
frequent.     The  road  ascends,  along 
the   banks  of  the  Era,  and,  after 
crossing  the  river,  makes  a  sadden 
bend  into  the  hills. 

At  this  spotwe  turned  round, 
to  look  at  the  landscape'  behind 
us.  It  was  characteristic  of  Italj: 
a  yellow,  dried-up  river-bed,  a 
wide  stony  valley,  denuded  hills, 
here  and  there  a  grove  of  olives  or  » 
straggling  line  of  cypresses,  on 
some  hill  top  a  solitary  convent  or 
oratory,  and  in  the  blue  background 
the  mountains,  with  waving  outline 
of  Apennines  and  jagged  peaks 
of  Carrara,  and  Monte  Pisano 
standing  out  in  bold  relief.    Every- 


187S] 


A  Peep  at  Ancient  Etruria, 


501 


where  that  day  was  a  flood  of  bril- 
jfanfc  light  which  made  all  nataro 
thrill   with   tmnaltnoas    life,    and 
even  the    wild    flower  and  blade 
of  grass   seemed  to  quiver    with 
jojons  motion.      All  living  things 
were  as  if  stirred  to  quicker  sense, 
while  the  somewhat  desolate  aspect 
of  the  country  near  at  hand  gave  a 
note  of  sadness  not  without  charm 
amidst  the  great  sun-dazzle  around. 
The  road    soon   became    savage 
and  wild,  offering  a  strange  con- 
trast  to    what  had  come   before. 
For  miles  it  took  us  through  a  tract 
of  bluish,  clayey  hills,  and  billowy 
plain  deeply    furrowed,  all    given 
up   to   the    freaks  and   pranks  of 
watercourses.     Scarce  a    blade    of 
grass  or  sign  of  any  living  thing 
is  to    be    seen.      Hills   crumbling 
away,  deep  ruts  and  wide  ravines 
eaten  into  by  the  waters,  universal 
stripping    and    denudation    of   all 
earth  and  vegetation — a  scene  such 
as  you  might  fancy  on  the  day  after 
the  flood !      Yolterra  stood  in  the 
distance  perched  aloft,  and  looking 
decidedly  hard  to  get  at.     A  fierce 
wind  had   arisen,  which  added  to 
the  wildnesa  of  the  scene,  and  we 
began    seriously    to    doubt    if  we 
should  ever  scale  the  heights  before 
us.    The  carriage  felt  as  if  it  would 
1)6  every  moment  blown  away.   The 
difficulties,  however,  have  been  over- 
come by  skilful  road-making,  and 
knowing  Vol  terra  to  be  i,8oo  feet 
above  the  sea  we  were  astonished 
to  find  ourselves  in  a  short  time 
close  io  its  walls,  amidst  the  vine- 
yards and  fig- gardens. 

The  carriage  stopped  before  the 
door  of  a  dark,  small-windowed 
house  near  the  entrance  of  the  city. 
This  was  the  inn,  our  vetturino  in- 
formed us.  No  sign  was  to  be  dis- 
covered outside,  and  the  general  as- 
pect was  dilapidated,  gloomy,  and  cut- 
throat. Presently  a  stern-visaged 
girl  appeared  in  the  door-way, 
aud  conducted  us  through  a  dark 
passage,  up  an  uneven,  high-stepped 
staircase  where  not  a  gleam  of  light 

VOL.  VII. NO.  XL.      NEW  SERIES. 


showed  itself.  I  fancied  myself  al- 
ready  in  an  Etruscan  tomb.  After 
much  tripping  and  stumbling  over 
odd  steps  and  obstacles,  we  arrived 
at  the  rooms  destined  for  us.  As 
usually  happens  in  Italy,  they  were 
much  better  than  one  is  led  by  first 
appearanpes  to  expect.  The  curtains 
and  beds  were  white  and  clean, 
the  tiled  floors  showed  symptoms  of 
recent  washing.  The  smileless  damsel 
seemed  to  enter  into  our  views  as  to 
dinner ;  so  we  were  led  to  hope  that 
there  might  linger  some  amiable 
weakness  under  that  uncompromis- 
ing demeanour.  These  preliminaries 
being  adjusted,  we  sallied  forth  for 
a  stroll. 

This  town  looks  immeasurably 
old.  Hundreds  of  years  have  passed 
over  these  houses,  and  yet  their 
massive  stonework  still  stands  as 
if  nothing  could  ever  disturb  it.  The 
whole  place,  in  its  grim  solidity  and 
dark  grey  hue,  might  be  supposed 
to  have  grown  out  of  the  rock  which 
carries  it.  As  we  loitered  about  the 
antique  Piazza,  grave,  silent  people 
were  pacing  up  and  down  in  a 
stately  fashion.  They  are  all  workers 
in  alabaster  here,  and  thrive  well,  as 
we  are  told,  on  the  pursuit.  Scraps 
of  the  material  are  under  one's  feet 
at  every  step. 

The  grey  streets,  whose  tall  houses 
shut  out  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun, 
felt  cold  and  unfriendly,  so  we  sought 
and  found  a  sheltered  spot  on  the 
ramparts.  It  was  just  where  the 
great  wall  of  uncemented  blocks 
looks  down  on  the  famous  Etruscan 
gate — the  very  gate,  with  the  three 
human  heads  carved  in  black  lava, 
that  is  represented  on  sepulchral 
monuments  at  least  twenty-five 
centuries  old,  and  what  its  age  may 
then  have  been  we  know  not.  Few 
pieces  of  human  handiwork  carry 
the  mind  back  so  ias  into  the  twi- 
light of  antiquity. 

Next  morning  it  was  raining,  and 
the  old  town  looked  gloomier  than 
ever.  As  it  is,  so  it  must  have  been 
in  the  old  days — the  old  mediaeval 

K  M 


502 


A  Peep  at  Ancient  Etruria. 


[April 


days.  As  for  the  Etrascan  period, 
that  takes  ns  fairly  beyond  authentic 
history.  We  know  only  that  a 
great  people  once  inhabited  this 
region,  and  that  they  built  vast 
mountain  cities,  for  the  walls  are  still 
there,  more  massive  than  any  people 
have  attempted  to  erect  since  their 
time.  The  hill  opposite  is  all  pierced 
through  by  their  sepulchres,  and 
yonder  is  the  very  gate  through 
which  the  citizens  went  forth  and 
returned. 

Nothing  new  has  been  built  here 
formany a  long  day — only  sometimes 
the  old  houses  have  been  a  little 
pulled  about  and  altered  to  suit 
modem  wants.  They  are  high, 
of  hard,  dark  stone,  and  have 
overhanging  cornices.  Here  and 
there  a  round  or  pointed  window 
has  been  made  square,  arches  have 
been  built  up  for  greater  strength, 
and  columns,  fragments,  and  in- 
scriptions of  classical  times  have 
been  built  into  the  walls,  with 
no  more  regard  than  if  they  were 
stones  from  the  quany.  The  narrow 
streets  run  up  and  down  in  most  ir- 
regular fashion,  making  picturesque 
projections,  and  quaint  dark  nooks 
and  abrupt  endings.  Massive  stone- 
work, admirably  fitted,  shows  that 
the  art  of  old  Etruria  has  not  lost 
its  cunning ;  the  even,  smooth  pave- 
ment of  broad  slabs,  so  comforting 
to  the  foot-sore  and  weary,  is  another 
witness  that  the  ancient  skill  of 
their  forefathers  has  not  departed 
from  amongst  the  modem  Tuscans. 

We  were  accompanied  in  our 
wanderiogs  by  the  indispensable 
guideof  ^Iterra — Giorgio  Callai.  He 
is  full  of  recondite  lore  and  a  laudable 
desire  to  make  the  most  of  the  an- 
cient glories  of  his  birthplace,  and 
on  the  shortest  possible  notice 
supplies  that  sort  of  knowledge 
which,  like  a  fimcy  dress,  you  hire 
for  the  nonce,  having  no  further 
occasion  for  it.  K  you  have  forgotten 
to  take  the  necessary  informatioii 
into  store,  or  have  stowed  it  away 
80  &r  down  in  your  memory  that  it 


is  inconveniently  hard  to  recover, 
Callai  is  your  man.  He  looks  the 
very  genius  of  the  place,  just  as  if 
he  had  stepped  out  of  one  of  the 
tombs  on  yonder  hill-side  with 
some  dismaUy  important  message 
to  communicate.  A  supematonl 
solemnity  rests  on  his  hollow 
jaws  and  long,  colourless  face, 
and  the  sound  of  his  voice  is  tragic 
and  sepulchral.  He  never  smiles, 
and  is  impervious  to  a  joke.  Seeing 
sights  in  a  light  and  airy  spirit  is  a 
tlung  beyond  his  philosophy,  and, 
above  all,  Etruria  is  with  him  no 
laughing  matter.  Indeed,  the  Yol- 
terrani  in  general  seem  much  im- 
pressed, not  to  say  overcome,  by  the 
antiquity  of  their  descent.  They  are 
an  austere  people,  stiff  and  reserved 
in  bearing,  and  look  on  strangers 
with  a  suspicious,  ungracious  eye — 
singularly  un-ItaUan  in  all  this — but 
we  must  credit  them  witdi  self-re- 
spect and  pride,  for  the  whole  time  we 
were  there  we  never  met  a  beggar. 

As  we  wandered  about,  Gioigio 
grew  communicative  and  gave  us 
some  account  of  the  religion  and 
morals  of  his  fellow  -  townsmen. 
'  They  had  become  quite  oorrapt,' 
he  said ;  '  they  had  been  spoiled, 
first  by  the  priests  and  ihen  by 
those  "  hrtUti "  Piedmontese — ^there 
was  no  more  respect  for  anything— 
bad  books  were  abroad  and  such  h- 
centiousness!  Ah  !  Signoravna^  if  I 
could  only  tell  you  ! '  The  signoia 
wished  much  to  be  supplied  with 
a  few  lively  bits  of  scandal; 
but  Giorgio  closed  his  lips  firmly 
and  contented  himself  with  sighing 
in  a  way  that  might  become  the 
only  remaining  just  man  of  Vol- 
term. 

We  observed  that  he  dated  all 
these  dreadful  fallings-off  from.  '4$^ 
and  when  he  went  on  to  say  that 
the  climate  too  had  altered,  and 
that  cold  and  rain  were  things  un- 
known in  happier  times  —  *t  c«r- 
veUi  «  gli  clementl  vanno  tutU  a  ro- 
vesdo  '  — ^we  too  b^^  to  think, 
our  views  being  affected  by  the  raw, 


1878] 


A  Peep  at  Ancient  Etruria. 


503 


Tfdnj  day,  tliat  free  institations 
may  be  dkagreeable  things,  apt  to 
bring  with  them  other  English  com- 
modities besides  parliaments  and 
newspapers. 

Thongh  never  departing  firom 
an  imposing  dignity  of  demeanour, 
our  companion  grew  more  con- 
fidential by  degrees,  and  gave  ns 
some  of  his  personal  history.  How 
he  had  travelled  in  foreign  conntries, 
and  had  Kved  many  years  in  Eng- 
land and  Holland,  where  the 
priests  marry — and  how  much  bet- 
ter it  is,  §ignora! — how  family 
affiurs  had  called  him  home,  and  how 
he  was  obliged  to  live  in  Volterra ; 
a  sad  fate  for  a  man  like  him, 
^del  gran  mondoy  to  have  to  live 
in  so  small  a  place,  and  to  be  criti- 
cised and  not  understood.  What 
was  he  to  do  ?  coaa  vuole  ?  .  ,  .  A 
man  of  the  world  can't  live  like  a 
monk,  you  know — so  he  married, 
and  devotes  himself  to  studying  the 
remains  of  his  Etruscan  ancestors. 
Can  Mrs.  Callai  be  unworthy  of 
liim,  that  he  thinks  it  necessary  to 
apologise  for  the  not  xmcommon 
step  he  has  taken  ? 

The  ratQ  was  coming  down  with 

the  utmost  perverseness,    so    we 

vrere  not  sorry  to  take  shelter  in 

the    Museum.     Our   cicerone    and 

the  eustode  soon  got  into  vehement 

discussion  as  to  dates  and  centuries, 

and  the  disputed  Greek  or  Asiatic 

origin  of    the    Etruscans.     Each 

seeming    satisfied    that    his   view 

settled  the  matter,  and  hopelessly 

intent  on  convincing  the  other,  we 

left  them  to  their  querelle  de  savans, 

and  plunged  into  the  urns,  vases, 

and  bronzes. 

Along  the  walls  are  ranged  the 
so-called  cinerary  urns — stone  or 
jnarble  oblong  cases  or  coffins  con- 
taining the  aiSies  of  those  dead  that 
Tveare  burnt.  Their  sides  are  oma- 
znented  with  sculptures  of  every 
period,  from  the  rude  beginnings 
to  '^e  high  finish  of  later  times. 
OxL  the  lids  are  reclining  figures, 
ev^^iently    portraits,    from     their 


strongly-marked  individuality — ^the 
men  all  with  energetic,  intelligent 
heads,  but  rugged-looking  and 
decidedly  ugly;  the  women  not 
well  -  favoured.  The  subjects  carved 
in  high  relief  on  the  sides  of  these 
urns  form  the  chief  interest  of  this 
unrivalled  collection  of  Etruscan 
sculptural  art. 

As  you  examine  them,  one  after 
another,  you  come  gi^ually  to 
feel  personally  acquainted  with  the 
people  whose  lives  are  thus  ex- 
hibited before  you.  The  longer 
you  look,  the  more  any  scepti- 
cal indifierence  gives  way  to  a 
new  and  real  interest  in  a  remote 
and  half-forgotten  race.  The 
range  of  subjects  is  marvellously 
varied,  and  all  are  treated  with 
simplicity,  truth,  and  a  charming 
naturalness.  They  show  strength 
and  energy  too ;  the  transpa- 
rent alabaster  ;  and  coarser  tufa 
seem  to  breathe  and  take  life 
under  the  hand  of  those  who  held 
the  chisel.  The  skill  of  the  dis- 
tribution and  grouping,  the  manual 
dexterity,  the  fineness  and  delicacy 
of  execution,  curiously  testify  to  that 
element  in  art  which  marks  the 
poetical  intellect,  so  conspicuous — 
perhaps  by  accidental  coincidence 
— in  the  mediseval  Florentine.  The 
same  characteristics  which  separate 
the  marble  poems  of  Or  San  Michele 
and  the  bronze  gates  of  Ghiberti 
from  their  rivals  in  Italy  or  beyond 
the  Alps,  distinguish  these  works 
air  Volterra  from  all  else  that  is 
known  of  antique  art.  Beauty  and 
grace,  however,  are  generally  ab- 
sent, and  do  not  seem  to  have 
been  much  sought  or  selected. 

Most  of  these  sculptures  are 
of  a  mythological  or  historical 
character,  the  former  distinctly 
Hellenic,  the  subjects  being  taken 
from  Homeric  legends  :  the  latter 
are  derived  from  local  history,  such 
as  a  siege  of  Volterra,  where  the 
gateway  of  the  three  heads  is  con- 
spicuous ;  and  another  siege  episode, 
where  some  of  the  attacking  force 

H  H  2 


504 


A  Tee/p  at  Ancient  Etruria, 


[April 


are  seen  flinging  over  the  walls  at 
the  defenders  the  heads  of  those 
they  have  slain.  More  attractive  are 
the  subjects  drawn  from  domesticlife, 
in  the  treatment  of  which  there  is 
much  naweteend  delicate  tender  feel- 
ing. We  have  often  homely  inci« 
dents,  SDch  as  a  female  figure  teach- 
ing little  children  to  read,  and  bridal 
processions  and  marriage  rites,  with 
a  genius  tumiog  round  the  wheel 
of  Life.  And  there  are  banquets 
and  triumphal  marches,  horse  races 
and  bull  fights.  Most  frequent 
of  all  are  funereal  subjects,  as  where 
a  lonely  flower  on  the  tomb  tells  by 
the  number  of  its  petals  the  years 
lived  through  by  the  departed  ; 
and  funeral  processions,  where  the 
body  is  seen  on  a  car  drawn  by 
oxen  with  bent  heads  and  languid 
movement,  to  mark  dejection :  the 
mourners  weeping,  with  covered 
faces,  and  in  front  a  figure  on 
horseback — symbolisiug  the  soul — 
hurries  onward  with  a  long  sack 
containing  his  good  and  bad  deeds 
hung  over  his  shoulder.  Deathbed 
scenes  often  occur,  and  touching 
partings  between  husband  and  wife. 
It  is  the  old,  old  story — ^human 
life,  human  feeling,  ever  the  same, 
nothing  changed.  After  centuries 
and  centuries  of  decay,  destruction, 
and  forgetfulness,  you  have  only  to 
remove  a  little  dust  and  rubbish, 
and  there  you  find  the  link,  still 
unbroken,  which  makes  all  the 
world  akin. 

We  took  a  long  walk  by  the 
finest  remaining  part  of  the  old 
Etruscan  walls,  which  lie  someway 
outside  the  modem  town.  Along 
their  base,  on  the  declivity  of  the 
mountain,  a  rough  path  is  carried. 
What  grand  old  things !  Huge 
blocks  of  travertine,  piled  up  house- 
high,  without  cement !  How  were 
they  ever  lifted  into  their  places  ? 
What  skill  enabled  the  workmen 
to  fit  them  thus  neatly  together,  so 
as  to  stand  through  all  these  ages  ? 
There  are  delightful  bits  for  the 
painter,    in   places  where   the  old 


material  has  crumbled  away,  and 
the  stonework  seems  toppling  over; 
where  Roman  or  mediaeval  masonry 
has  filled  up  rents,  and  makes 
a  suggestive  contrast  with  the 
colossal  Etruscan  work ;  and  where 
bright-hued  flowers,  and  the  sober 
green  of  the  homely  pellitory, 
shine  out  between  the  uncouth 
blocks.  Looking  down,  we  see  the 
broken,  tumbled  plain,  stretched 
mapwise,  with  its  two  rivers,  like 
glistening  snakes,  coiling  them- 
selves out  in  opposite  directions. 
Dotted  about  it  are  towns  and  vil- 
lages, and  ancient  strongholds,  and 
watch-towers,  and  churches,  and 
among  the  dark  olive  groves  lonely 
convents.  On  one  side  are  the 
low  ridges  of  the  ill-omened 
Maremma;  on  the  other  we  are 
unexpectedly  reminded  of  the  daring 
peaks  of  South  Tyrol,  by  the  beau- 
tiful outline  of  the  Carrara  moun- 
tains, standing  out,  sharply-cut, 
against  the  sky,  although  fifty  miles 
away.  And  then,  beyond  the  plain 
of  Pisa,  a  straight  blue  line  marks 
the  horizon.  It  is  the  sea,  and 
there  is  the  rocky  islet  of  Gorgona, 
and  the  tops  of  the  Elba  moun- 
tains ;  and  far  away  to  the  west  the 
hazy  outline  of  Corsica.  What  other 
town  commands  a  prospect  so  wide, 
so  beautiful,  and  one  so  suggestive  of 
various  peoples  and  chequered  fates, 
historic  memories  and  art  recollec- 
tions ?  As  we  stood  we  watched 
the  sheets  of  sunshine  and  the 
heaping-up  of  the  storm-clouds,  the 
gently  pouring  rain,  and  shadows 
and  sunbeams  contending  for  mas- 
tery, as  one  hill-side  was  lit  up  and 
the  opposite  one  plunged  in  sullen 
shade.  Over  the  broad  Val  d'Amo 
the  sun  was  blazing  forth  out  of 
the  pure  blue  sky,  while  in  the 
southern  horizon  the  clouds  IftJ 
piled  up  in  thick  black  banks, 
and  the  hill-tops  of  the  Maremma 
were  nearly  dimmed  by  a  passing 
shower,  as  by  a  filmy  curtain  of 
gauze.  A  view,  indeed,  not  easily 
forgotten.      Happy    Count   Inglii- 


187S] 


A  Peep  ai  Ancient  Etmria, 


•505 


rami,  with  that  Rne  palace  on  the 
ramparts  commanding  it!     A  to- 
lerable hotel  on  this  spot  would 
be  sare  to  pay.     This  place  mast 
be   qaite   a    sanitarium,     and    in 
the    summer    heats    of    Florence 
would  be  a  welcome  refuge  from 
the    glare,    dust,    and    vulgarity 
of  Leghorn.    The  air  is  delicious, 
crisp  and  champagnj,  and  would 
briDg    back    health    and    vigour 
to  the    most  jaded  and   scirocco- 
stricken.      Besides     Etruscan    re- 
mains, there  is  enough  in  Volterra 
of  artistic  interest  to  give  occupa- 
tion   for     a     long    stay — ancient 
churches,    excellent  bits  of  Delia 
Kobbia  ware,  early  sculptures,  cu- 
rions  fragments  of  wall-paintings 
and  frescoed  votive  altars  at  street 
comers.    Among  other  good  pic- 
tures we  admired  a  very  charming 
altar-piece  by  Leonardo  da  Pistoia, 
a  painter   seldom  met  with.     But 
the  chief  art-monument  is  the  de- 
lightful chapel,   painted,  they  say, 
by  him    of   the   quaint    book    so 
charming  in  its  Trecento  Itah'an — 
*  J/  lihro  delV  Arte.^    The  name  on 
the  still  clear  and  legible  inscrip- 
tion has  been  interpreted  by  some 
as  standing  for  Cennino  Cennini. 
However  that  may  be,  these  frescoes 
are  full  of  life  and  grace  and  varied 
interest,  and  where  not  injured  by 
ike  rain  coming  in   are  still  fresh 
aud  delicate  in  colour.     The  Find- 
ing of  the  Cross,  which  is  the  chief 
subject  represented,  is  most  inte- 
resting, with  its  throngs  of  motley 
figures  and  naive  details.      It  is 
clear  the  painter,  whoever  he  was, 
had  a  quick,  lively  fancy,  and  loved 
picturesque,  bright    costume,   and 
beauty  also.     Some  of  the  female 
heads  are  lovely.    Altogether,  this 
chapel,   in   its   simplicity  of  feel- 
ing,   unity    and    completeness    of 
effect,  carries  one  back  to  the  age 
when  Tuscaji  art,  in  its  vigorous 
infancy,  held  forUi  the  promise  it 
60  brillkintlj  fulfilled. 
.  •  •  •  •  • 

A  few  days  later  we  found  our- 


selves in  the  train,  bound  for  the 
Chiusi  station.  Contrasts  of  the 
kind  are  common  enough  now-a- 
days,  and  yet  it  did  seem  strange 
to  take  one's  railway  ticket  for 
Chiusi — the  Clusium  of  Lars  Por- 
sena.  The  strangeness  became 
positive  disappointment  when,  our 
journey  being  ended,  after  slowly 
winding  up  the  hill  in  one  of  the 
caatom&Tj  calessine  that  stand  before 
the  station,  we  found  a  little  horgo 
very  much  like  most  of  the  country 
towns  of  Southern  Tuscany.  To  no 
purpose  had  we  pored  over  our 
guide  books,  and  dipped  into  the 
careful  Dennis,  Mrs.  Hamilton  Gray, 
and  other  bulkier  volumes,  and 
learned  that  the  main  objects  of 
interest  here  are  under-ground.  We 
could  not  avoid  expecting  to  find 
some  visible  traces  of  former  great- 
ness ;  but  everything  looks  relatively 
modern — that  is  to  say,  two  or  three 
hundred,  instead  of  at  least  as  many 
thousand  years  old,  and  one's  long 
gathered-up  enthusiasm  becomes 
suddenly  chilled. 

But  for  the  shape  of  the  ground 
there  is  really  no  reason  to  assert 
that  little  Chiusi,  girt  with  a  modest 
medisBval  wall,  covers  any  part  of 
the  site  of  the  ancient  queen  of  the 
cities  of  Etruria.  But  one  thing 
may  be  reckoned  on  as  a  certainty — 
the  ancient  city  stood  on  the  high 
ground  overlooking  the  lake  and  the^ 
distant  ridges  of  the  Umbrian  Hills. 
Safety  from  sudden  attack  of  enemies, 
and,  still  more  important,  safety 
from  the  pervading  malaria,  have 
always  decided  the  sites  of  towns 
in  this  part  of  Italy.  The  present 
town  stands  in  the  centre  of  the 
vast  underground  sepulchral  ezca-^ 
vationa  that  are  ranged  in  a  half^ 
circle  round  it  at  a  distance  of  two 
or  three  miles.  We  may,  therefore^ 
feel  tolerably  sure  that  it  stands  on 
some  part  of  the  pite  of  arcl^nt 
Clusium. 

We  very  soon  made  up  our  minda 
that  there  is  not  much  to  be  done  at 
Chiusi  by  strolling  about  in  that 


506 


A  Feep  at  Ancient  Etruria. 


[April 


delightfallj  vague  and  objectless 
zaanner  which  is  usually  the 
pleasantest  way  to  see  an  Italian 
town.  The  city  handed  down  to  us 
by  archaic  legend,  whose  only  re- 
mains of  greatness  lie  buried  under 
one's  feet,  occupies  too  much  of  one*s 
thoughts  to  allow  one  to  take  any 
pleasure  in  the  little  Tuscan  town. 
Therefore,  the  sooner  you  put  your- 
self into  the  hands  of  the  veteran 
Foscoli,  self-appointed  chamberlain 
and  master  of  the  ceremonies  to  the 
buried  dead,  the  better.  So  before 
we  had  been  two  hours  at  Chiusi  we 
sallied  forth  under  his  guidance. 

Through  the  vineyards  and  under 
the  fine  old  olives  on  the  hill-slopes, 
amidst  excavations  where  urns  and 
sarcophagi  once  had  been,  and  where 
many  more  lie  still  undisturbed, 
over  ground  which  hides  treasures 
of  the  skill  and  art  of  a  lost  people, 
the  countzy  around  silent  and  still 
as  if  aU  things  had  gone  to  sleep  in 
the  warm  noon-tide  —  we  wended 
our  way  amidst  sepulchres  whose 
inmates  were  laid  to  rest  before 
Rome  had  grown  to  be  a  dty.  After 
walking  about  a  mile  we  halted.  A 
little  negotiation  about  a  key  and 
the  lighting  of  a  few  candles  warned 
US  that  we  had  reached  the  first  of 
the  tombs  which  we  had  set  down  as 
worthy  of  a  visit. 

A  low  doorway  that  you  must 
stoop  to  enter,  closed  by  two  upright 
slabs  turning  on  stone  hinges,  leads 
into  two  vaulted  chambers,  one 
within  the  other.  On  stone  couches, 
much  in  the  shape  of  our  ordinary 
drawing-room  sofa,  the  bodies  of  the 
deceased  had  been  found — these,  of 
course,  fallen  to  a  mere  handful  of 
dust,  buttheir  ornaments,  jewellery, 
and  vases  all  intact.  The  walls  are 
painted  with  a  frieze-like  represen- 
tation of  funeral  feasts  and  funeral 
processions,  and  hunts  and  contests 
— all  little  injured  by  time,  and  the 
colours,  particularly  the  predominat- 
ing red,  almost  as  fresh  as  if  laid 
on  yesterday.  The  figures  are  flat, 
but  graceful  in  outline,  admirably 


grouped,  and  express  well  the  action. 
This  is  called  the  Tomba  Pitturata. 
Other  tombs  have  no  paintings ; 
urns  large  and  small  are  placed 
against  the  walls,  sculptured  in 
relief  with  sirens  and  sea  horses, 
and  Gorgons'  heads  and  horsemen, 
and  a  variety  of  ornaments,  witii 
curves,  and  volutes,  and  twistings, 
which  remind  one  of  the  designs  of 
our  Renaissance.  Some  three  miles 
away  from  the  town  is  the  fi&r-famed 
conical  hill,  with  its  labyrinths  of 
mysterious  passages,  and  streets  of 
tombs  excavated  out  of  the  sohd 
rock-side,  in  tiers  one  above  the 
other,  like  the  floors  of  an  ordinary 
dwelling-house.  Here  were  found 
many  beautiful  vases  and  bronzes 
and  gold  ornaments,  besides  sculp- 
tured urns  and  cippi.  The  greater 
part  have  been  dispersed  through 
various  collections,  but  the  Ht^e 
museum  belonging  to  the  town  has 
kept  some  interesting  objects,  par- 
ticularly in  pottery  of  the  black  un- 
glazed  kind,  with  quaint  archaio 
low-reliefs. 

On  every  side  of  the  town  he 
sepulchres,  covered  up  under  the 
earth  and  the  cornfields,  the  en- 
trance  part  alone  cleared  away,  and 
the  key  held  by  some  peasant  near 
at  hand.  Homes  of  the  dead  though 
they  be,  they  are  neither  dismal  nor 
suggestive  of  melancholy  thoughts : 
they  feel  warm  and  dry,  and  would 
on  the  whole  make  not  unpleasant 
retreats  for  one  sick  of  the  world. 

As  we  walked  on  for  miles,  pick- 
ing up  every  moment  bits  of  bright 
coloured  glass  or  curious  crockery, 
of  times  very  long  passed  by,  our 
guide — a  hale,  bright-eyed  elderly 
man — gave  us  a  good  deal  oi  amuse- 
ment. Excavating  is  the  pursuit 
of  his  life;  his  whole  mind  is  wrapped 
up  in  it ;  it  is  a  passion  with  him, 
and  with  his  own  hands  he  has 
opened  many  of  the  tombs  that  have 
been  explored  during  the  last  half- 
century.  Every  now  and  again  he 
stopped  to  scratch  or  grub  about, 
like  a  dog  at  a  rat-hole,  thinkizighe 


1873] 


A  Peep  ai  Ancient  Etruria, 


5) 


saw  some  precious  odds  and  ends, 
or  the  indication  of  some  hidden 
tomb.  Althongh  quite  illiterate, 
he  knows  the  names  and  descriptions 
of  all  the  scnlptores,  and  is  most  in^- 
telligent  as  to  the  history  and  valne 
of  what  he  finds — very  proud,  too, 
of  Chiusi  and  its  Etruscan  descent. 
No  amount  of  centuries  seems  to 
him  enough  for  its  antiquiiy.  When 
asked  if  the  present  Chiusi  people 
have  come  from  the  Etruscan  stock, 
*  Diamine  !  I  should  rather  think  so,' 
—he  answered  indignantly,  *  who 
else?  Ah!  poor Chinsi^sheisno longer 
what  she  was  :  she  is  come  down — e 
<mdaia!  Yet  nowhere  else  is  it  so 
good  to  live :  good  bread,  good  air, 
good  water.  Fer  Bacco  /  life  is  plea- 
sant here.'  '  Better  than  Orvieto  ?  ' 
we  suggested.  '  Ghe !  Orvieto  !' 
giving  the  ^  Che  / '  the  expression 
which  a  Tuscan  only  can  give,  *  it 
18  a  miserable  place*-so  dirty 
—such  pavements,  and  such  bad 
people— ^>rqprio  cattivi  !  but  they  are 
all  80  over  the  "  conjlne'* ' 

Chiusi  is  just  on  the  border  be- 
tween Tuscany  and  the  Papal  States. 
^Oh,  that  is  well  known,'  we 
said,  *  si  sa^  gi  ta.  Different  from 
m  aUriJ  ^AUro  ehsy  altro  clie^ 
they  are  savages  without  education, 
civilisation,  gentHezza.  Oente  rozza, 
via,*  'And,'  we  asked, '  what  takes 
people  to  Orvieto  ?  *  Oosa  vuole  ? 
Only  foregUeri  go,  and  they  look  at 
the  facade  of  the  Duomo — a  thing 
of  yesterday ! '  And  he  shrugged 
contemptuously.  He  had  been 
excavating  at  Girgenti  with  Mr. 
Dennis,  and  thought  it  a  poor  affair 
after  Etruria.  The  people  of  Gir- 
genti were  quite  barbarous,  he  in- 
formed us,  '  only  eeA  maccheroni — 
did  not  know  actually  how  to  make 
mineatra  ! '  All  which  the  worthy 
fellow  evidently  deemed  very  base 
and  wretched. 

The  son  shone  brightly  on  the 
morning  of  our  second  day  at  Chiusi, 
and  our  minds  being  in  a  different 
mood  from  that  of  the  day  before, 
we  b^pan  to  look  about  us.     The 


place  is  by  no  means  devoid  of 
attraction,  and  some  quiet  days 
might  be  spent  there  pleasantiy 
enoughs  The  inn  outside  the  town 
gate  is  neat,  with  bright-tiled  floors^ 
and  white  curtains,  and  snowy  linen 
and  prints  and  flowers.  From  the^ 
windows  is  a  lovely  view  over  the 
soft  country  and  sunny  woodland 
and  rich  vegetation  on  to  the  hOl* 
top  a  few  miles  off,  where,  amidst 
turreted  walls  and  bell-towers,  lies 
the  birthplace  and  home  of  Pem- 
gino — Gitta  della  Pieve.  It  was 
Sunday,  and  all  the  inhabitants 
were  in  the  streets,  and  the  troMorie^ 
of  which  there  are  an  extraordinary 
number,  were  fiill  of  contadini  sit- 
ting in  knots  together  over  the 
strong  heady  wine  of  the  country. 
It  did  not  seem  to  loosen  their 
tongues  much.  These  Chiusi  people 
are  grave  in  aspect,  and  even  the 
men— a  thing  rare  in  Italy-<-are 
deficient  in  good  looks,  and  untidy 
in  their  drees.  As  for  the  women 
in  this  part  of  Italy,  it  is  in  vainyoa 
look  for  picturesque  costume.  They 
are  quite  regardless  of  the  Graces, 
and  content  themselves  with  dark, 
ugly  cotton  dresses  and  a  shawl 
thrown  over  their  heads.  Although 
it  was  Sunday^  our  padr&na  assumed 
no  more  ornate  garb.  She  is  a 
well-meaning  person,  and  makes 
quite  artistic/ri^ure,  but  no  Frau  of 
Yaterland  could  be  more  ungainly 
or  phlegmatic.  She  informed  us 
that  she  was  the  mother  of  fifteen 
children,  of  whom  half  were  dead*— 
a  circumstance  which  did  not  seem 
in  any  way  to  disturb  her  stolidity. 

What  with  the  swaddling  system 
and  the  frightful  compounds  of  oil, 
sour  wine,  uncooked  vegetables,  and 
unripe  fruit,  the  manner  in  which 
Italian  children  are  reared  must 
be  fatal  to  a  large  population. 

On  leaving  Chiusi  we  had  been 
assured  that  we  should  find  an 
abundance  of  conveyances  at  the 
Montepulciano  station  to  take  us  to 
Cortona.  There  turned  out  to  be 
not  a  single  one.    A  '  mere.  chanoO)' 


SOS 


A  Feep  at  Ancient  Etruria. 


[Apta 


-we  were  told — ^a  ^rnala  sorte,^  a 
'  comhinazione,*  That  one  shonld  so 
often  stumble  on  these  ^  combma- 
zionV  is  passing  strange — ^bnt  no 
doubt  it  supplies  incident  to  one's 
travels,  and  relieves  the  road  from 
dulness. 

It  seemed  probable  that  we  were 
to  spend  the  night  on  the  railway 
platform,  or  else  must  send  for  a 
vehicle  to  the  town  of  Montepul- 
oiano,  seven  miles  off,  which  might 
arrive  when  it  was  too  late  in  the 
day  to  start  on  our  long  drive 
through  the  hill  country.  As  we 
were  weighing  the  alternatives,  one 
of  the  small  knot  of  people  around 
stepped  forward,  and,  with  the  air  of 
a  person  doing  a  favour,  informed  us 
that  we  might  have  his  haroccino, 
mentioning  at  the  time  about  twice 
the  usual  fare.  Too  glad  of  an  escape 
from  the  horns  of  an  unpleasant 
dilemma,  we  made  no  difficulty  on 
that  score,  and  after  a  delay  of 
about  an  hour,  devoted  to  Baron 
Bicasoli's  model  farm,  we  started 
on  our  way  across  the  Val  di 
Chiana.  It  does  not  require  much 
knowledge  of  hydraulic  engineering 
to  understand  why  the  Tuscans  are 
so  proud  of  what  they  have  done  in 
this  region.  The  broad  space  be- 
tween the  hills  of  South  Tuscany 
and  the  Umbrian  Apennine  was, 
not  long  ago,  a  tract  of  between 
thirty  and  forty  miles  of  swamp  and 
shallow  lakes.  The  drainage  which 
nature  provided  was  carried  south- 
ward into  the  Tiber ;  but  the  out- 
fall was  not  sufficient,  and  this 
country  lay  unproductive  of  any- 
thing but  fever  and  mosquitoes. 
The  minister  Fossombroni,  a  man 
of  great  ability  and  versed  in  en- 
gineering science,  saw  what  could 
be  done,  took  the  matter  in  hand^ 
and  applied  unsparingly  the  re- 
sources of  the  State.  This  great 
work  of  public  improvement  was 
accomplished  with  signal  skill  and 
success.  The  streams  have  been 
reversed  in  their  course,  and  now 
run  northward  to  the  Amo ;  Lake 


Thrasymene  alone  fills  up  the  deeper 
part  of  the  valley,  and  luxuriant 
crops  of  maize  wave  over  the  re- 
claimed morass  as  far  as  the  eye 
can  reach.  All  this  is  done  in  the 
grand  imperial  style  one  is  used  to 
in  Italian  public  works.  The  dykes 
are  strikingly  massive,  and  buflt  of 
solid  masonry;  the  channels  are 
deep  and  broad,  and  the  bri(]ge8 
have  ornamental  cut-stone  piers 
and  parapets. 

When  in  Florence  we  had  de- 
clared our  intention  of  making  oar 
tour  in  a  ba/roecmOy  but  this  was 
the  first  occasion  on  which  we  made 
acquaintance  with  the  national  ve- 
hicle of  this  part  of  Italy.  We  were 
not  long  in  coming  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  it  should^  if  possible,  be 
the  last.  That  such  a  simple  appa- 
ratus can  inflict  so  much  discom- 
fort on  the  human  body  will  always 
remain  a  wonder  to  onr  minda.  Te 
begin,  you  have  a  square  frame  d 
wood  laid  upon  two  wheels,  with 
a  piece  of  rope-netting  stretched 
below.  From  two  uprights  above 
this  a  seat  holding  two,  or  at  a  pincb 
three,  is  hung  by  leather  straps. 
Your  box  or  portmanteau  goes  into 
the  netting,  and  you  naturally  seek 
support  fur  your  feet  on  these,  bat, 
once  fairly  on  the  road,  you  live 
and  learn.  The  swinging  to  and  fro, 
and,  what  is  worse,  from  side  to 
side,  at  every  roughness  of  the  way, 
makes  you  feel  that  the  attempt  to 
steady  yourself  with  your  feet  only 
makes  matters  worse.  As  long  as 
the  road  is  very  smooth  you  caa 
grin  and  bear  it,  but  when  you 
come  on  broken  stones,  or  venture 
on  a  gentle  trot  down  a  hill,  c^ 
where  the  rain  has  cut  channels  in 
the  slopes,  thumps  and  bumps  and 
bruises  follow  each  other  in  qnick 
succession  all  over  your  body,  and 
you  come  to  reflect  gravely  and 
sadly  that  hawecino  travelling  is  too 
picturesque  to  be  agreeable. 

Under  these  circumstanoes  the 
drive  to  Cortona  seemed  somewhat 
long.     Our  driver  was  an  amosing 


1873] 


4  i'^  oi  Ancient  Elruria* 


509 


fellow,  loqnacioQB  and  oommnxiioa- 
tive.     Only,  if  ever  we  asked  him 
anything  he   did  not  happen    to 
know,  he   became  yenr  irascible. 
'How  should  I  know?     Corpo  di 
Baeeol   ray  business   is   to  drive 
horses;  I  can't  tell  yon,  via;  ask 
somebody  who  has  nothing  else  to 
do.'     But  his  good  humour  would 
return  soon  again.     When,   how- 
ever, after  crossing  two  ranges  of 
hills,  we  descried  the  ancient  city  of 
Cortonaonamuch  higher  hill  still — 
we   should  call  it  a  mountain  in 
England — our   *  harocciaio  *   fairly 
broke  down.  *  Ma .  ,  ,  che  cosa  mai; 
what  devil  ever  put  a  town  up 
there  ?  Why,  it  is  only  the  begin- 
ning of  the  journey.     Corpo  delta 
Madonna!*  and    then    followed    a 
string  of  choice  blasphemies.     He 
actually  proposed  to  stop  the  night 
at  the  village  below,  and  the  most 
careful  management  and  brilliant 
prospects  of  buona  mano  were  all 
required  to  get  him  up  the  long, 
weary  pull.     Such,  at  any  rate,  it 
seemed  to  us,  with  our  sore  bones. 
At  last  we  got  into  the  narrrow 
main  street  of  the  town,  and  pass- 
ing an  irregular  piazza  through  an 
archway,  turned  down  a  steep  lane, 
and  stopped  before  a  low  door,  with 
all  darkness  within.  It  was  the  inn. 
No   bell  was  visible,  so  we  called 
cot  loudly.   After  some  time  a  per- 
sonage with  a  black  velvet ^p  on 
his    head,   and  a   Ittcema    in  his 
hand,   made  his  appearance.     He 
uttered  no  greeting,  and  was  alto- 
gether unemotional.      Proceeding 
up  a  crooked  staircase  he  pointed 
to  us  to  follow.  We  did  so,  through 
various  passages  with  steps  here 
and  there,  groping  our  way  along  in 
the  dim  light  witib  much  difficulty, 
and  feeling  somewhat  as  if  in  the 
Tvake  of  an  aged  wizard,  through 
an     enchanted  mansion;    all  was 
so     silent,    dark,  and  mysterious, 
fixially  the  Ivcema  halted,  a  door 
opened,  and  we  suddenly  returned 
to  dayUght  in  a  room  overlooking 
the    tops  of  the   old  houses  and 


a  wide  stretch  of  the  Val  di 
Chiana. 

We  were  hungry,  but  somehow 
to  ask  for  supper  seemed  a  wild 
proposition,  when  to  our  inex- 
pressible relief  the  silent  man  be- 
came vocal  and  discovered  a  not 
uninviting  prospect  in  that  direc- 
tion. One  of  us,  emboldened  by  this 
last  act  of  condescension,  begged 
for  tea  with  milk  ;  but  that  was 
indeed  going  too  far.  Our  host 
gave  an  impatient  pull  at  the 
velvet  cap,  and  answered  gruffly 
that  milk  was  out  of  the  question  at 
that  hour  of  the  day.  Upon  which 
he  turned  away  apparently  very 
much  disgusted. 

We  surveyed  our  rooms.  There 
seemed  difficulties  as  to  basins  and 
jugs,  and  indeed  as  to  most  appli* 
ances  of  civilisation,  and  we  fancied 
a  strong  smell  of  mulberry  leaves 
pervaded  the  air,  reminding  us  of 
that  sickly  decoction  of  childhood's 
unhappy  hours  senna  tea.  For  a 
moment  a  deposit  of  silkworms 
in  some  secret  recess  suggested 
itself,  but  that  proved  to  be  the 
dream  of  an  excited  imagination. 
There  were  no  bells,  and  no  human 
creature  seemed  to  be  within  call. 
However,  on  clapping  our  hands 
Eastern  fashion  in  the  silent  cor- 
ridor, help  appeared  in  the  shape  of 
a  short,  thick  maiden  carrying  a 
water  bottle  and  glasses  of  cold 
water,  which  she  presented  to  us* 
This  never-omitted  ceremony  in 
Italy  has  a  drearily  comic  effect 
when  one  is  all  hunger  and  fatigue, 
and  much  in  want  of  stouter 
support. 

However,  supper  was  not  long  in 
making  its  appearance,  and  we 
were  attended  again  by  the  thick 
maiden — apastjT-faced  young  person 
of  slow  progression.  8he  performed 
her  duties  in  an  abstracted,  per- 
functory manner,  with  an  air  of 
pious  resignation.  There  was  a 
half-plethoric,  half-devotional  look 
in  her  eyes;  she  had  a  method  o( 
lowering  them  when  spoken  to  by 


SIO 


A  Peep  ai  Ancient  Etruria* 


[A.pn\ 


anything  male,  whicli  all  made  ns 
put  her  down  on  the  spot  as  a  local 
d&uote.  Forthwith  we  evinced 
mnch  interest  in  the  great  female 
saint  of  Cortona,  and  the  heavy 
face  brightened  up  instantaneously. 
Her  name  was  Margherita,  she  said, 
and  she  proceeded  with  a  volubi- 
lity which  astonished  us  to  tell  us 
of  the  great  doings  long  ago, 
and  the  more  recent  cures  and 
miracles  performed  by  her  patron 
saint.  Much  edified  and  re^shed, 
and  our  supper  amply  done  justice 
to,  we  went  out  for  a  walk,  and  found 
a  crowd  of  people  walking  up  and 
down  on  an  open  space  arranged 
amphitheatre- wise  for  the  Biga-races 
on  the  ramparts.  They  were  well- 
dressed  and  had  the  air  of  people 
conscious  of  being  ^persone  distifUe,* 
We  already  knew  that  many  very  an- 
cient,  broken-down  Tuscan  families 
still  inhabit  Oortona^  and  theirs  are 
those  substantial  houses  on  the 
walls  which  overlook  the  surround* 
ing  country  far  and  wide,  and  are 
provided  with  an  unlimited  supply 
of  fresh  air.  These  ramparts  are  laid 
out  with  seats,  to  enjoy  the  view — 
an  unusual  thing  in  Italy. 

This  place  cannot  compare  with 
many  others  that  we  have  seen  for 
its  remains  of  former  times,  and  yet 
I  &ncy  that  in  years  to  come  we 
shall  preserve  a  more  definite  idea 
of  Cortona,  as  pre-eminently  the  an- 
cient city  of  Etmria,  than  of  any 
of  its  rivals.  Students  of  Etruscan 
art  and  Etruscan  history  will  resort 
to  Volterra  for  its  sculptures,  and  to 
Ohiusi  for  its  necropolis,  but  in  none 
of  these  can  one  fancy  that  the  town 
where  he  is  living  is  the  same  place 
that  was  famous  in  the  days  when 
Home  was  not  yet  a  ciiy. 

At  Volterrayou  Irace  the  great  old 
walls  at  intervals,  and  you  see  that 
th^  run  out  into  the  country,  and 
that  the  modern  town  barely  fills  one 
comer  of  the  ancient  enclosure. 
At  Chiusi,  you  form  an  idea  of 
former  greatness  and  importance, 
from  the  vast  extent  of  the  sepul- 


chral monuments,  but  scarcely  any. 
thing,  if  anything,  remains  to  mark 
the  place  where  a  great  population 
lived  and  worked.    Here,  at  Cor- 
tona, there  is  no  doubt  about  it; 
such  as  the  city  was,  in  shape  and 
dimensions  in  times  before  the  bis- 
tory  of  Italy  began,  such  it  is  at 
this  day.   One  cannot  help  laagliing 
at  the  Cortonese,  when  they  tell  yoa 
that  the  utmost  pretension  of  the 
upstart  Romans  was  to  trace  th^ 
descent  from  a  man  who  escaped 
from  the  East  afrer  the  fall  of  Tray*, 
whereas  the  man  who  founded  the 
race  that  built  Troy  was  a  citizen 
of    Corfona,  who   migrated  from 
Italy  to  Asia  Minor !     But^  bM 
all,  the  citizenship  of  Dardaniu  is 
not  more  fabulous  than  the  stones 
of  local  antiquaries  aU  over  the  world, 
and  one  argues  well  of  people  who 
are  proud  of  and  preserve  the  tra- 
ditions of  their  native  town.  Uesn- 
while,  we  have  merely  to  stroll  ont 
in  any  direction,  to  pefpceive  that  we 
are  enclosed  by  the  old  Etmscsn 
or  Umbrian  wall,  in  most  places 
quite  uninjured,  ihe  huge  blocks 
lying  undffitnrbed  ;   and  the  msin 
streets  of  the  city  must  be  still  veij 
much  where  they  were  when  to 
steep  slope  was  first  fixed  upon  as 
a  place  of  safety  ^    The  actual  bnild- 
ings  have,  of  'Course,  been  renewed 
many^mes  in  the  long  roll  of  cen- 
turies, out,  if  the  foundations  of  the 
hjouses  could  speak,  they  might  per- 
chance tell   tales  to    astound  the 
most  learned  historian. 

The  streets  are  more  crooked  and 
precipitous  than  at  Volterra,  and 
the  houses  have  a  more  important, 
aristocratic  look,  as  if  they  belonged 
to  people  of  estate  and  substuice. 
They  jut  out  irregularly,  throngh 
the  twistings  and  bendings  of  the 
streets,  and  sometimes  their  heavy 
cornices  seem  to  meet  over  yoor 
head.  Some  have  crooked  exterior 
stone  staircases  climbing  up  to  low 
doorways,  fi^m  which  steps  go 
down  to  the  entrance  halL  Here  and 
there  will  be  a  pointed  arch,  and  a 


1873] 


A  Feep  at  Ancient  Etruria, 


511 


balcony  of  curious,  elaborate  iron^ 
work ;  but  nobody  will  ever  be  seen 
looking  down  from  these  balconies, 
and  not  a  bead  peeps  oat  of  the  win- 
dows. Indeed,  theyare  generally  de- 
corated with  various  andenigmatical 
articles  of  clothing  hanging  out  to 
dry. 

No  plan  whatsoever    seems    to 
have  been  followed  in  the  building 
of  these   streets.     Many  of   them 
begin  and  end  in  the  roost  impul- 
sive, abrupt  fieishion,  and  lead  no- 
ivhere  particular,  as  one  soon  dis- 
covers to  one's  discomfiture.     Out 
of  a  tolerably  wide  street,  where 
jou  are  wending  your  way,  you  will 
find  yourself  suddenly  taken  into  a 
narrow  paved  lane,  up  steep  steps 
and    under    deep    archways,    and 
landed  on  an  open  space,  where,  as 
likely  as  not^  yon  behold  a  goodly* 
sized      house,      dilapidated      and 
weaiher- worn,  with  ironwork  falling 
to  pieces,  and  shutters  closed,  seem- 
ingly for  hundreds  of  years.     Yet  it 
still  wears  a  stately  air,  and  some* 
where  on  its  walls  is  the  escutcheon 
of  some  family  whose  name  has 
passed  out  of  the  memory  of  man. 
Opposite  will  be  a  high,  crumbling 
wall,    covered   picturesquely  witii 
greeneries,  andan  elaborate  irongate 
]eajd^^  into  a  garden  all  choked  up 
with  shrubs  and  rank  growths  and 
aged    trees,  and  here  and  there  a 
mutiJAted,  blackened  statue.  Youare 
in  a  ciU'de-^ctc,     You  retrace  your. 
steps  and  try  a  new  direction,  to 
£nd  yourself,  perhaps,  brought  to  a 
standstill,  face   to    face  with   the 
amazing,  stupendous  Etruscan  wall, 
shatting  out  all  exit.     If  you  make 
another   effort,  you  will  find  your- 
self   probably  back   again   at  the 
point  -whence  you  started. 

All  this  would  be  endlessly  pic- 
turesque, the  light  and  shade  effects 
vould.  be  most  striking,  when  the 
>ri^ht  sunbeams  find  their  way 
hrough  these  many  intricacies ;  but 
LO  snxL  sliines  for  us.  It  is  a  raw, 
old  dsky^  with  a  wind  which  blows, 
nd  whistleSy  and  makes  one  shiver 


through  and  through.  Just  a  day 
for  a  comfortable  arm-chair,  a 
pleasant  book,  and  a  good  fire 
of  carbone  foasile,  that  bugbear 
of  the  Italians.  We  remem- 
bered we  were  tourists,  and  had 
stem  duties  awaiting  us;  so,  taking 
our  courage  with  two  hands,  we 
went  forth  manfully  to  see  the 
church  of  Santa  Margherita.  It 
is  i,8oo  feet  above  the  sea,  on 
the  crest  of  the  hill  on  whose 
slope  Cortona  lies,  and  within  the 
Etruscan  wall.  The  walk  was  a 
severe  one,  what  with  violent  gusts 
of  wind  and  beating  rain.  We  saw 
the  striking  view,  however,  clearly 
enough,  though  not  to  advantaro. 
The  great  long  plain,  bounded  by 
Apennines  and  hills,  looked  dreary 
and  desolate.  Montepulciano  of  the' 
seductive  wines  stood  out  in  black, 
stem  isolation,  and  the  wide  lake 
of  Thrasymene  was  one  sheet  of 
dull  grey. 

In  this  breezy  spot,  amidst  the 
tall  cypresses,  Santa  Margherita  re- 
tired to  pray  and  do  penance,  and 
here  she  died,  and  a  fine  chiirch 
has  been  erected  to  her  memory. 
It  is  a  great  place  of  pious  resort 
to  all  the  surrounding  country,  par- 
ticularly on  the  occasions  when  the 
body  of  the  saint  is  exhibited.  At 
such  times  the  Sindaoo  remains  all 
day  in  the  church,  in  his  robes  of 
state,  surrounded  by  all  his  officers. 
The  monk  who  took  us  about  told 
us  that  his  convent,  which  is  an- 
nexed to  the  church,  had  been  sup- 
pressed by  the  Government  and  put 
up  for  sale,  but  pious  benefactors 
stepped  in  and  bought  back  the 
convent,  and  restored  it  to  the 
monks.  This  has  happened  often 
in  the  so-called  suppression  of 
monasteries  by  the  new  king- 
dom of  Italy,  either  where  the 
frail  have  had  funds  to  effect  the 
purchase  themselves,  or  where  they 
have  found  persons  sufficiently  per* 
suaded  of  their  merits  and  usefulness 
to  supply  the  money  needful.  No 
doubt    in    many    instances    these 


512 


A  Teeip  at  Ancient  Etruria, 


[April 


houses  have  been  converted  into 
barracks  or  hospitals,  with  a  viftw 
to  prevent  an  nndesirable  number 
of  religious  communities  becoming 
again  established  in  the  country; 
but,  strange  as  it  may  sound  to 
some,  one  never  meets  among  the 
poorer  people  the  least  regret  for 
those  that  are  gone.  Our  monk 
showed  us  some  good  old  lace  in 
the  sacristy  on  the  albs  and  rochets, 
and  evidently  took  a  pride  in  pos- 
sessing it  still.  We  were  glad  to 
see  it  and  to  comphment  him  on  its 
being  preserved,  for  one  seldom  sees 
anything  now  in  Italian  churches 
but  vile  imitation  crochet  of  the 
meanest  anti-macassar  description. 
The  real  lace  has  been  all  sold  for  a 
Bong  to  people  who  sell  it  again  at 
extravagant  prices.  An  effective 
lacis  work  is  made  in  Cortona 
with  old  designs  reproduced,  but  it 
is  worked  on  machine-made  reseau 
in  cotton  or  bad  thread. 

This  church  is  being  enlarged  and 
repaired,  for  which  collections  are 
made  all  round  the  country,  and 
the  church  walls  are  covered  with 
prints  representing  St.  Margaret 
blessing  each  commune  which  con- 
tributes and  the  sum  contributed. 
It  must  rejoice  the  heart  of  the  peo- 
ple and  reward  them  mightily  to  see 
the  name  of  their  conmiune  in  big 
gold  letters  before  the  eyes  of  all ! 
Here,  too,  is  the  crucifix  which  bent 
its  head  when  St.  Margaret  prayed 
before  it ;  but  not  much  fuss  is  made 
about  it.  They  are  used  to  miracles 
here. 

On  our  way  down  the  hill  we 
stopped  at  the  lonely  oratorjr  of  San 
Niccol6,  where  Luca  Signorelli 
painted.  The  fresco  by  him,  disco- 
verednot  long  ago,  has  been,  as  usual, 
much  spoiled  by  restorers.  There  is 
still  much  beauty  and  grace  remain- 
ing, and  enough  of  the  earlyUmbrian 
feeling  of  Luca  to  make  it  interest- 
ing and  attractive.  We  stayed  before 
it  a  long  time,  to  the  evident  delight 
of  the  large  female  who  had  opened 
the  church  for  us.    She  stood  by  us 


the  whole  time,  muttering,  gesticn- 
lating,  exclaiming,  and  holding  up 
her  hands  in  admiration,  and  show- 
ing off  the  painting  as  if  it  were  a 
favourite  child.  'Look,  look,  ehe 
cara  Madonnina!  e  la  Mctddalena 
poveretta!  .  .  .  and  St.  Julian,  tmd 
our  good  father  St.  Niccolo  with  his 
balls.  Bel  giovane  quel  San  Sehai- 
tiano,  via  !  And  see  our  holy  San 
Bocco,  how  grazvosamente  he  hfis  his 
tunic  to  show  the  plague-spot'— and 
with  illustrative  action  she  hitched 
up  her  petticoat,  and  displayed  a 
neatly-tumed  foot,  enough,  with 
slipper  down  at  heel.  She  had  a 
rolling  gait  and  a  merry  eye,  and 
somehow  had  the  look  of  a  fat  canon 
in  disguise. 

Cortona  has  many  fine  works  b^ 
Luca.  His  early  and  late  manner 
are  well  seen  in  the  pictures  of  tbe 
Last  Supper  and  the  '  Deposito '  at 
the  Duomo  ;  and  the  Florentine  in- 
fiuence  shows  itself  remarkably  in  a 
charming  Virgin  and  Child  in  San 
Domenico,with  the  angels  peepingin 
at  either  side  and  the  two  Dominicans 
adoring.  The  noble  Fra  Angelic(B 
in  this  church  are  a  good  deal 
browned  by  time  andthesmokeof  tbe 
worthy  friars'  candles.  Those  in  tbe 
Gesu  are  better  preserved  and  more 
beautiful  again.  The  Annunciation 
is,  perhaps,  the  most  exquisite  that 
the  Beato  Angelico  has  ever  painted; 
it  has  a  delicate  bloom,  a  spontaneity, 
a  sweet  fragrance  of  innocence  and 
gn»ce  that  tell  of  the  first  fresh  in- 
spiration and  dreamy  enthusiasm  of 
youth.  It  was  painted  in  his  earlj 
days  when  he  worked  here.  Nor  in 
originality,  in  beautiful  tender  feel- 
ing, in  fineness  of  execution,  has  be 
ever  surpassed  the  Lives  of  theVi^ 
gin  and  Saint  Domenico  on  tbe 
'predeUe  in  this  church. 

We  found  the  Mueeo  closed  and 
the  Gustode  gone,  no  one  kne« 
where  or  seemed  inclined  to  find 
out.  However,  wo  made  so  dear 
our  determination  not  to  be  pntoff, 
and  to  wait  any  time,  that  a  pob'oe 
official,  who  had  been  loungingabon^ 


187S] 


A  Peep  at  Ancient  Etruria. 


513 


staring  at  ns  with  mild  contempt 
and  curiosity,  suddenly  withdrew 
his  hands  from  his  pockets,  pushed 
ills  hat  off  his  eyes,  and  ordered  a 
search  to  be  made  for  the  custode, 
and  for  him  and  the  key  to  be 
brought  forthwith.     He  then,  with 
a  condescending  air,  showed  as  into 
his  oBce  and  pointed  to  chairs.     It 
Tras  a  spacious,  lofty  apartment,  as 
full  of  paper  and  writing  materials 
as  if  the  affairs  of  all  Italy  were 
transacted  there.     These  Italians 
dearly  love  red-tape,  blue-books, 
pretty  printing,  and  plenty  of  it ; 
they  throw  away  no  end  of  time 
and  money  on  such  things.     After 
a  long  wait,  the  custode  appeared, 
danglmg  about  a  very  rusty  key. 
It  turned  in  the  lock  with  no  small 
diflBculty,  and  when  the  door  did 
open  at  last  we  found  ourselves  in 
complete  darkness — all  the  shutters 
were  closed.     However,  some  light 
was  let  in,  and  we  saw   a  large, 
handsome  library,  disused  and  dusty- 
looking,  like   so  many  here.     In  a 
room  off  it  are  the  famous  treasures 
of  this  mnsenm,  the  Etruscan  can- 
delabrum,   and,    better    still,    the 
piotnre  of  '  the  Greek  Muse/  —  a 
wonderful   vision    of    beauty,    all 
i^glow  with  life  and  colour,  fresh 
and  bright  as  if  painted  yesterday. 
She  seems  to  breathe  and  feel,  as 


if  the  quick  blood  of  youth  still 
ran  beneath  that  warm,  firm  flesh. 
Her  look  is  calm  and  proud,  as  of 
one  conscious  of  beauty  and  power. 
The  pose  and  bust  are  statuesque, 
but  with  none  of  the  coldness  of 
marble.  Despite  that  half- disdainful 
gaze,  passion  has  breathed  within 
this  beautiful  Muse,  and  she  has 
made  it  bum  within  those  who 
looked  on  her  in  the  days  long 
past  of  the  ancient  faith  of  Hellas, 
when  beauty  was  its  god,  and  forms 
of  unfading  lovehness  peopled  its 
forests  and  streams  and  mountain 
sides.  This  precious  thing  was 
found  in  a  ditch,  and  built  into  a 
peasant's  fire-place.  There  it  was 
discovered  by  a  casual  passer-by  ; 
and  the  learned  declare  it  the  only 
remaining  specimen  of  Greek  pic- 
torial art.    Why  not  Etruscan  ? 

Outside,  the  walls  of  the  Palazzo 
Publico,  where  the  museum  is  kept, 
are  covered  with  shields  of  the 
former  captains  of  the  people — all 
foreigners,  as  was  usual  in  those 
times — a  suggestive  and  picturesque 
decoration.  Coats  of  arms  are 
always  pretty  things ;  many  of 
these  are  carved  in  the  stone  with 
care  and  delicacy,  and  bear  the 
names  of  great  Tuscan  families, 
many  extinct,  some  still  living 
through  their  descendants. 


514 


[Apr! 


THE  IRISH  UNIVERSITY  QUESTION— ATTEMPTS  AT 
LEGISLATION. 


THE  Irish  University  Question 
entered  upon  a  new  phase 
when  the  Protestant  churches  in 
Ireland  were  disestablished  and 
disendowed.  The  principle  of  re- 
ligions equality  was  affirmed  by 
the  Legislature  ;  and  it  was  further 
laid  down  that  that  principle  was  to 
be  carried  out  by  the  substitution 
of  voluntaryism  for  establishment, 
and  by  the  non-recognition  on 
the  part  of  the  State  of  all  rehgious 
denominations  in  Ireland. 

It  was  manifest  from  the  first 
that  this  measure  necessarily  in- 
volved a  change  in  the  position  of 
the  University  of  Dublin.  One  of 
the  chief  functions  of  Trinity  Col- 
lege, Dublin,  had  been,  from  the 
first,  to  educate  the  clergy  of  the 
Church  of  Ireland;  and,  by  its 
statutes,  all  the  members  of  its 
corporate  body — its  Provost,  Fel- 
lows, and  Scholars — were  members 
of  that  Church.  Its  original  con- 
stitution, indeed,  was  even  more 
exclusive;  but  near  the  close  of 
the  last  century  an  Act  of  the 
Irish  Parliament,  followed  by  a 
royal  statute,  admitted  Roman 
Catholics  to  degrees.  And  the  step 
thus  taken  was  followed  by  many 
others,  all  tending  to  remove  the 
impediments  to  religious  equality  ; 
until  at  length  the  position  of  the 
College  became  (in  the  words  of 
its  late  Provost)  that  of  a  na- 
tional school  under  a  Protestant 
patron.  In  other  words,  the  re- 
ligious teaching  was  that  of  the  then 
Established  Church;  but  no  student 
belonging  to  any  other  Church  was 
compelled  to  receive  that  teaching, 
while  all  had  their  secular  instruc- 
tion in  common. 

But,  liberalised  as  the  constitu- 
tion of  Trinity  College  had  become, 
the  Irish  Church  Act  made  a 
further  change  inevitable.  The 
Roman  Catholic  College  of  May- 


nooth  had  been  (at  least  nominally) 
disendowed,  and  received  fourteen 
years*  purchase  of  its  annual  grant, 
to  deal  with  as  it  pleased.  It  was 
plain,  therefore,  if  the  principles  of 
the  Bill  were  to  be  carried  ont^ 
that  a  similar  provision  should  be 
made  in  the  case  of  the  Protestant 
Divinity  school  of  Trinity  College; 
and  it  was  further  evident  that  the 
exclusively  Protestant  character  of 
the  Provost  and  Fellows  (other 
than  those  enga^d  in  the  iuBtnic- 
tion  of  Divinity  students)  could  no 
longer  be  maintained,  unless  by  the 
abandonment  of  all  pretension,  on 
the  part  of  the  University  of  Dublin, 
to  be  the  national  University  of 
Ireland. 

In  this  state  of  things  Trinity 
College  did  not  hesitate  as  to  her 
course.  In  the  debate  in  1869  on 
Mr.  Fawcett*s  BiU,  she  announced, 
through  her  members  in  Parlia- 
ment, that  she  no  longer  objected 
to  the  repeal  of  all  rehgious  tests; 
and  in  the  following  year  the  Bi'Ii 
was  again  introduced,  with  new 
clauses,  mutually  agreed  upon  by 
Mr.  Fawcett  and  the  authorities  of 
Trinity  College,  and  the  name  of 
one  of  the  Members  for  the  Uni- 
versity was  placed  upon  the  back  of 
the  Bill. 

This  procedure  on  the  part  of 
Trinity  College,  although  consis- 
tent with  her  whole  course  of 
action  for  the  greater  part  of 
a  century,  was  evidently  a  sur- 
prise and  a  disappointment  to 
those  members  of  the  House  who 
advocated  concession  to  the  de- 
mands of  the  Boman  CathoHc 
hierarchy,  Mr.  Gladstone  himself 
seemed  to  have  expected  that  the 
College  would  have  accepted  the 
position  of  a  denominational  insti- 
tution, in  which  case  the  mode  of 
dealing  with  it  had  already  been 
determined    by    the   precedent  of 


1873]      The  Irish  University  Question — Attempts  at  Legislation,  515 


Haynooth;  and  he  oonld  not  but 
foresee  that  the  Bill  of  Mr.  Fawcett 
might  prove  a  serious  obstacle  to 
the  adoption  of  measures  which, 
as  far  back  as  1865,  he  seems  to 
have  contemplated.  And  the  Bo- 
man  Catholic  Bishops  hastened  to 
ward  off  what  they  regarded  as  an 
impending  evil.  Assembled  at 
Maynooth  on  the  1 8th  of  August, 
under  the  presidency  of  Cardinal 
CuUen,  they  unanimously  adopted  a 
series  of  resolutions  upon  the  edu- 
cation and  the  land  questions  of 
Ireland,  in  the  former  of  which 
they  renewed  their  denunciation  of 
the  system  of  united  education. 
Their  first  resolution  was  as  fol- 
h'STB : — 

They  (the  Bishops)  reiterate  their  con- 
deznsAtioD  of  the  mixed  system  of  educa- 
tion, whether    primary,    intermediate,   or 
University,  as  grievonsly  and  intrinsically 
dangerous  to  the  faith  and  morals  of  Ca- 
tholic youth  ;    and  tliey  declare  that  to 
Catholics  only,  and  under  the  supreme  con- 
trol of  the  Church  in  all  things  pertaining 
to  faith  and  morals,  can  the  teaching  of 
Catholics  be  safely  entrusted.    Fully  rely- 
ing on  the  love  which  the  Catholics   of 
Ireland  have  erer  cherished  for  their  ancient 
faith,  and  on  the  filial  obedience  they  have 
uniformly  manifested  towards  their  pastors, 
the  Bishops  call  upon  the  clergy  and  the 
laity  of  their  respective  flocks  to  oppose  by 
erery  constitutional  means  the  extension, 
or  perpetuation,  of  the  mixed  system,  whe- 
ther by  the  creation  of  new  institutions,  the 
maintenance  of  old  ones,  or  by  changing 
Trinity  College,    Dublin,    into    a    mixed 
College. 

And,  in  accordance  with  this, 
thej  demand  the  extinction  of  that 
system  in  the  Queen's  Colleges. 

The  Bishops  furthermore  declare  that  a 
settlement  of  the  University  question,  to  be 
complete  and  at  the  same  time  in  accord- 
ance with  the  wishes  of  the  Catholic  people 
of  Ireland,  mast  include  the  re-arrangement 
of  the  Queen's  Ck>llege8  on  the  denomina- 
tional principle. 

Thus  the  demands  of  the  Boman 


Catholic  Prelates  involve  the  com- 
plete reversal  of  the  educational 
policy  which  guided  the  action  of 
the  State  in  1793,  when,  at  the 
instance  of  the  University  of  Duh- 
lin  herself,  her  doors  were  thrown 
open  to  Roman  Catholics ; — ^the  re- 
versal of  that  policy  which  had 
been  maintained,  in  the  mat- 
ter of  primary  education,  for  the 
last  forty  years  by  all  succeeding 
Governments ;  and  under  which 
the  Queen's  Colleges  were  founded 
in  1845.  And,  be  it  observed, 
these  demands  are  made  by  those 
whose  principle  of  separation 
dates  from  the  appointment  of  Car- 
dinal Cullen  to  the  position  he  now 
occupies  in  the  Roman  Catholic 
Church,  and  the  resolutions  of 
the  Synod  of  Thurles,  which  were 
obtained  through  his  influence.^  In 
proof  of  this  it  is  only  necessary  to 
mention  that  the  immediate  prede- 
cessor of  Dr.  Cullen  was  an  earnest 
supporter  of  the  National  system 
of  education  in  Ireland,  and  warm- 
ly approved  of  the  further  step 
taken  in  the  direction  of  united 
education  in  1845,  by  the  founda- 
tion of  the  Queen's  Colleges. 

But  the  Roman  Catholic  Bishops 
further  demand  that  their  'Uni- 
versity College  '  shall  be  endowed  by 
the  State.  In  other  words,  they 
require,  that  after '  putting  an  end  * 
— to  use  the  words  of  Mr.  Gladstone 
in  introducing  the  Bill  for  the  dis- 
establishment and  disendowment  of 
the  Church  of  Ireland — *to  the 
system  of  public  endowment  for  reli- 
gion in  Ireland,'  the  State  should  re- 
vivify and  restore  the  principle  on  be- 
half of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church ! 
This,  then,  is  the  conception  of  reli- 
gious equality,  which  the  Roman 
Catholic  Bishops  now  maintain  ! — 
that  principle  to  which  they  never 
ceased  to  appeal  before  the  Act  of 


*  Those  who  desize  to  understand  the  history  of  this  remarkable  change  of  policy,  and 
of  the  means  by  which  it  was  brought  about,  will  find  it  full^  exposal  in  a  paper  by 
Fh>fe68or  Cainie0»  in  the  I%eoioffical  Review,  entitled  *  University  Education  in  Ireland/ 
published  in  i866. 


516  The  Irish  University  Question — Attempts  at  Legislation,     [Apnl 


1869,  and  to  which,  even  now,  they 
venture  to  appeal  on  behalf  of  the 
Catholic  University  !  And  this  is 
done  by  those  very  men  who,  when 
the  Irish  Church  question  was  under 
the  consideration  of  Parliament, 
refused  to  listen  to  any  solution  of 
the  question  which  involved  in  any 
.  degree  the  endowment  of  all. 

Finally,  the  Roman  Catholic  Pre- 
lates claim,  that  the  institution 
thus  to  be  endowed  shall  be,  as  far 
as  the  teaching  of  Catholics  is  con- 
cerned, '  altogether  in  the  hands  of 
Catholics,  and  under  the  control 
of  their  Bishops.'  And  accordingly, 
in  the  draft  charter  submitted  by 
them  to  Lord  Orey  in  1866,  it  is 
provided,  that  the  *  Governors ' 
(i.e.  the  four  Roman  Catholic  Arch- 
bishops, and  eight  Roman  Catholic 
Bishops,  for  the  time  being)  *  shall 
have  full  power,  from  time  to  time, 
to  appoint,  and,  as  they  shall  see  oc- 
casion, to  remove,  as  well  the  Rec- 
tor, Vice-Rector,  the  Professors,  and 
other  members  of  the  Faculties,  the 
Tutors  and  Masters,  as  also  the  Sec- 
retary and  all  officers,  agents,  and 
servants  of  the  said  College.'  * 

It  need  hardly  be  said  that  such 
claims  as  these  would  not  be  listened 
to  by  any  Roman  Catholic  State  in 
'Europe. 

But  extravagant  as  are  these 
demands,  there  are  some  who  think 
that,  with  certain  modifications, 
they  ought  to  be  conceded,  if  the 
Roman  Catholics  of  Ireland  joined 
generally  in  the  demand.  Now, 
without  assenting  to  this  principle, 
it  may  be  worth  while  to  enquire 
how  far  such  a  consent  of  opinion 
really  exists.  We  are  unfortanately 
unable  to  collect  the  views  of 
lay  Roman  Catholics  from  what 
they  have  said  on  this  subject. 
Whatever  their  real  opinions  may 
be,  they  are  unwilling — from  various 
motives— to   oppose    their    priests 


openly.  But  that  they  do  not  concar 
with  them  upon  this  question  is 
plain  enough  from  many  facts. 

In  the  first  place,  they  do  not 
send  their  sons  to  the  Catholic  Uni- 
versity. The  number  of  Art  Stu- 
dents  in  the  Catholic  University  is 
believed — ^for  there  is  no  official 
return — ^to  be  under  twenty!  An 
attempt  is  made  to  explain  this 
startling  fact,  by  the  circumstance 
that  the  Catholic  University  hu 
not  the  power  of  conferring  degrees. 
But  that  such  an  explanation  is  in- 
sufficient is  plain  from  this,  ihii 
the  University  of  London  is  ready 
to  hold  examinations  for  its  degrees 
in  Dublin,  if  required;  and  that  it 
has  actually  held  such  examinations 
in  the  provincial  College  of  St 
Patrick  at  Carlow.  Indeed,  the 
Roman  Catholic  Bishops  themselyes, 
in  their  communication  with  Lord 
Mayo,  referred  to  this  circumstance 
to  prove  that  the  power  of  conferring 
degrees  is,  in  the  case  of  the 
Catholic  University,  of  secondaij 
importance. 

The  next  fact  which  we  shall 
adduce  is  that  when,  at  the  in- 
stigation of  Cardinal  Cullen,  the 
attempt  was  made  to  elicit  an 
opinion  from  the  Roman  Cathohc  | 
laity  in  accordance  with  that  d 
their  bishops,  and  when  for  thii 
purpose  a  meeting  of  Catholic 
was  summoned  to  meet  at  their 
cathedral  church  in  Dublin,  and 
every  nerve  strained  to  render  the 
demonstration  imposing,  the  resalt 
was  a  complete  failure.  The  nnm* 
ber  of  lay  Roman  Catholics  present 
who  had  any  direct  interest  in  the 
question  of  University  edacatiofl 
was  miserably  small. 

But  we  have  yet  further  eridenca 
of  the  fact  that  lay  Roman  Catholics, 
generally,  do  not  object  to  united 
education,  in  the  actual  numbers  of 
those  receiving  it.      The  average 


'Men  o  Hals  addressed  to  the  Secretary  of  State  for  the  Home  Department  by  Roman 
Catholic  Prelates  in  Ireland,  on  the  subject  of  University  and  National  KdacatioQ  w 
Ireland.    Ordered  by  the  House  of  Commons  to  be  printed,  March  5,  iS68, 


1873]       The  Irish  JTiuversity  Question — Attempts  at  Legislation.  517 


number    of    stadents    in   Trimty 
College   nnder    the   standing    of 
Master  of  Arts  is  1,200,  of  whom 
abont  200    are  English  and  1,000 
Irish ;  and  that  of  tiie  modriculaied 
students  of  the  Qaeen's  Colleges 
tibout   700.     Now  of  these   1,700 
Irish  stadents,  abont  300  are  Koman 
Catholics,  and  1,400  Protestants  of 
all  denominations.     Bat  as  among 
the  latter  are  inclnded  many  young 
zaen  preparing  for  the  ministry  in 
the  Chorch  01  Ireland  and  in  the 
Presbyterian  Ohnrch,  we  most — ^to 
make  the  comparison  a  legitimate 
one — either  add  to  the  number  of 
JRoman   Oaiholtcs    those    receiving 
academical  education  at  Maynooth, 
or  else  subtract  from  the  number  of 
Protestants  the  students  preparing 
for  the  ministry  in  Trinity  College 
and  in  the  Queen's  Colleges.     The 
number  of  Soman  Catholic  students 
at  Maynooth  is  about  550;    and 
accordmgly  the  proportion  of  young 
Irishmen  of  the  two  religious  de- 
nominations   receiving  academical 
education,  is  850  Eoman  Catholics 
to  1,400  Protestants,  or  as  three  to 
five  nearly;  and  in  this  we  have 
taken  no  account  of  Roman  Catholic 
stadents  preparing  for  the  ministry 
in  other  seminaries.  This  proportion 
£eur  exceeds  that  of  the  University- 
going  classes  in  the  two  denomina- 
tions.    If,  on  the  other  hand,  we  ex- 
clude Divinitystudentson  bothsides, 
the  number    of  Protestants    must 
be  reduced  by  about  300 — ^namely, 
240  preparing  for  the  ministry  of 
the  Church  of  Ireland  in  Trinity 
College,  and    60  for  that  of  the 
Presbyterian  Church  in  the  Queen's 
Colleges.^    The  proportion  of  Irish 
academical    students   intended  for 
lay  professions    is    therefore    300 
Roman    Catholics    to    1,100  P^- 


testants :  the  former  number  being 
more  than  one-fourth  of  the  latter. 
Now  Dr.  Jjyon  Playfair  has  shown 
that  this  is  very  nearly  the  pro- 
portion of  Roman  Catholics  to 
I^rotestants  in  the  University-going 
classes  in  Ireland ;  and  we  may  there- 
fore conclude  that  the  number  of 
the  former  who  are  debarred  by 
any  cause  from  sending  their  sons 
to  the  existing  Universities  is  in- 
significant. 

In  reply  to  this  we  shall  doubtless 
be  told,  that  in  the  '  Declaration  of 
the  Catholic  Laity  of  Ireland,  on 
the  subject  of  University  education,'^ 
the  subscribers  state  '  that  a  large 
number  of  Irishmen  are  at  present 
precluded  fix^m  the  enjoyment  of 
University  education,  honours,  and 
emoluments,  on  account  of  conscien- 
tious religious  opinions  regarding 
the  existing  systems  of  education.* 
Now  it  is  a  noteworthy  fact,  that 
the  subscribers  do  not  assert  that 
tiiey  themselves,  or  their  sons,  have 
been  so  debarred.  Their  testimony 
extends  only  to  what  they  believe  of 
others ;  and  such  testimony,  we  ven- 
ture to  think,  can  have  little  weight 
in  opposition  to  the  facts  above  ad- 
duced, and  to  the  actual  conduct  of 
these  persons  inreference  to  academi- 
cal education.  And  we  venture  to 
think  that  this Declarationitself  sup- 
plies sufficient  evidence  that  the  edu- 
cated Roman  Catholic  laity  are  not  at 
one  with  their  bishops  uponthis  ques- 
tion, and  that  most  of  them  dread  the 
bondage  under  which  they  would  be 
placed,  if  the  demands  of  the  prelates 
were  conceded.  We  can  readily 
understand  why  they  should  shrink 
from  direct  opposition  to  the  urgent 
command  of  their  spiritual  guides 
(enforced,  as  it  has  been,  by  the 
authority  of  the  Pope  himself),  by 


*  The  average  ntimber  of  stadents  in  Trinity  College  entering  the  Divinity  Classes 
in  each  year  is  60 ;  so  that,  in  the  four  undeigradnate  classes,  there  are  about  240  preying 
for  the  ministry.  The  average  number  ordained  yearly  for  the  Presbyterian  Church  is  21 ; 
and  as  the  course  in  the  Queen's  Colleges  in  which  these  are  educated  extends  to  three 
years,  there  are  consequently  about  63  students  preparing  for  the  ministry  at  the  sama 
i-imo. 

*  Ordered  by  the  House  of  Commons  to  be  printed,  March  30,  1870. 

VOL.  Vn. — ^NO.  XL.      OTW  SBBIES.  N  N 


518  The  Irish  University  Question — Attemj^ts  at  LegtsloHon.    [Apnl 


expressing  their  approval  of  united 
education ;  bat  what  we  cannot  un- 
derstand is  this — that  they  should 
never  have  been  induced  to  unite 
vdth  their  bishops  in  demanding 
denomincttiomd  educoMon^  if  thej 
really  concurred  with  them  in  pre- 
ferring it. 

We  now  proceed  to  consider  how 
far  Mr.  Fawcett's  Bill  meets  the 
fair  demands  of  all  religionists. 

By  its  first  provision  it  repeals 
all  religious  tests ;  and,  therefore,  at 
once  opens  the  fellowships  and 
scholar^ps  of  Trinity  College— in 
&ot,  all  its  honours  and  emoluments, 
to  persons  of  every  creed.  In  this 
provision  it  goes  beyond  the  cor- 
responding measure  for  the  English 
Umversities ;  for  it  reserves  nouiing 
in  favour  of  any  dass  of  Church- 
men. 

By  its  second  provision  it  con- 
stitutes a  governing  bodv  of  the 
University,  which  is  to  have  the 
control  of  all  matters  connected 
with  teaching  and  examining,  the 
election  of  professors,  and  all  other 
academical  work.  This  Universiiy 
Council  is  to  be  a  representative 
academical  body,  £named  upon  the 
model  of  the  Councils  of  Oxford  and 
Cambridge,  as  constituted  by  recent 
Acts  of  Parliament.  It  is  to  consist 
of  the  provost,  a  certain  number  of 
the  Fellows,  a  certain  number  of 
professors  not  Fellows,  and  a  certain 
number  of  other  members  of  the 
Senate— each  division  bein^  chosen 
freely  by  the  members  of  uie  body 
from. which  it  is  taken,  and  under 
the  principle  of  cumulative  voting, 
so  aa  to  secure  the  &ir  representa- 
tion of  the  minority.  Such  a  rule 
could  not  Ml  to  bring  into  the 
Council  the  best  men  of  each  divi- 
sion of  the  academical  body.  It  has 
indeed  been  objected  to  this  measure, 
that  it  would  take  many  years  to  in- 
troduce into  the  Council,  by  such 
means,  a  foir  proportion  of  Boman 
CathoUcs.  The  answer  to  this  ob- 
jection is,  that  tliree  out  of  the  four 
classes  which  compose  the  Council 


are  cU  once  open  to  Boman  Catholics ; 
and  the  whole  recent  history  of  the 
Universitv    has    shown    theit   the 
minority  has  been  treated  not  oi 
with   impartiality,  but  even  wil 
generous  fBivour. 

We  have  never  heardany  objection 
to  the  fEumess  of  this  scheme  from 
any  lay  Boman  Catholic.  The 
Boman  Catholic  Bishops  indeed  saj 
that  there  are  departments  of  know- 
ledge, such  aa  metaphysics,  moral 
philosophy,  and  history,  in  which 
Catholic  youths  ought  to  be  in- 
structed by  Catholic  teachers  only. 
But  the  objection  is  at  once  re- 
moved (by  the  simple  expedient 
of  appointing  two  or  more  pro- 
fessors in  the  same  subject,  and  by 
leaving  it  to  the  student  (or  to  hu 
parent  or  guardian)  to  selecthisown 
teacher  among  them.  In  the  German 
Universities,  whose  academic  sys- 
tem is  so  much  in  advance  of  those  of 
other  European  nations,  there  are 
several  proressors  in  the  same  sub- 
ject, and  the  student  may  attend 
whom  he  wills.  Thus  in  the  Uni- 
versity of  Leipsic — by  no  means 
among  the  first  in  Grermany— we 
learn  from  Mr.  Pattison  that  there 
were,  in  the  winter  sessLon  of 
1866-7,  sim  courses  of  lectoies, 
deHvered  by  distinct  lecturers,  in 
modem  history,  and  five  in  mental 
and  moral  science. 

The  partial  separation  of  the 
students  in  controverted  subjected 
thus  provided  for,  should  of  conrse 
be  carried  further  by  a  complete 
separation  in  religious  teaching,  and 
by  the  erection  of  hostels  for  those 
who  desired  to  live  together.  The 
statutes  of  the  Queen's  Coll^ 
maJ^e  provision  for  such  teaching 
on  the  part  of  the  respectiTe 
Churches ;  and  the  provision  has 
been  acted  upon  by  all  the  Churches 
of  Ireland,  except  the  Bomau  Catho- 
lic. Thus  the  grievance  of  the 
divorce  of  religious  from  seooltf 
instruction  is  the  work  of  the 
Boman  Catholio  Bishops  them* 
■elves. 


T 


1873]        The  Irish  Tlniveraity  Queduynr-^AttempU  at  Legislation.  519 

Sheili  indeed,  and  other  Roman 
Catholic  members,  pointed  oat  a 
blot  in  the  scheme  as  first  pro*- 
posed,  namely,  the  absence  of  pro- 
vision for  religious  teaching,  ^ut 
this  was  soon  supplied,  and  the 
heads  of  the  various  Protestant 
Churches  at  once  availed  themselves 
of  it.  The  Roman  Catholic-Bishops 
alone  abstamed,  because  the  system 
of  united  education  was,  in  their 
eyes,  fundamentally  wrong. 

Twenty  years  had  elapsed — ^from 
the  time  in  which  the  Queen's 
Colleges  were  established — ^before  it 
was  discovered  by  British  states- 
men that  Roman  Catholics  had  still 
a  grievance  in  the  matter  of  aca- 
demical education.  This  discovery 
was  made  by  Sir  George  Qrey  and 
Mr.  Gladstone  in  the  last  days  of 
the  Palmerston  Admiuistration.  As 
stated  by  Sir  George  Grey,  it  was 
this : — '  A  student  leaving  a  Roman 
Catholic  College  in  Ireland  cannot 
obtain  a  degree ;  and  he  is  therefore 
at  a  great  disadvantage  as  com|Mired 
with  ihe  student  leaving  Trinity 
College  or  the  Queen's  University. 
To  t£it  extent,  I  think,  there  is  a 
reasonable  ground  of  complaint,  and 
it  is  one  the  justice  of  which  the 
Government  admit.'  Mr.  Gladstone 
himself  spoke  in  that  debate.  He 
admitted  the  existence  of  '  disabili- 
ties of  a  positive  character '  in  the 
*  want  of  degrees ; '  and  he  charac- 
terised this  want  as  *  the  imposition 
of  civil  disabilities  on  account  of 
religious  opinion.' 

We  shall  not  now  enter  into  the 
history  of  the  *  supplemental  char- 
ter,* which  was  issued  soon  after 
this  debate.  We  have  a  higher 
task  than  that  of  impugning  the 
conduct  of  any  Minister,  or  set  of 
Ministers.  The  *  Catholic  griev- 
ance,' as  stated  by  the  Mends  of 
even-handed  justice  in  Parliament, 
is  now  before  us,  and  to  what  does 
it  amount? — that  those  Roman 
Catholics — and  we  have  shown  that 
they  are  few  in  number — ^who  object 
to  united  education,  and  who  for  that 


We  believe,  therefore,  that  it  is 
perfectly  possible,  and  even  easy,  to 
work  such  a  scheme  as  that  pro- 
posed in  Mr.  Fawcett's  Bill,  to  the 
satis&ction  of  all,  excepting  those 
who  object  to  the  meeting  of  young 
men  of  different  religious  creeds  in 
the  same  halls — all,  in  fact,  but 
those  who  believe  (with  the  Roman 
Catholic  Bishops)  that  the  inter- 
course of  Roman  Catholic  with 
Protestant  youths  is  dangerous  to 
the  fiuth  and  morals  of  the  former. 
That  this  wto  not  the,  opinion 
of  Roman  Catholic  laymen  thirty 
ears  ago,  when  the  Queen's  Col- 
leges were  founded,  is  evident  fix>m 
the  speeches  made  by  Roman 
Catholic  members  of  Parliament 
upon  the  occasion  of  the  introduc- 
tion of  that  measure.  The  eloquent 
words  of  Bheil  in  that  debate  de- 
serve to  be  remembered : — 

1  coincide  with  my  honourable  friend  the 
member  for  Kerry  (Mr.  M.  J.  (yConnell) 
in  thinlritify  that  education  in  Ireland  should 
be  mixed — I  mean  secular  education.    We 
ranst  in  manhood  associate  in  evezy  walk  of 
life.     The  Catholic  and  Protestant  mer- 
chant must  place  in  each  other  that  entire 
reliance  which  is  the  foundation  of  all  mer- 
cantile transactions.     To  the    Protestant 
and    CSatholic    solicitor,   to   the    Catholic 
and    Ptotestant   advocate,   men  differing 
firom   them  in  religious  opinions  entrust 
fortones,  life,  and  honour.     At  the  bar, 
where  our  faculties  are  in  collision,  and 
our   feelings  are  in  contact,  our  forensic 
brotherhood  is  not  interrupted  by  theologi- 
cal discriminations.    In  the  noblest  of  all 
professions — in]  the   army — the    Catholic 
and  the  Protestant  Irishman  are  comrades, 
and  are  attached  by  a  devoted  friendship : 
they  stand  together  in  the  same  field  of 
fig^t ;   they  scale  the  same  batteiy;  they 
advance  in  the  same  forlorn  hope ;  and,  to 
nae    a  fine  expression  of  the  great  poet 
whose  remains  the  First  Minister  of  the 
down    lately  deposited    hard    by — fh>m 
the  '  death-bed  of  Fame  they  look  proudly 
to  heaven  together.'     And  if  thus,  in  our 
matmer  years,  we  are  to  live  and  die  toge- 
ther, shall  we  be  kept  apart  in  the  morning 
of  Hfe,  in  its  freshest  and  brishtest  hours, 
wrhen  idl  the  affections  are  in  blossom,  when 
our  friendships  are  pure  and  disinterested, 
and  those  attachments  are  foimed  which 
laat  through  every  vicissitude  of  fortune^ 
and  of  which  the  memory  survives  the 
grave?' 


520  The  Irish  TJniveniiy  QueiHon^-^AUem^ts  at  LeffislaUon.      [Apnl 


reason  enter  a  denominational  insti- 
tntion  sncli  as  the  Catholic  Univer- 
sity, cannot  obtain  from  it  the  recog^ 
nition  which  other  IJniyersities  in 
Ireland  bestow,  in  the  shape  of  a 
degree.  Now  we  think  that  the 
advantages  of  a  degree  have  been 
overrated,  even  by  Mr.  Gladstone 
himself.  There  is,  we  believe,  no 
civil  disability  in  Ireland  connected 
with  the  want  of  a  degree.  It  is  not 
a  necessary  passport  to  any  of  the 
professions.  It  is  not  reqnured  as  a 
condition  of  ordination  by  any  of  the 
three  Churches  in  Ireland.  It  is  not 
demanded  of  the  candidates  for  ad- 
mission to  the  bar,  or  the  medical 
profession ;  and  we  believe  that  the 
only  legal  advantage  still  annexed 
io  its  possession  is  the  shortening 
of  the  apprenticeship  of  attorneys. 
Beyond  this,  a  University  degree  is 
nothing  more  than  the  mark  placed 
by  the  University  itself  npon  the 
stadent,  testifying  that  he  baa  ac- 
quired a  suitable  amount  either  of 
general  culture  (as  in  the  case  of 
the  degrees  in  Arta)^  or  of  special 
culture  (as  in  the  professional 
degrees).  The  degree  in  Arts  is 
indeed  regarded  as  a  recommenda- 
tion, although  not  a  necessary 
qualification,  in  most  of  the  profes- 
sions. But  the  professional  degrees 
are  so  little  insisted  upon,  that 
their  possession  does  not  even  dis- 
pense with  the  testing  examinations 
for  admission  into  the  professions 
themselves.  They  weish  only  with 
the  general  public ;  and  the  amount 
of  that  weight  is,  of  course,  com- 
mensurate with  the  estimation  in 
which  the  Universiiy  itself  is  held. 
But  granting  that  some  advan- 
tage is  attached  to  the  possession 
of  an  academical  degree,  and  that 
it  is  desirable  that  it  should  be 
enjoyed  by  denominational  as  well 
as  by  open  Colleges,  the  practical 
question  is,  how  is  this  to  be  done  P 
The  London  University  is  prepared 
to  send  its  examiners  to  Dublin, 
and  to  confer  degrees  on  all  who 
pass   its   examination    creditably; 


and  there  are  many  wbo  tHnk 
that|  with  such  a  provision,  de- 
nominational Colleges  have  no 
cause  of  complaint.  But  we  do  not 
desire  to  ignore  the  sentimental 
grievance — for  it  is  nothing  more— 
of  obliging  Irishmen  to  seek  thifr 

Qualification     from     an  .  EngUsh 
Fniversity  ;  neither  shall  we  press 
the  objectors  with  tbe  fiM^  tbat 
they  have  long  submitted  withoat 
a  murmur  to  the  regulation  which 
compelled  them  to  seek  admission 
to   their    own    bar    thxt>ugh   the 
portals  of  one  of  the  London  Inns  of 
.  Court.    We  desire  to  make  every 
allowance  for  the  complaint  of  those 
— ^few  though  they  be— who   are 
debarred  from  any  advantage  in 
the  gift  of  tbe  State  by  conadentions 
scruples  ;  and  we  believe  that  the- 
want  is  one  which  may  be  easily 
and  simply  satisfied.    All  that  is 
necessaiy  is  to  enable  the  University 
of  Dublin,  following  the  precedent 
of  the  two  English  Universities,  to 
matriculate  *  unattached  students ' 
not  members  of  Trinity  College,  who 
should  be  required  to  pass  terms  by 
attendance  on  tbe  lectures  of  the 
University  professors.     Under  tiii» 
arrangement    the    student  of  the 
Cath<mc  University  College,  or  of 
any    other   sectarian    College    in 
Dublin,  would  be  enabled  to  proceed 
to   bis  degree,    while    tmder  &o 
religious  teaching  and  moral  dis- 
ciplme  of  members  of  his   own 
Church.     Such  a  provision  as  thLv 
coupled  with  that  of  plural  pro- 
fessorships   ak-eady    adverted  t(v 
would  reniove  the  last  trace  of  & 
Catholic  grievance,  so  &r  as  it  can 
be  removed  consistently  with  the 
principles  already  adopted  l^  the 
State    in    reference     to    rel^poas 
teaching  in  Ireland. 

Let  us  now  turn  to  Mr.  Olad- 
stone^s  measure  for  the  solution  of 
the  so-called  Irish  difficulty. 

The  Bill  which  has  reoentiy  been 
laid  upon  the  table  of  the  Honse  of 
Commons,  and  which  has  under- 
gone such  a  searching  discossioiL 


187S]      The  Irish  Vmversiiy  Qtiie$Uon — AUempis  at  Legislation.  52*1 


npon  the  occasion  of  its  second 
reading,  may  be  described,  gene* 
tally,  as  an  indirect  attempt  to 
recognise  and  to  endow  denomi- 
national Collep^  Andjnstbecanse 
it  is  indirect,  it  is  forced  to  operate 
hj  means  of  liberal  and  nnsecta- 
rian  institutions,  whose  academical 
character  it  wonld  degrade,  and 
whose  liberal  constitation  it  would 
destroy.  It  is  thus,  in  the  language 
of  Dr.  Lyon  Playfair,  based  upon 
two  prindples  which  are  incom- 
patible. And  accordingly  the  su- 
perstructure is  anomalous.  It  is 
a  mass  of  detailed  contrivances,  not 
only  unconnected  and  unrelated, 
but  eyen  antagonistic  and  opposed. 
This,  we  think,  will  appear  from 
ft  brief  statement  of  its  leading 
provisions. 

It  abolishes  the  two  existing 
Uniyersities  of  Ireland,  both  of 
which  are  nnsectarian,  and  supplies 
the  place  thus  left  void  with  a 
single  central  Universii^  constituted 
upon  the  same  unsectanan  principle, 
which  is  to  possess  the  ezdusiTe 
power  of  conferring  degrees* 

This  new  Uniyersiiy  is  to  be  a 
Teaching  UmTersity ,  with  a  profes- 
soriate complete  in  all  departments 
of  knowledge,  with  the  exception  of 
theology,  mental  and  moral  philo- 
sophy, and  modem  histoiy.  And  it  is 
likewise  to  be  an  Examining  Board, 
which  is  to  test  the  knowledge  of 
an  comers,  whether  they  receiye  its 
teaching  or  not. 

To  tiie  central  Uniyersity,  so 
constituted,  afe  to  be  affiliated,  not 
only  the  unseotarian  Colleges  of  Ire- 
land— ^Trinity  College,  which  is  to 
be  thrown  open,  and  the  Queen's 
CoU^es,  whicn  are  aheady  so—but 
also  tiie  Catholic  Uniyersity  College 
in  Dublin,  and  the  Presbyterian 
College  in  Londonderry.  And  pro- 
vision is  made  for  the  affiliation, 
npon  easy  conditions,  of  an  indefi- 
nite number  of  minor  Colleges,  or 
schools,  which  may  be  sectanan  or 
free. 
The  Umversiiy,  so  constituted, 


is  to  be  goyemed  by  a  Council  com- 
posed in  the  first  instance  of  Goyem- 
ment  nominees,  to  whom  are  after- 
wards to  be  added  persons  chosen 
by  the  affiliated  Colleges,  upon  terms 
extremely  fayourable  to  the  smaller 
institutions,  and  which  would  eyen- 
tually  place  the  entire  goyenuaent 
in  their  hands. 

The  Council  so  composed  is  to 
possess  an  ahnost  uncontrolled 
power  in  the  goyemment  of  the 
Uniyersity,  appointing  and  punish- 
ing promssors;  determining  the 
curriculum;  fixing  the  examina- 
tions; and  distributing  prises, 
which  are  to  be  of  very  large 
amount. 

All  tests  are  to  be  abolished  in 
Trinity  College ;  and  its  Theological 
Facult)^  transferred  to  the  B^re- 
sentatiye  Body  of  the  Church  of 
Ireland;  and  a  portion  of  its  income 
is  to  be  handed  oyer  to  the  new 
Uniyersity,  to  defray  in  part  its 
expenses. 

FinaJly,  the  Queen's  College  in 
Galway  is  to  be  suppressed. 

Such  are  the  mam  features  of  the 
scheme  which  Mr.  Gladstone  has 
proposed  in  order  to  redress  the 
grieyances  of  the  Catholics  of  Ire- 
hmd.  It  has  a  specious  air  of  libe- 
rality ;  and  in  the  form  in  which  it 
was  presented  to  the  House  by  its 
skilful  contriyer,  it  succeeded  in  daz« 
zline,  if  not  conyindng.  But  a  littie 
stuc^  of  its  complicated  proyisions 
soon  dispelled  the  illusion ;  and  the 
first  burst  of  applause  with  which 
it  was  greeted  has  been  followed 
by  a  chorus  of  denunciation.  Ajid 
the  dissatisfaction  is  not  confined  to 
extreme  politicians,  or  extreme  re- 
ligionists. Moderate  men  of  all 
psffties  are  equally  hostile  to  it; 
and,  as  has  been  remarked  in  the 
debate,  those  who  haye  studied  it 
with  most  care — and  especially  aca- 
demical men  whoare  the  best  judges 
of  its  jirobable  effects — are  the  most 
unfriendly  in  their  criticism  of  it. 

We  ask,  then,  what  is  tiie  pur- 
pose and  end  of  this  reyolution  ? 


522  TIte  hish  University  Qitegthn — Attemfis  at  Legislation.     [April 


Why  overturn  the  two  esdstmg 
Universities  P  Is  it  that  they  have 
failed  f  The  answer  to  this  qnes- 
tion  it,  that  the  elder  of  the  two  is 
acknowledged  to  have  done  its  work 
well,  and  to  have  earned  for  itself  a 
foremost  place  among  the  Universi- 
ties of  Enrope ;  while  the  younger 
has  accomplished  much  more  than  is 
usuallj^  effected  by  kindred  institu- 
tions m  the  earlier  years  of  their 
growth,  and  that  in  the  face  of  the 
most  powerful  opposition.  Is  it, 
as  professed  in  the  Bill,  for  the  ad- 
vancement of  learning  in  Ireland  P 
To  this  all  literary  men  reply,  that 
learning  would  be  degraded,  and  all 
high  culture  destroyed,  by  its  pro- 
visions. Is  it,  lastly,  to  secure 
liberty  of  conscience — the  other  as- 
sumed object  of  the  Bill  P  To  this 
the  answer  is  equally  simple.  The 
Catholic  grievance,  such  as  it  is, 
may  be  removed  (as  we  have  already 
shown)  by  much  easier  means. 

We  may  perhaps  be  told,  in  de- 
fence of  the  change,  that  a  single 
central  University  is  preferable  to 
many,  in  giving  xmity  and  force  to 
the  academical  system.  Experience 
has  shown  that  the  unity  thus 
gained  degenerates  into  uniformity, 
and  that  the  concentration  of  power 
is  opposed  to  all  free  development. 
All  this  is  proved  by  the  intellectual 
history  of  the  two  greatest  of  the 
Continental  nations.  The  monoto- 
nous mediocrity  which  is  the  result 
of  centralisation  in  the  University 
system  of  France  is  deplored  by  aU 
her  learned  men ;  while  the  intel- 
lectual progress,  which  is  the 
chief  glory  of  Germany,  is  in  great 
part  due  to  the  multiplici^  of 
her  independent  academic  centres. 
There  are,  of  course,  limits  to  the 
multiplication  of  Universities  in  any 
country,  determined  by  the  num- 
bers in  its  upper  and  middle  classes, 
as  well  as  by  its  geographical  ex- 
tent ;  and  there  are  also  limits,  as 
Professor  Caimes  has  well  shown, 
•dependent  upon  the  separate  modes 
of  culture  which  are,  or  may  be  de- 


veloped. But  who  will  say  that  sucli 
limits  have  been  transgressed,  or 
(Bven  yet  reached,  in  Ireland  ?  If 
any  change  be  made  in  this  re- 
spect in  that  country,  we  should 
desire  to  see  the  number  of  in* 
dependent  Universities  increased 
rather  than  diminished,  and  ^1 
University  powers  conferred  upon 
two  at  least  of  the  Queen's  Colleges, 
as  was  long  since  proposed  by  Dr. 
Andrews,  in  his  able  essay  npoo 
the  University  system  of  ItcImkL 
The  combination  of  distant  Col 
leges  under  a  single  centre  is  ai 
variance  with  all  the  soondesi 
principles  of  academical  organisa- 
tion, and  was  unknown  in  Bnrope 
until  the  military  instincts  of  Na- 
poleon I.  introduced  it  into  France. 

What,  then,  we  repeat,  is  the 
purpose  of  a  change  which  is  con- 
demned by  all  experience  ?  We  fear 
the  reply  must  be,  that  there  was  a 
work  to  be  executed  from  which  the 
existing  Universities  would  shrink. 
Provision  was  to  be  made  for  the 
development  of  sectarian  education; 
and  the  denominational  chaiactcr 
which,  by  the  short-sighted  pohcj 
of  the  clergy  of  the  disestablished 
Church  of  Ireland,  has  been  stwnped 
upon  the  primary  schools  of  to 
country,  was  to  be  extended  to  the 
higher  education. 

This  brings  us  to  what  we  befievc 
to  be  the  most  dangerous  proriskm 
of  the  Bill— that  relating  to  the 
affiliation  of  Colleges.  We  ha^e 
already  adverted  to  the  mistaken 
principle  which  was  accepted  br 
the  State  in  1850,  when  an  Ex- 
amining University,  under  a  nomi- 
nated Board,  was  founded  in 
Dublin,  in  order  to  confer  Uni- 
versity privileges  upon  the  mem- 
bers of  the  provincial  Colleges- 
The  proposal  now  before  the  legis- 
lature, however,  goes  fiur  b^m. 
this.  Colleges  are  to  be  affiliatei 
of  which  the  Magee  CoU^  '^ 
Londonderry,  which  has  been  raised 
to  such  unhappy  notoriety,  is  a 
type ;  and  with  such  a  precedent. 


1873]      The  Irish  University  Quedion — AUempis  at  Legislation. 


523 


tliere  is  no  second-class  ffraznxnar- 
scbool  in  ihe  country  which  may  not 
claim  a  place  in  the  nBw  XTniver- 
sitj.  Who  can  donbt  that  such  a 
scheme  as  this  would  end  in  the  de- 
j^rradation  of  learning  in  Ireland? 
The  attainments,  no  less  than  the 
culture,  represented  by  a  University 
degree,  wonld  sink  to  the  level  of 
the  weaker  men^bers  of  the  ill- 
assorted  system,  and  an  Irish  Uni- 
versity degree  would  become  a  by- 
TTord. 

Bat  beyond  all  this,  there  is  a 
principle  involved  in  this  part  of 
the  Government  scheme  which 
cannot  be  accrated  by  the  British 
Parliament.  The  greater  number 
of  the  institutions  t£us  to  be  recog- 
nised by  the  State  will  be  denomi- 
national Colleges  of  the  strictest 
type ;  and  there  is  no  halting-place 
between  State  recognition  and 
State  endowment.  It  would  at 
once  be  said  by  the  patrons  of  such 
institutions — it  has,  in  fieust,  been 
said  already — that  it  is  useless  to 
grant  the  wadow  of  power  without 
the  sabstance;  that  if  the  State 
acknowledges  denominational  Col- 
leges as  integral  parts  of  the  acade- 
mic system,  it  is  bound  to  afford 
them  the  opportunity  of  raising 
tbemselves  to  the  level  of  its  other 
members  ;  and  that  it  is  mockery 
to  con&r  upon  them  the  privilege 
of  competing  for  prizes  wi&out  the 
means.  Sooner  or  later  such  a 
claim  would  be  conceded ;  and  the 
State  would  thus  be  driven,  by  the 
admission  of  a  &lse  principle,  to 
the  rejected  measure  of  concurrent 
endowment. 

There  is  no  subject  about  which 
the  Bomaii  Catholic  Prelates  are 
more  anxious — and  we  say  this  in 
their  commendation — than  the  suc- 
cess of  iheir  diocesan  seminaries. 
Of  this  we  have  plain  indication  in 
some  of  their  utterances.  And^we 
apprehend  thai,  if  once  the  demand 
for  the  endowment  of  these  Colleges 
were  satisfied,  little  effort  would  be 
made  to    send    their    pupils    out 


into  the  wider  arena  of  general 
competition.  The  basis  of  the 
whole  policy  of  the  Church  of  Home 
in  regard  to  education  is  separa^ 
tion;  and  not  only  prizes,  but 
even  academic  qualifications,  will 
be  claimed  to  be  administered 
apart^  under  the  absolute  control 
of  the  Hierarchy.  We  cannot  but 
think  that  some  astute  friend  of 
theseinstitutionsmay  haveprompted 
these  provisions  of  the  Bill ;  and  it 
is  a  significant  fact  in  connection 
with  it,  that  the  qualification  of 
the  College  to  take  its  place  in  the 
academical  system  is  tne  number 
of  its  students  who  have  matricU' 
lated  in  the  TJniversityy  not  of  those 
who  have  graduated. 

But  this  is  not  all.  There  are  yet 
larger  issues  involved  in  these  pro- 
posals. K  purely  sectarian  Colleges 
are  admitted  into  the  new  University 
system  of  Ireland,  and  are  to  be  re- 
presented in  its  Council,  the  same 
principle  must  be  acted  upon  in 
primary  education,  and  every  deno- 
minational school  must  be  connected 
with  the  National  Board  of  Edu- 
cation. Thus  the  whole  fabric  of 
united  education  in  Ireland,  which 
has  been  raised  with  such  care  and 
cost,  will  crumble  and  fail* 

Next  in  importance  to  the  prin- 
ciple of  affiliation  is  the  proposed 
constitution  of  the  governing  body. 
The  Council  of  the  new  University 
is  to  be  composed  of  ordinary 
members,  and  collegiate  members. 
The  ordinary  members,  28  in  num- 
ber, are  in  the  first  instance  to  be 
nominated  by  the  Crown.  This 
bureaucratic  government  is  to  last 
for  ten  ^ears,  at  the  expiration  of 
which  time  ike  new  institution  is 
supposed  to  be  fitted  for  self-govern- 
ment. In  its  autonomous  form,  the 
28  members  are  distributed  into  four 
poups,  of  seven  each,  one  of  which 
IS  to  be  named  by  the  Crown,  as 
before;  one  elected  by  the  existing 
Council,  one  by  the  professors,  and 
one  by  the  University  Senate.    It 


524r    The  Irish  Univerdty  Qwestim — AUenvpU  at  LegislaUon,  [April  I87g 


is  plain  that  the  original  stamp 
briuided  npon  the  instikition  hj  the 
State,  whatever  it  maj  be,  would 
thus  be  perpetuated. 

Little  more  need  be  said  of  the 
principle  of  nomination.  The  Go- 
yemment  would  be  compelled, 
whether  they  desired  it  or  not,  to 
maintain  in  its  appointments  a 
balance  between  the  advocates  of 
the  two  conflicting  views  of  educa- 
tion, and  between  the  members  of 
the  leading  religious  sects;  and 
thus  the  elements  of  internal  strife 
would  be  introduced  at  the  very 
outset  into  the  new  University. 
We  have  not  &r  to  seek  in  evidence 
of  the  truth  of  this.  The  proposed 
constitution  is  that  of  the  National 
Board  of  primary  education  in  Ire- 
laud;  and  the  public  have  had 
recently  some  curious  instances  of 
the  character  of  its  working.  It  is 
likewise  the  principle  upon  which 
the  Senate  of  the  Queen's  Univer- 
sity has  been  constructed ;  and  Mr. 
Bouverie  haft  recalled  to  the  remem- 
brance of  the  House  of  Commons, 
with  tellmg  effect,  the  peril  in  which 
that  institution  was  thereby  in- 
volved in  a  critical  period  of  its 
histoiyiand  by  a  Grovemment  nearly 
identical  with  the  present. 

The  collegiate  members  of  the 
Council  are  to  be  chosen  by  the 
affiliated  Colleges,  every  College 
which  possesses  50  matriculated 
students  sending  one  representative, 
and  every  College  havmg  150  such 
stadents,  or  upwards,  sending 
two.  It  is  easy  to  see  how  this 
might;  be  made  to  work.  There 
are  32  Roman  Catholic  diocesan 
Colleges  in  Ireland,  many  of  which 


would  claim  affiliation,  oad  pro 
bably  be  able  to  send  a  represents 
tive  to  the  Council  pledged  to  m^ 
port  the  denominational  system. 
These  collegiate  members  would  be 
supported  by  at  least  one-half  of 
the  ordinary  members;  and  thm 
the  principle  of  that  system  would 
eventually  prevail. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  dwell 
npon  the  other  defects  of  the  Go- 
vernment measure— such  as  tk 
mutilation  of  the  curricnlnm ;  tlu 
abject  condition  of  the  professoriate 
under  what  have  been  called 'the 
gagging  clauses;'  and  last,  nos 
least,  the  '  winding  up '  of  Galwaj 
College.  These  have  been  bo  effec- 
tively exposed  in  the  debate  upd 
the  second  reading,  that  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Cabinet  have  been  corn* 
polled,  for  very  shame,  to  ackaow- 
ledge  that  they  are  not  of  tbe 
essence  of  the  measure.  What  that 
essence  may  be,  none  of  its  support- 
ers have  been  able  to  pronoimce; 
for  its  principles  are  conflicting,  and 
its  detiuQs  incongruous.  But  that  its 
object  is  to  introduce  into  the  veiy 
heart  of  the  academical  system  ele- 
ments which,  in  the  course  of  a  few 
years,  would  transform  its  nature. 
and  uproot  the  system  of  muted 
education,  few  can  now  donbt. 

While  we  write  these  lines,  the 
debate  has  closed,  and  the  House  0: 
Commons  has  rejected  the  BilL  Bn: 
the  rejected  measure,  and  the  dlv 
cussion  which  it  has  evoked,  vill 
not  be  without  some  good  resulte. 
They  will  serve  at  least  as  a  beacon 
to  point  out  the  Pbakl-eoci:  to 
future  navigators  in  approaching 
this  dangerous  shore. 


FRASER'S    MAGAZINE. 


BDITED  BT 


JAMES  ANTHONY   FROUDE,  M.A. 


New  Sebies.  MAY  1873.         Vol.  VIL— No.  XLI. 


CONTENTS. 

PACIB 

LECTURES  ON  NJR,  DARWIN'S  PHILOSOPHY  OF  LANGUAGE.-Bt 

Pbofessob  3Iax  Mctllkb. — PmsT  Lbctxtbb 625. 

PEASANTRY  OF  THE  SOUTH  OF  ENGLAND.— By  a  Wtxkhamist 642 

GfelARD  DE  NERVAL.— Bt  A.  Laskq 659 

A  'NOTE'  OF  INTERROGATION.— Bt  Flobbnci  Niohtingalb  567 

0\'ER  THE  MARCHES  OF  CIVILISED  EUROPE 678 

PRESENT  ASPECTS  OF  THE  LABOUR  QUESTION.— By  ax  Artisan...  697 

VIENNA.— By  M.  D.  Cokway 606 

OX  THE  REGENERATION  OF  SUNDAY.— By  F.  W.  Nbwican 620 

THE  JESUITS,  AND  THEIR  EXPULSION  FROM  GERMANY 631 

BODLEY  AND  THE  BODLEIAN.— By  Richabd  Johw  Kiko 647 


LONDON : 
LONGMANS,    GREEN,    AND    CO. 

1873. 


FRASER'S  MAGAZINE  for  APEIL  1873 


CONTAINS 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  DEATH   OF  THOMAS,  EARL  OF  STRAFFOBD.- 

Bt  Rhqinald  F.  D.  Palgbayb. 
OUGHT  GOVERNMENT  TO  BUY  THE  RAILWAYS? 
EPISODES  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  A  MUSICIAN.— By  M.  Bbtham-Edwabm. 
STANLEYS  LECTURES  ON  THE  CHURCH  OF  SCOTLAND.— By  Alexabw 

Falookeb. 
ON  SOME  GRADATIONS  IN  THE  FORMS  OF  ANIMAL  LIFE. 
THE  LATE  LADY  BECHER. 
MR.    BUCKLE'S    CONTRIBUTION    TO    THE     NEW     PHILOSOPHy  OF 

HISTORY.— By  J.  S.  Stuabt-Guzoob. 
A  PEEP  AT  ANCIENT  ETRURIA. 
THE  IRISH  UNIVERSITY  QUESTION. 


NOTICE    TO    CORRESPONDENTS. 

Oorrea^ondents  are  desired  to  observe  that  all  Oommutticaiians  must  I 
addressed  direct  to  the  Editor, 

Rejected  Oonirtbutions  carmot  he  returned. 


FEASER'S    MAGAZINE. 


MAT  1873. 


LBOTDBES  ON  MR.  DARWIN'S  PHILOSOPHY  OF  LANGUAGE. 

By  Psofsssob  Max  MttLLER. 


FIRST  LECTURE, 
Bkltvebed  at  the  Rotal  Institutiok,  Mabch  22,  1873. 


PHILOSOPHY  is  not,  bs  is  some- 
times snpposed,  a  mere  intellec- 
tual lunuy;   it   is,  under  varying 
disguises,   the   daily  bread  of  the 
whole  world.     Though  the  workers 
and  speakers  must  always  be  few, 
those  for  whom    they  work    and 
speak  are  many ;   and  though  the 
waves  run  highest  in  the  centres  of 
Kterary  life,  the  widening  circles  of 
pliilosophic   thonght  reach  in  the 
end   to  the   most    distant    shores. 
What  is  thouglit-out  and  written 
down  in  the  study,  is  soon  taught 
in  the  schools,  preached  from  the 
pnlpits,  and  discussed  at  the  comers 
of  the  streets.       There  are  at  the 
present   moment    materiaHsts  and 
spiritualists^  realists   and  idealists, 
podtiYists  and  mystics,  evolution- 
ists and  specialists  to  be  met  with, 
in  the  workshops  as  well  as  in  the 
lecture-rooms,  and  it  may  safely  be 
asserted  that  the  intellectual  vigour 
and  moral  health  of  a  nation  depend 
no  more  on  the  established  religion 
than  on  the  dominant  philosophy  of 
the  realm. 

No  one  who  at  the  present  mo- 
ment watches  the  state  of  the  intel- 
lectual atniosphere  of  Europe,  can 
foil  to  see  that  w^e,  are  on  the  eve  of 
a  storm  which  will  shake  the  oldest 
convictions  of  the  world,  and  upset 

VOL.  Vn. ^NO.  XLI.  NEW  SEKIBS. 


everything  that  is  not  firmly  rooted. 
"Whether  we  look  to  England, 
France,  or  Germany,  everywhere 
we  see,  in  the  recent  manifestoes 
of  their  philosophers,  the  same 
thoughts  struggling  for  recognition 
— ^thoughts  not  exactly  new,  but 
presented  in  a  new  and  startling 
form.  There  is  everywhere  the 
same  desire  to  explain  the  universe, 
such  as  we  know  it,  without  the  ad- 
mission of  any  plan,  any  object,  any 
superintendence ;  a  desire  to  remove 
all  specific  barriers,  not  only  those 
which  separate  man  from  the  ani- 
mal, and  the  animal  from  the  plant, 
but  those  also  which  separate  or- 
ganic from  inorganic  bodies ;  lastly, 
a  desire  to  exphiin  life  as  a  mode  of 
chemical  action,  and  thought  as  a 
movement  of  nervous  molecules. 

It  is  difficult  to  find  a  general 
name  for  these  philosophic  tenden- 
cies, particularly  as  their  principal 
representatives  differ  widely  from 
each  other.  It  would  be  unfair  to 
class  the  coarse  materialism  of 
Biichner  with  the  thoughtful  real- 
ism of  Spencer.  Nor  does  it  seem 
right  to  use  the  name  of  Darwinism 
in  that  vague  and  undefined  sense 
in  which  it  has  been  used  so  fre- 
quently of  late,  comprehending 
under  that  title  not  only  the  care- 
002 


526 


Lectures  on  Mr,  BarwirCs  Philosophy  of  Language,  [May 


fallj  worded  conclusions  of  that 
great  observer  and  thinker,  bnt 
likewise  the  bold  generalisations  of 
his  numerous  disciples.  I  shall 
mention  only  one,  but  a  most  im- 
portant point,  on  which  so-called 
Darwinism  has  evidently  gone  far 
beyond  Mr.  Darwin.  It  is  well 
known  that,  according  to  Mr.  Dar- 
win, all  animals  and  plants  have 
descended  from  about  eight  or  ten 
progenitors.  He  is  satisfied  with 
this,  and  declines  to  follow  the  de- 
ceitful guidance  of  analogy,  which 
would  lead  us  to  the  admission  of 
but  one  prototype.  And  he  adds, 
that  even  if  he  were  to  infer  from 
analogy  that  all  the  organic  beings 
which  have  ever  lived  on  this  earth 
had  descended  from  some  one 
primordial  form,  he  would  hold  that 
life  was  first  breathed  into  that 
primordial  form  by  the  Creator. 
Very  diflferent  from  this  is  the  con- 
clusion proclaimed  by  Professor 
Haeckel,  the  most  distinguished  and 
most  strenuous  advocate  of  Mr. 
Darwin's  opinions  in  Germany.  He 
maintains  that  in  the  present  state 
of  physiological  knowledge,  the  idea 
of  a  Creator,  a  Maker,  a  Life-giver, 
has  become  unscientific;  that  the 
admission  of  one  primordial  form  is 
sufficient ;  and  that  that  first  primor- 
dial form  was  a  Moneres,  produced 
by  self-generation. 

I  know,  indeed,  of  no  name  suf- 
ficiently comprehensive  for  this 
broad  stream  of  philosophic  thought, 
but  the  name  of  *  Evolutionary 
Materialism*  is  perhaps  the  best 
that  can  be  framed.  I  am  afraid 
that  it  will  be  objected  to  by 
those  who  imagine  that  mate- 
rialism is  a  term  of  reproach.  It 
is  so  in  a  moral  sense,  but  no  real 
student  of  the  history  of  philosophy 
would  use  the  word  for  such  a  pur- 
pose. In  the  historical  evolution 
of  philosophy,  materialism  has  as 
much  right  as  spiritualism,  and  it 
has  taught  us  many  lessons  for 
which  we  ought  to  be  most  grate- 
ful. To  say  that  materialism  de- 
grades mind  to  the  level  of  matter 


is  a  fitlse  accusation,  because  wliat 
the  materialist  means  by  matter  is 
totally  di£ferent  from  what  the  spi- 
ritualist means  by  it,  and  from  what 
it  means  in  common  parlance.  The 
matter  of  the  materialist  contains, 
at  least  potentially,  the  highest 
attributes  that  can  be  assigned  to 
any  object  of  knowledge;  the 
matter  of  the  spiritualist  is  simplj 
an  illusion ;  while,  in  common 
parlance,  matter  is  hardly  moie 
than  stufif  and  rubbish.  Let  each 
system  of  philosophy  be  judged  out 
of  its  own  mouth,  and  let  us  not 
wrangle  about  words  more  than  we 
can  help.  Philosophical  progress, 
like  political  progress,  prospers  best 
under  party  government,  and  the 
history  of  philosophy  would  lose  half 
its  charm  and  half  its  usefribess,  if 
the  struggle  between  the  two  great 
parties  in  the  realm  of  thought,  the 
spiritualist,  and  the  materis^ist,  the 
idealist,  and  the  realist,  were  erer 
to  cease.  As  thunderstorms  are 
wanted  in  nature  to  clear  the  air 
and  give  us  breath,  the  human 
mind,  too,  stands  ia  need  of  its 
tempests,  and  never  does  it  display 
greater  vigour  and  freshness  than 
after  it  has  passed  through  one  of 
the  decisive  battles  in  the  world  of 
thought. 

But  though  allowing  to  the  ma- 
terialist philosophers  all  the  honour 
that  is  due  to  a  great  and  powerfol 
party,  the  spiritualist  may  hate 
and  detest  materialism  with  the 
same  hatred  with  which  the  con- 
servative hates  radicalism,  or  at 
all  events  with  such  a  modicum  of 
hatred  as  a  philosopher  is  capable 
of;  and  he  has  a  perfect  right  to 
oppose,  by  all  the  means  at  lus  dis- 
posal, the  exclusive  sway  of  mate- 
rialistic opinions.  Though  from  a 
purely  philosophical  point  of  vie^» 
we  may  admit  that  spirituiJism  is 
as  one-sided  as  materialism,  that 
they  are  both  but  two  fiaces  of  the 
same  head,  that  each  can  see  bat 
one  half  of  the  world,  yet  no  one 
who  has  worked  his  way  honestlj 
through  the  problems  of  material- 


1873]  Lectures  on  Mr,  BarwivCa  Philosojphj  of  Language, 


527 


ism  and  spiritualism  would  deny 
that  the  conclusions  of  Hume  are 
more  disheartening  than  those  of 
Berkeley,  and  that  the  strongest 
natures   only    can   live  under  the 
pressure  of  such  opinions  as  those 
which  were  held  by  Lametrie  or 
Schopenhauer.     To    some    people, 
I  know,   such   consideratidns  will 
seem  beside  the  point.     They  hold 
that  scientific   research,  whatever 
its  discoveries  may  be,  is  never  to 
be  allowed  to  touch  the  deeper  con- 
victions of  our  soul.     They  seem  to 
hold  that  the  world  may  have  been 
created  twice,   once  according    to 
Moses,  and  once  according  to  Dar- 
win.     I  confess  I  cannot  adopt  this 
artificial    distinction,    and    I    feel 
tempted  to  ask  those  cold-blooded 
philosophers'   the    same     question 
which  the  German  peasant  asked 
his  bishop,  who,  as  a  prince,  was 
amusing  himself  on  week-days,  and, 
as  a  bishop,  praying  on  Sundays. 
*  Your    Highness,   what    will    be- 
come of  the  bishop,  if  the  Devil 
comes    and    takes    the    prince  ?  * 
Scientific  research  is  not  intended 
for  intellectual  exercise  and  amuse- 
ment only,  and  our  scientific  convic- 
tions will  not  submit  to  being  kept 
in  quarantine.     If  we  once  embark 
on  board  the  Challenger^  we  cannot 
rest  with  one  foot  on  dry  land. 
Wherever  it  leads  us,  we  must  fol- 
low ;  wherever  it  lands  us,  there  we 
must  try  to  live.     Now,   it  does 
make  a  difference  whether  we  live 
in  the  atmosphere  of  Africa  or  of 
Europe,   and  it    makes  the    same 
difference  whether  we  live  in  the 
atmosphere  of  spiritualism  or  ma- 
terialism.    The  view  of  the  world 
and  of  our  place  in  it,  as  indicated 
by  Mr.  Darwin,  and  more  sharply 
defined   by  some  of  his  followers, 
does  not  touch  scientific  interests 
only ;  it  cuts  to  the  very  heart,  and 
must    become    to    every    man    to 
whom  truth,  whether  you  call  it 
scientific  or  religious,  is  sacred,  a 
question  of  life  and  death,  ip  the 
deepest  and  fullest  sense  of  the  word. 
In  the  short  course  of  three  Lec- 


tures which  I  have  undertaken  to 
give  this  year  in  this  Institution,  I  do 
not  intend  to  grapple  with  the  whole 
problem  of  Evolutionary  Material- 
ism. My  object  is  simply  to  point 
out  a  strange  omission,  and  to  call 
attention  to  one  kind  of  evidence — 
I  mean  the  evidence  of  language— 
which  has  been  most  unaccounto»bly 
neglected,  both  in  studying  the  de- 
velopment of  the  human  intellect, 
and  in  determining  the  position 
which  man  holds  in  the  system  of 
the  world.  Is  it  not  extraordinary, 
for  instance,  that  in  the  latest  work 
on  Psychology,  language  should 
hardly  ever  be  mentioned,  language 
without  which  no  thought  can  exist, 
or,  at  all  events,  without  which  no 
thought  has  ever  been  realised  or 
expressed  ?  It  does  not  matter  what 
view  of  language  we  take ;  under 
all  circumstances  its  intimate  con- 
nection with  thought  cannot  be 
doubted.  Call  language  a  mass  of 
imitative  cries,  or  a  heap  of  conven-> 
tional  signs  ;  let  it  be  the  tool  or 
the  work  of  thought ;  let  it  be  the 
mere  garment  or  the  very  embodi- 
ment of  mind — whatever  it  is,  surely 
it  has  something  to  do  with  the  his- 
torical or  pal89ontological,  and  with 
the  individual  or  embryological 
evolution  of  the  human  self.  It 
may  be  very  interesting  to  the 
psychologist  to  know  the  marvellous 
machinery  of  the  senses,  beginning 
wilh  the  first  formation  of  nervous 
channels,  tracing  the  process  in 
which  the  reflex  action  of  the  mole- 
cules of  the  affereilt  nerves  pro- 
duces a  reaction  in  the  molecules  of 
the  efferent  nerves,  following  up  the 
establishment  of  nervous  centres 
and  nervous  plexuses,  and  laying 
bare  the  whole  network  of  the  tele- 
graphic wires  through  which  mes- 
sages are  flashed  from  station  to 
station.  Yet,  much  of  that  network 
and  its  functions  admits,  and  can 
admit,  of  an  hypothetical  interpre- 
tation only ;  while  we  have  before  us 
another  network — I  mean  language 
— in  its  endless  variety,  where  every 
movement  of  the  mind,  from  the 


628 


Lectures  on  Mr.  Ba/rvMs  FhUoaophy  of  Lcmguage. 


[May 


first  tremor  to  the  last  calm  utter- 
ance of  our  philosophy,  may  be 
studied  as  in  a  faithful  photograph. 
And  while  we  know  the  nervous 
system  only  such  as  it  is,  or,  if  we 
adopt  the  system  of  evolution,  such 
as  it  has  gradually  been  brought 
from  the  lowest  to  the  highest  state 
of  organisation,  but  are  never  able 
to  watch  the  actual  historical  or 
pal89ontological  process  of  its  for- 
mation, we  know  language,  not 
only  as  it  is,  but  can  watch  it  in  its 
constant  genesis,  and  in  its  historical 
progress  from  simplicity  to  com- 
plexity, and  again  from  complexity  to 
simplicity.  For  let  us  not  forget  tiiat 
language  has  two  aspects.  We,  the 
historical  races  of  mankind,  use  it, 
we  speak  and  think  it,  but  we  do 
not  make  it.  Though  the  faculty 
of  language  may  be  congenital,  aU 
languac^es  are  traditional.  The 
words  m  which  we  think  are  chan- 
nels of  thought  which  we  have  not 
dug  ourselves,  but  which  we  found 
resbdy-made  for  us.  The  work  of 
making  language  belongs  to  a 
period  in  the  history  of  mankind 
beyond  the  reach  of  tradition, 
and  of  which  we,  in  our  advanced 
state  of  mental  development,  can 
hardly  form  a  conception.  Yet  that 
period  must  have  had  an  historical 
reality  as  much  as  the  period  during 
which  small  annual  deposits  formed 
the  strata  of  the  globe  on  which  we 
live.  Ab  during  enormous  periods 
of  time  the  Earth  was  absorbed  in 
producing  the  abundant  carbonifer- 
ous vegetation, which  still  supplies 
us  with  the  means  of  warmth,  light, 
and  life,  there  must  have  been  a 
period  during  which  the  human 
mind  had  no  other  work  but  that 
of  linguistic  vegetation,  the  produce 
of  which  still  supplies  the  stores 
of  our  grammars  and  dictionaries. 
After  the  great  bulk  of  language  was 
finished,  a  new  work  began,  that  of 
arranging  and  defining  it,  and  of  now 
and  then  coining  a  new  word  for  a 


new  thought.  And  all  thiswecanstOl 
see  with  our  own  eyes,  as  it  were, 
in  the  quarries  openedby  the  Science 
of  Language.  No  microscope  will 
ever  enable  us  to  watch  the  forma- 
tion of  a  new  nervous  ganglion, 
while  the  Science  of  Language  shows 
us  the  formation  of  new  mental 
ganglia .  in  the  formation  of  every 
new  word.  Besides,  let  us  not  for- 
get that  the  whole  network  of  the 
nerves  is  outside  the  mind.  A  state 
of  nervous  action  may  be  parallel, 
but  it  never  is  identical  with  a  state 
of  consciousness  (^Principles  of 
Psychology,  IL  592),  and  even  the 
parallelism  between  nervous  states 
and  states  of  consciousness  is,  when 
we  come  to  details,  beyond  all  com- 
prehension (lb,  I.  140).  Language, 
on  the  contrary,  is  not  outside  3ie 
mind,  but  is  the  outside  of  the  mind. 
Language  without  thought  is  as  im- 
possible as  thought  without  lan- 
guage; and  although  we  may  by  ab- 
straction distinguish  between  what 
the  Greeks  called  inward  and  out- 
ward Logos,  yet  in  reality  and  full 
actuality  language  is  one  and  indi- 
visible— language  is  very  thought. 
On  this  more  hereafter. 

Just  at  the  end  of  his  interesting 
work  on  the  Principles  of  Psycho- 
logy, Mr.  Herbert  Spencer  shows,  by 
one  remark,  that  he  is  well  aware 
of  the  importance  of  language  for 
a  proper  study  of  psychology.^ 
*  Whether  it  be.  or  be  not  a  true 
saying,'  he  writes,  Hhat  mytho- 
logy is  a  disease  of  language,  it  may 
be  said  with  truth  that  metaphy- 
sics, in  all  its  anti-realistic  de- 
velopments, is  a  disease  of  lan- 
guage.' No  doubt  it  is;  but  think 
of  the  consequences  that  flow  from 
this  view  of  language  for  a  proper 
study  of  psychology !  K  a  disease 
of  language  can  produce  such  hal- 
lucinations as  mythology  and  metar 
physics,  what  then  is  the  heaith  of 
language,  and  what  its  bearing  on 
the  healthy  functions  of  the  mind? 


'  Spencer,  Prindplet  qf  Psychology,  Vol.  11*  p.  502. 


187S]         Lectures  on  Mr.  Barunn's  Philosophy  of  La/nguage. 


529 


Is  this  no  problem  for  the  psycholo- 
gist ?  Nervons  or  cerebral  disorders 
occupy  a  large  portion   in  every 
work  on  psychology ;  yet  they  are 
in  their  natare  obscure,  and  must 
always  remain  so.     Why  a  harden- 
ing or  softening  of  the  brain  should 
interfere  with  thought  will  never 
be  explained,  beyond  the  tsuct  that 
the  wires  are  somehow   damaged, 
and  do  not  properly  receive  and 
convey  the  nervous  currents.     But 
what  we  call  a  disease  of  language 
i&  perfectly  intelligible ;  nay,  it  has 
been  proved   to    be   natural,  and 
almost   inevitable.     In   a   lecture 
delivered  in  this  Institution  some 
time  ago,  I  endeavoured  to  show 
that  mythology,  in  the  widest  sense 
of  the  word,  is  the  power  exercised 
hj  language  on  thought  in  every 
possible  sphere  of  mental  activity, 
inclading  metaphysics  as  well  as 
religion;  and  I  called  the  whole 
history  of  philosophy,  from  Thales 
down  to  Hegel,  one  uninterrupted 
battle  against  mythology,  a  constant 
protest  of  thought  against  language. 
Not  till  we    understand    the  real 
nature  of  language  shall  we  under- 
stand the  real  nature  of  the  human 
Self;  and  those  who  want  to  read 
the  true  history  of  the  development 
of  the  soul  of  man,  must  learn  to 
read  it  in  language,  the  primeval 
and  never-ending  autobiography  of 
our  race. 

In  order  to  show  the  real  bear- 
ing of  the  Philosophy  of  Language 
on  the  problem  which  occupies  us 
at  present,  viz,  the  position  of  man 
in  the  animal  world,  it  is  absolutely 
necessary  to  go  back  to  Hume  and 
Kant.  Nothing  seems  to  me  so 
much  to  be  regretted  in  the  philo- 
sophical discussions  of  our  time  as 
the  neglect  which  is  shown  for  the 
history  of  former  struggles  in 
which  the  same  interests  were  at 
stake,  and  in  which  the  same 
problems  were  discussed,  not  with- 
out leaving,  one  would  have  thought, 
something  that  is  still  worth  re- 
membering.    A  study  of  the  his- 


tory of  philosophy  cannot,  at  the 
present  moment,  be  too  strongly 
recommended,  when  one  sees  men 
of  the  highest  eminence  in  their 
special  spheres  of  study,  approach- 
ing the  old  problems  of  mankind 
as  if  they  had  never  been  discussed 
before,  and  advancing  opinions  such 
as  Sokrates  would  not  have  dared 
to  place  in  the  mouths  of  his  an- 
tagonists. Even  if  a  study  of 
ancient  philosophy,  and  particularly 
of  Oriental  philosophy,  should  ap- 
pear too  heavy  a  task,  it  seems  at 
all  events  indispensable,  that  those 
who  take  an  active  part  in  the 
controversies  on  the  theory  of 
general  evolution  and  development, 
as  opposed  to  specific  variety  and 
a  reign  of  law,  should  be  familiar 
with  the  final  results  of  that  great 
debate  which,  about  one  hundred 
years  ago,  was  carried  on  on  very 
similar,  nay,  essentially  the  same 
topics,  by  such  giants  as  Berkeley, 
Hume,  and  Kant.  In  the  per- 
manent philosophical  parliament  of 
the  world  there  is,  and  there  must 
be,,  an  order  of  business.  The  re- 
presentatives of  the  highest  interests 
of  mankind  cannot  be  discussing 
all  things  at  all  times.  At  all 
events,  if  an  old  question  is  to  be 
opened  again,  let  it  be  opened  in 
that  form  in  which  it  was  left  at 
the  end  of  the  last  debate. 

In  order  to  appreciate  the  fall 
import  of  the  questions  now  agi- 
tated by  positivist  and  evolutionist 
philosophers,  in  order  to  understand 
their  antecedents,  and  to  do  justice 
to  their  claims,  we  must  go  back 
to  Hume  and  Kant.  The  position 
which  Kant  took  and  maintained 
against  the  materialist  philosophy 
of  Hume  and  the  idealist  philosophy 
of  Berkeley,  may  be  attacked  afresh, 
but  it  cannot  be,  and  it  ought  not 
to  be,  ignored.  Kant's  answer  was 
not  simply  the  answer  of  one  Ger- 
man professor,  it  was  a  vote  carried 
in  a  full  house,  and  at  the  time 
accepted  as  decisive  by  the  whole 
world. 


530 


Lectures  ofi  Mr,  Barwin^s  Philosophy  of  Language. 


[May 


The  circrnnstauces  under  which 
Kant  wrote  his  Criticism  of  Pure 
Reason  show  that  his  success  was 
due,  not  only  to  his  own  qualifi- 
cations, great  as  they  were,  but  to 
the  fact  that  the  tide  of  materialism 
was  on  the  turn,  that  a  reaction 
had  set  in  in  the  minds  of  inde- 
pendent thinkers,  so  that,  when  he 
wrote  his  great  and  decisive  work, 
he  was  but  lending  the  most  power- 
ful expression  to  the   silent  con- 
victions   of   the  world's  growing 
majority.     Unless  we  keep  this  in 
view,  the  success  of  Slant's  philo- 
sophy would  be  inexplicable.     He 
was    a  Professor   in  a  small  uni- 
versity of  Eastern  Prussia.      He 
had  never  been  out  of  his  native 
province,  never  but  once  out  of  his 
native  town.     He  began  to  lecture 
at  Konigsberg  as  a  Privai-Vocent  in 
1755,  j^st  a  year  before  the  begin- 
ning of   the    Seven   Years'  War, 
when  other  questions  rather,  and 
not  the  certainty  of  synthetic  judg- 
ments a  priori,  would  seem  to  have 
interested  the  public  mind  of  Ger- 
many.    Kant  worked  on  for  sixteen 
years  as  an  unpaid  University  lec- 
turer; in  1766  he  took  a  Librarian- 
ship  which  yielded  him  about  lol.  a 
year,  and  it  was  not  till  he  was  forty- 
six  years  of  age  (1770)  that  ho  suc- 
ceeded in  obtaining  a  Professorship 
of  Logic  and  Metaphysics  with  a 
salary  of  about  60I,  a  year.     He 
lectured   indefatigably  on  a  great 
variety    of   subjects: — on    Mathe- 
matics, Physics,  Logic,  Metaphysics, 
Natural  Law,  Morals,  Natural  Re- 
ligion,  Physical   Geography,     and 
Anthropology.    He  enjoyed  a  high 
reputation     in     his    own    Univer- 
sity, but  no  more  than  many  other 
professors  in  the  numerous  univer- 
sities of  Germany.     His  fame  had 
certainly  never  spread  beyond  the 
academic  circles  of  his  own  country, 
when  in  the  year  1 781,  at  the  age  of 
fifty-seven,  ho  published  at  Riga  his 
Critik  derreinen  Veniuiift  {The  Criti- 
cism of  Pure  Reason),  a  work  which 
in  the  onward  stream  of  philosophic 


thought  has  stood,  and  will  stand 
for  ever,  like  the  rocks  of  Niagara, 
There  is  nothing  attractive  in  that 
book,  nothing  startling;  far  from 
it.  It  is  badly  written,  in  a  heavy 
style,  full  of  repetitions,  all  grey  in 
grey,  with  hardly  a  single  ray  of  light 
and  sunshine  from  beginning  to  end. 
And  yet  that  book  soon  became 
known  all  over  Europe,  at  a  time 
when  literary  intelligence  travelled 
much  more  slowly  than  at  present 
Lectures  were  given  in  London  on 
Kant's  new  system,  even  at  Paris  the 
philosopher  of  Konigsberg  became 
an  authority,  and  for  the  first  time 
in  the  history  of  human  thought  ' 
the  philosophical  phraseology  of  the  ' 
age  became  German. 

How  is  this  to  be  explained?  1 
believe  simply  by  the  fact  that  Kant 
spoke  the  word  which  the  world  had 
been  waiting  for.  No  philosopher, 
fi-om  Thales  down  to  Hegel,  has 
ever  told,  has  ever  taken  and  held 
his  place  in  the  history  of  philosophjt 
whose  speculations,  however  ah- 
struse  in  appearance,  however  far 
removed  at  first  sight  from  the 
interests  of  ordinary  mortals,  have 
not  answered  some  deep  yearning 
in  the  hearts  of  his  fellow-men. 
What  makes  a  philosopher  great, 
or,  at  all  events,  what  makes  him 
really  powerful,  is  what  soldier* 
would  call  his  feeling  for  the 
main  body  of  the  army  in  its  ad- 
vance from  truth  to  truth;  his 
perfect  understanding  of  the  hnman 
solicitudes  of  his  age,  his  sympathy 
with  the  historical  progress  of 
human  thought.  At  the  time  of 
Kant's  great  triumph,  the  conclu- 
sions of  Locke  and  Hume  had  re- 
mained unanswered  for  a  longtime, 
and  seemed  almost  unanswerahk 
But  for  that  very  reason  people 
longed  for  an  answer.  The  pro- 
blems which  then  disquieted  not 
only  philosophers,  but  all  to  whom 
their  'Being  and  Kino  wing'  were 
matters  of  real  concern,  were  not- 
new  problems.  They  were  the  old 
problems  of  the  world,  the  questions 


1873]  Lectures  on  Mr,  Darwm^s  Philosophy  of  Language, 


531 


of  the  possibility  of  absolate  cer- 
tainty in  the  evidence  of  the  senses, 
of  reason,  or  of  faith,  the  questions 
of  the  beginning  and  end  of  our 
existence,  the  question  whether  the 
Infinite  is  the  shadow  of  a  dream, 
or  the  substance  of  all  substances. 
The  same  problems  had  exercised 
the  sages  of  India,  the  thinkers  of 
Greece,  the  students  of  Rome,  the 
dreamers  of  Alexandria,  the  divines 
and  scholars  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
the  Realists  and  Nominalists,  and 
again  the  schools  of  Descartes  and 
Leibniz,  in  their  conflict  with  the 
schools  of  Locke  and  Hume.  But 
thesb  old  problems  had  in  Kant's 
time,  as  in  our  own,  assumed  a  new 
form  and  influence.  If,  in  spite  of 
its  ever  varying  aspects,  we  may 
characterise  the  world-wide  struggle 
by  one  word,  as  a  struggle  for  the 
primacy  between  matter  and  mind, 
we  can  clearly  see  that  in  the 
middle  of  the  last,  as  again  in 
the  middle  of  our  own  century,  the 
materialistic  view  had  gained  the 
upper  hand  over  the  spiritualistic. 
Descartes,  Malebranche,  Leibniz, 
and  Wolf  might  influence  the 
opinions  of  hard-working  students 
and  independent  thinkers,  but  their 
language  was  hardly  understood  by 
the  busy  world  outside  the  lecture- 
rooms  ;  while  the  writings  of  Locke, 
and  still  more  those  of  Hume  and 
his  French  followers,  penetrated 
alike  into  boudoirs  and  club-rooms. 
Never,  perhaps,  in  the  whole  history 
of  philosophy  did  the  pendulum 
of  philosophic  thought  swing  so 
-violently  as  in  the  middle' of  the 
eighteenth  century,  from  one  ex- 
treme to  the  other,  from  Berkeley  to 
Hume ;  never  did  pure  spiritualism 
and  pure  materialism  find  such  out- 
spoken and  uncomproiiiising  advo- 
cates as  in  the  Bishop  of  Cloync, — 
who  considered  it  the  height  of  ab- 
surdity to  imagine  any  object  as 
existing  without,  or  independent  of, 


that  which  alone  will  produce  an 
object,  viz.  the  subject, ^ — and  the 
Librarian  of  the  Advocates*  Library 
at  Edinburgh,  who  looked  upon 
the  conception  of  a  subjective  mind 
as  a  mere  illusion,  founded  on 
nothing  but  on  that  succession  of 
sensations  to  which  we  wrongly 
assign  a  sentient  cause.  But  it  is 
easy  to  see,  in  the  literature  of  the 
age,  that  of  these  two  solutions  of 
the  riddle  of  mind  and  matter,  that 
which  explained  the  mind  as  the 
mere  outcome  of  matter,  as  the 
result  of  the  impressions  made  on 
the  senses,  was  far  more  in  harmony 
with  the  general  taste  of  the  age 
than  that  which  looked  upon  matter 
as  the  mere  outcome  of  the  mind.. 
The  former  was  regarded  by  the 
world  as  clever,  the  latter  almost  as 
silly. 

That  all-powerfal,  though  most 
treacherous  ally  of  philosophy. 
Common  Sense,  was  stoutly  opposed 
to  Berkeley's  idealism,  and  the  ty- 
pical representative  of  Common 
Sense,  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson,  main- 
tained that  he  had  only  to  strike 
his  foot  with  characteristic  force 
against  a  stone  in  order  to  convince 
the  world  that  he  had  thoroughly 
refuted  Berkeley  and  all  idealists.^ 
Voltaire,  a  less  sincere  believer  in 
Common  Sense,  joked  about  ten 
thousand  cannon  balls  and  ten 
thousand  dead  men,  being  only  ten 
thousand  ideas ;  while  Dean  Swift 
is  accused  of  having  committed  the 
sorry  joke  of  keeping  Bishop  Berke- 
ley, on  a  rainy  day,  waiting  before 
his  door,  giving  orders  not  to  open 
it,  because,  he  said,  if  his  philosophy 
is  true,  he  can  as  easily  enter  with 
the  door  shut  as  with  the  door  open. 
Though  at  present  philosophers  are 
inclined  to  do  more  justice  to  Berke- 
ley, yet  they  seldom  speak  of  him 
without  a  suppressed  smile,  totally 
forgetting  that  the  majority  of  real 
thinkers,  nay,  I  should  almost  ven- 


«  BerkeUr/s  Works,  ed.  Frasep,  Vol.  IV.  p.  376. 
•  BtrkcUr/a  Works,  Vol.  IV.  p.  368. 


532 


Lectures  on  Mr.  Barwin^a  Philosophy  of  Language, 


[May 


tore  to  say,  the  majority  of  maxikind 
agree  with  Berkeley  in  looking  npon 
the  phenomenal  or  so-called  real 
world  as  a  mere  mirage,  as  mere 
Mdyd^  or  illusion  of  the  thinking  Self. 

Li  the  last  century  the  current  of 
pubUc  opinion — and  we  know  how 
powerful,  how  overwhelming  that 
current  can  be  at  times — ^had  been 
decidedly  in  favour  of  materialism, 
when  Kant  stood  forth  to  stem  and 
to  turn  the  tide.  He  came  so  exactly 
in  the  nick  of  time  that  one  almost 
doubts  whether  the  tide  was  turning, 
or  whether  he  turned  the  tide.  But 
what  secures  to  Kant  his  position 
in  the  history  of  philosophy  is,  that 
he  brought  the  bsEittle  back  to  that 
point  where  alone  it  could  be  de- 
cided, that  he  took  up  the  thread 
in  the  philosophical  woof  of  man- 
kind at  the  very  point  where  it 
threatened  to  ravel  and  to  break. 
He  wrote  the  whole  of  his  Oritidsm 
of  Pure  Reason  with  constant  refe- 
rence to  Berkeley  and  Hume  ;  and 
what  I  blame  in  modem  philoso- 
phers is  that,  if  they  wish  to  go 
back  to  the  position  maintained 
by  Hume,  they  should  attempt  to 
do  it  without  taking  into  account 
the  work  achieved  by  Kant.  To 
do  this  is  to  commit  a  philosophical 
anachronism,  it  is  tantamount  to 
removing  the  questions  which  now 
occupy  us,  from  that  historical 
staee  on  which  alone  they  can  be 
authoritatively  decided. 

It  has  sometimes  been  supposed 
that  the  rapid  success  of  Kant's 
philosophy  was  due  to  its  being  a 
philosophy  of  compromise,  neither 
spiritualistic,  like  Berkeley's,  nor 
materialistic,  like  Hume's.  I  look 
upon  Kant's  philosophy,  not  as  a 
compromise,  but  as  a  reconciliation 
of  spiritualism  and  materialism,  or 
rather  of  idealism  and  realism. 
But  whatever  view  we  may  take  of 
Kant,  it  is  quite  clear  that,  at  the 
time  when  he  wrote,  neither  Berke- 
ley's nor  Hume's  followers  would 
have  accepted  his  terms.  It  is  true 
that  Kant  differed  from  Berkeley  in 


admitting  that  the  raw  material  of 
our  sensations  and  thoughts  is  given 
to  us,  that  we  accept  it  from  without, 
not  from  within.  So  fieur  the  realis- 
tic school  might  claim  him  as  their 
own.  But  when  Kant  demonstrates 
that  we  are  notjmerely  passive  reci- 
pients, thatthe  conception  of  a  purely 
passive  rscipient  involves  in  £Ebct  an 
absurdity,  that  what  is  given  us 
we  accept  on  our  own  terms,  these 
terms  being  the  forms  of  our  sen- 
suous perception,  and  the  categoric 
of  our  mind,  then  the  realist  would 
see  that  the  ground  under  his 
feet  was  no  longer  safe,  and  that 
his  new  ally  was  more  dangerous 
than  his  old  enemy. 

Kant's  chief  object  in  writing  tlie 
Griticism  of  Pure  Reason  was  to  de^ 
termine,  once  for  all,  the  organs 
and  the  limits  of  our  knowledge; 
and  therefore,  instead  of  criticising, 
as  was  then  the  &shion,the  results  of 
our  knowledge,  whether  in  religion, 
or  in  history,  or  in  science,  he  boldly 
went  to  the  root  of  the  matter,  and 
subjected  Reason,  pure  and  simple, 
to  his  searching  ajuJysis.  In  doing 
this,  he  was  certainly  far  more  suc- 
cessful against  Locke  and  Hume 
than  against  Berkeley.  To  call  the 
human  mind  a  tabula  rasa  was 
pure  metaphor,  it  was  mythology 
and  nothing  else.  TahiUa  rasa 
means  a  tablet,  smoothed  and  made 
ready  to  receive  the  impressions  of 
the  pencil  (ypa^elov).  It  makes 
very  little  difference  whether  the 
mind  is  called  a  tabula  rasa^  or  a 
mirror,  or  wax,  or  anything  else 
that  the  French  call  impresswnabh 
Nor  does  it  help  us  much  if,  instead 
of  impressions,  we  speak  of  sensa- 
tions, or  states  of  consciousness,  or 
manifestations.  The  question  is, 
how  these  states  of  oonsciousness 
come  to  be,  whether  *  to  know '  is 
an  active  or  a  passive  verb,  whether 
there  is  a  knowing  Self,  and  what 
it  is  like.  K  we  begin  with 
states  of  consciousness  as  ultimate 
facts,  no  doubt  Hume  and  his  fol- 
lowers are  unassailable,     Nothing 


1873]  Lectures  an  Mr,  BarwirCs  PhUoeophy  of  Laaiguage. 


533 


can  be  more  ingenious  than  the  ex- 
planation of  the  process  by  which 
the  primary  impressions,  by  mere 
twisting  and  turning,  develop  at 
last  into  an  intellect,  the  passive 
mirror  growing  into  a  conscious 
Self.  The  sensuous  impressions,  as 
they  are  succeeded  by  new  impres- 
sions, are  supposed  to  become 
£Eunter,  and  to  settle  down  into  what 
we  call  our  memory.  General  ideas 
are  explained  as  the  inevitable  re- 
sult of  repeated  sensuous  impres- 
sions. For  instance,  if  we  see  a 
^een  leaf,  the  green  sea,  and  a  green 
bird,  the  leaf,  the  sea,  and  the  bird 
leave  each  but  one  impression,  while 
the  impression  of  the  green  colour 
is  repeated  three  times,  and  becomes 
therefore  deeper,  more  permanent, 
more  general.  Again,  if  we  see  the 
leaf  of  an  oak  tree,  of  a  fig  tree,  of 
a  rose  tree,  or  of  any  other  plant 
or  shrub,  the  peculiar  outline  of 
each  individual  leaf  is  more  or  less 
obliterated,  and  there  remains,  we 
are  told,  the  general  impression  of  a 
leaf.  In  the  same  manner,  out  of  in- 
numerable impressions  of  various 
trees  arises  the  general  impression 
of  tree,  out  of  the  impressions  of 
trees,  shrubs,  and  herbs,  the  general 
impression  of  plant,  of  vegetative 
species,  and  at  last  of  substance, 
animate  or  inanimate.  In  this 
manner  it  was  supposed  that  the 
whole  furniture  of  the^human  mind 
could  be  explained  as  the  inevitable 
result  of  repeated  sensuous  impres- 
sions ;  and  further,  as  these  sen- 
suous impressions,  which  make  up 
the  whole  of  what  is  called  Mind,  are 
received  by  ammaU  as  well  as  by  men, 
it  followed,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
that  the  difference  between  the  two 
was  a  difference  of  degree  only,  and 
that  it  was  a  mere  question  of  time 
and  circumstances  for  a  man-like 
ape  to  develop  into  an  ape-like  man. 
We  have  now  reached  a  point 


where  the  intimate  connection 
between  Hume's  philosophy  and 
that  of  the  Evolutionist  school  will 
begin  to  be  perceived. 

If  Mr.  Darwin  is  right,  if  man 
is  either  the  lineal  or  lateral  de- 
scendant of  some  lower  animal, 
then  all  the  discussions  between 
Locke  and  Berkeley,  between  Hume 
and  Eant,  have  become  useless  and 
antiquated.  We  all  agree  that 
animals  receive  their  knowledge 
through  the  senses  only ;  and  if 
man  was  developed  from  a  lower 
animal,  the  human  mind,  too,  must 
have  been  developed  from  a  lower 
animal  mind.  There  would  be  an 
end  to  all  further  discussions :  Kant, 
and  all  who  follow  him,  would 
simply  be  out  of  court. 

But  have  the  followers  of  Mr. 
Darwin  no  misgivings  that  pos- 
sibly Kant's  conclusions  may  be  so 
strong  as  to  resist  even  the  hy- 
pothesis of  evolution?  Do  they 
consider  it  quite  safe  in  their  vic- 
torious advance  to  leave  such  a 
fortress  as  Kant  has  erected  unno- 
ticed in  the  rear  P  If  no  attempt 
had  ever  been  made  at  answering 
Hume,  there  would  be  no  harm 
in  speaking  again  of  the  mind  of 
man  and  the  mind  of  animals  as  a 
tabula  rasa  on  which  impressions  are 
made  which  faint,  and  spontane- 
ously develop  into  concep^ons  and 
general  ideas.  They  might  revive 
Sie  old  watchword  of  Locke's  school 
— though  it  is  really  much  older 
than  Locke ^ — 'that  there  is  nothing 
in  the  intellect  that  was  not  before 
in  the  senses,'  forgetting  how  it 
had  been  silenced  by  the  triumphant 
answer  of  Kant's  small  army,  *  that 
there  is  nothing  in  the  senses  that 
was  not  at  the  same  time  in  the 
intellect.'  But  when  one  has 
watched  these  shouts  and  counter- 
shouts,  when  one  has  seen  the 
splendid  feats  of  arms  in  the  truly 


♦  Locke,  1632-.1704.  In  a  letter  &om  Sir  T.  Bodley  to  Sir  F.  Bacon,  February  1607, 
'we  read :  '  It  being  a  maxim  of  all  men's  appioving,  in  intellectu  nihil  est  qnod  non 
prioB  fait  in  sensn.' 


534 


Lectures  on  Mr.  Darwin's  Philosophy  of  Language. 


[May 


historical  battles  of  the  world,  then  to 
be  simply  told  that  all  this  is  Tpasse, 
that  we  now  possess  evidence  which 
Berkeley,  Locke,  and  Kant  did  not 
possess,  and  which  renders  all  their 
lucubrations  nnnecessaory;  that,  man 
being  the  descendant  of  some  lower 
animal,  the  development  of  the 
human  mind  out  of  the  mind  of 
animals,  or  out  of  no  mind,  is  a 
mere  question  of  time,  is  certainly 
enough  to  make  one  feel  a  little 
impatient. 

It  is  not  for  one  moment  main- 
tained  that,  because  Kant  had 
proved  that  sensations  are  not  the 
only  ingredients  of  our  conscious- 
ness, the  question  of  the  develop- 
ment of  the  human  mind  out  of 
mere  sensations  is  never  to  bo 
opened  again.  Far  from  it.  Only, 
if  it  is  to  be  opened  again,  it  should 
bo  done  with  a  full  appreciation  of 
the  labours  of  those  who  have  come 
before  us ;  otherwise  philosophy  it- 
self will  fall  back  into  a  state  of 
prehistoric  savagery. 

What,  then,  is  that  tabula  rasa, 
which  sounds  so  learned,  and  yet  is 
mere  verbal  jugglery  ?  Let  us  ac- 
cept the  metaphor,  that  the  mind 
is  like  a  smooth  writing  tablet  with 
nothing  on  it  or  in  it,  and  what 
can  be  clearer  even  then,  than 
that  the  impressions  made  on  it 
must  be  determined  by  the  nature 
of  such  a  tablet  ?  Impressions 
made  on  wax  aro  different  from 
impressions  made  on  sand  or  water, 
and  impressions  made  on  the  hu- 
man Self  must  likewise  be  deter- 
mined by  the  nature  of  the  re- 
cipient. We  see,  therefore,  that 
the  conditions  under  which  each 
recipient  is  capable  of  receiving 
impressions,  constitute  at  the  same 
time  the  conditions  or  terms  to 
which  all  impressions  must  submit, 
whether  they  bo  made  on  a  tabula 
rasa,  or  on  the  human  Self,  or  on 
amy  thing  else. 

And  here  is  the  place  where  Kant 
broke  through  the  phalanx  of  the  sen- 
sualistic  school.  That  without  which 


no  impressions  on  the  human  mind 
are  possible  or  conceivable,  consti- 
tutes, he  would  say,  the  transcenden- 
tal side  of  our  knowledge.  What,  ac- 
cording to  Kant,  is  transcendenial'is 
generally  identified  with  what  other 
philosophers  call  d  priori  or  subjec- 
tive. But  this  is  true  in  a  very  limited 
sense  only.  Kant  does  not  mean 
by  transcendental  what  is  merelj 
biographically,  i.e.  in  each  individaaJ, 
or  even  paladontologically,  i.  e.  in  the 
history  of  the  whole  race  of  man, 
a  priori.  The  d  priori  in  these  two 
senses  has  to  be  discovered  by  ex- 
perimental and  historical  psycbo- 
^^gy»  a-iid  Kant  would  probablj 
have  no  objection  whatever  to  any 
of  the  conclusions  arrived  at  in  this 
domain  of  research  by  the  most 
advanced  evolutionist.  The  a  priori 
which  Kant  tries  to  discover  is  that 
which  makes  the  two  other  a  prions 
possible ;  it  is  the  ontological  a 
priori.  Let  all  the  irritations  of 
the  senses,  let  all  the  raw  material  of 
our  sensuous  perceptions  be  given, 
the  fact  of  our  not  simply  yielding 
to  these  inroads,  but  resisting  them, 
accepting  them,  realising  them, 
knowing  them,  all  this  shows  a 
reacting  and  realising  power  in 
the  Self.  If  anything  is  to  be  seen, 
or  heard,  or  felt,  or  known  bj«^, 
such  as  we  are — and,  I  suppose, 
we  are  something — if  all  is  not  to 
end  with  disturbances  of  the  retina, 
or  vibrations  of  the  tympannm,  or 
ringing  of  tho  bells  at  the  receinn^r 
stations  of  the  brain,  then  what  is 
to  be  perceived  by  us,  must  submit 
to  the  conditions  of  our  perceiving, 
what  is  to  be  known  by  us,  most 
accept  the  conditions  of  our  know- 
ing.  This  point  is  of  so  mnch 
importance  for  the  solution,  or,  at 
all  events,  for  the  right  apprehen- 
sion of  the  problem  with  which  we 
have  to  deal,  that  we  must  examine 
Kant's  view  on  the  origin  and  on 
the  conditions  of  our  knowledge  a 
little  more  carefully. 

According  to  Rant,  then,  there 
are,  first  of  all,  two  fundamental  or 


1873]  Lectures  on  Mr,  Darwin's  Philosophy  of  Language. 


535 


inevitable  conditions  of  all  sensu- 
ous manifestations,  viz.  Space  and 
Time.  They  are  called  by  Kaut 
pure  intuitions,  which  means  a 
priori  forms  to  which  all  intuitions, 
if  they  are  to  become  oiir  intui- 
tions, must  submit.  By  no  effort 
can  we  do  away  with  these  forms 
of  phenomenal  existence.  If  we 
are  to  become  conscious  of  anything, 
whether  we  call  it  an  impression,  or 
a  manifestation,  or  a  phase,  we 
mnst  place  all  phenomena  side  by 
side,  or  in  space ;  and  we  can  accept 
them  only  as  following  each  other 
in  succession,  or  in  time.  If  we 
wanted  to  maJce  it  still  clearer,  that 
Time  and  Space  are  subjective,  or 
at  all  events  determined  by  the  Self, 
we  might  say  that  there  can  be  no 
There  without  a  Here,  there  can 
be  no  Th^n  without  a  Now,  and 
both  the  Here  and  the  Now  depend 
on  ns  as  recipients,  as  measurers, 
as  perceivers. 

Mr.  Herbert  Spencer  brings  three 
arguments  against  Kant's  view, 
that  Space  and  Time  are  a  priori 
forms  of  our  sensuous  intuition. 
He  says  it  is  absolutely  impos- 
sible to  think  that  these  forms  of 
intnition  belong  to  the  ego,  and  not 
to  the  non-ego.  Now  Kant  does 
not,  according  to  the  nature  of 
his  system,  commit  himself  to  any 
assertion  that  some  such  forms  may 
not  belong  to  the  nori-ego,  the  Ding 
an  sich ;  he  only  maintains  that 
we  have  no  means  of  knowing  it. 
That  Kant's  view  is  perfectly 
thinkable,  is  proved  by  Berkeley 
and  most  Idealists. 

Secondly,  Mr.  H.  Spencer  argues 
that  if  Space  and  Time  are  forms 
of  thought,  they  can  never  be 
thonght  of,  siuce  it  is  impossible 
for  anything  to  be  at  once  the  form  of 
thought  and  the  matter  of  thought. 
Against  this  argument  it  must  be 
z-emarked  that  Kant  never  takes 
Space  and  Time  as  forms  of 
thonght.  He  carefully  guards 
argainst  this  view,  and  calls  them 
'  reine     Formen     sinnlicher     An- 


schauung  '  (pure  forms  of  sensuous 
intuition).  But  even  if  this  dis- 
tinction between  thought  and  in- 
tuition is  eliminated  by  evolution, 
it  remains  still  to  be  proved  that 
the  forms  of  thought  can  never 
become  the  matter  of  thought. 
The  greater  part  of  philosophy 
makes  the  forms  of  thought  the 
matter  of  thought. 

Thirdly,  Mr.  Spencer  maintains 
that  some  of  our  sense-perceptions, 
and  more  particularly  that  of  hear- 
ing, are  not  necessarily  localised. 
This  objection  again  seems  to  me 
to  rest  on  a  misunderstanding. 
Though  it  is  true  that  we  do  not 
always  know  the  exact  place  where 
sounds  come  from,  we  always  know, 
even  in  the  case  of  our  ear  ringing, 
that  what  we  perceive  is  outside, 
is  somewhere,  comes  towards  us ; 
and  that  is  all  that  Kant  requires. 

But  besides  these  fundamental 
forms  of  sensuous  intuition,  Space 
and  Time,  without  which  no  sensu- 
ous perception  is  possible,  Kant,  by 
his  analysis  of  Pure  Reason,  disco- 
vered other  conditions  of  our  know- 
ledge, the  so-called  Categories  of  the 
Intellect  While  the  sensualistic 
school,  beginning  with  the  ordinary 
a  priori  of  experience,  looked  upon 
these  forms  of  thought  as  mere 
abstractions,  the  residue  or  shadow 
of  repeated  observations,  Kant 
made  it  clear  that  without  them  no 
experience,  not  even  the  lowest, 
would  be  possible,  and  that  there* 
fore  they  could  not  themselves  be 
acquired  by  experience.  Grant,  he 
would  say,  that  we  have,  we  do  not 
know  how,  the  sensations  of  colour, 
sound,  taste,  smell,  or  touch.  They 
are  given,  and  we  must  accept 
them.  But  think  of  the  enormous 
difference  between  a  vibration  and 
a  sensation;  and  again  between  a 
succession  or  agglomeration  of  the 
sensations  of  yellowness,  softness, 
sweetness,  and  roundness,  and  what 
we  mean  when  we  speak  of  an 
orange !  The  nerves  may  vibrate 
for  ever — ^what  would  that  be  to  us  ? 


5S6 


Lectures  on  Mr.  Darmn's  PhUotophy  of  Lomguage. 


[May 


Tha  sensatioiis  miglifc  msli  in  for 
ever  through  the  dififerent  gates  of 
our  senses,  the  afferent  nerves 
might  deliver  them  to  one  central 
point,  yet  even  then  they  wonld 
remain  but  so  many  excitations  of 
nervons  action,  so  many  sensations, 
coming  and  going  at  pleasure,  but 
they  would  never  by  themselves 
alone  produce  in  us  the  perception 
of  an  orange.  The  common-sense 
view  of  the  matter  is  that  we  per- 
ceive all  these  sensations  together 
as  an  orange,  because  the  orange,  as 
such,  exists  without  us  as  something 
substantial,  and  the  qualities  of  yel- 
lowness, softness,  sweetness,  and 
roundness  are  inherent  in  it.  This 
is,  no  doubt,  very  unphilosophical, 
and  ignores  the  positive  fact  that 
all  that  we  have  consists  and  can 
consist  only  of  sensations  and 
phases  of  consciousness,  and  that 
nothing  can  ever  carry  us  beyond. 
Yet  there  is  this  foundation  of  truth 
in  the  common-sense  view,  that  it 
shows  our  utter  inability  of  per- 
ceiving any  sensations  vrithout 
referring  them  to  something  sub- 
stantial which  causes  them,  and  is 
supposed  to  possess  all  those  qualities 
which  correspond  to  our  sensations. 
But  if  we  once  know  that  what  is 
given  us  consists  only  of  phases  of 
sensation,  whatever  their  origin 
may  be,  it  then  becomes  clear  that 
it  can  only  be  our  Self,  or  what- 
ever else  we  like  to  call  it,  which 
adds  all  the  rest,  and  does  this,  not 
consciously  or  deliberately,  but  of 
necessity,  and,  as  it  were,  in  the 
dark. 

We  cannot  receive  sensations 
without  at  once  referring  them  to  a 
substantial  cause.  To  say  that 
these  sensations  may  have  no  origin 
at  all,  would  be  to  commit  an  out- 
rage against  ourselves.  And  why? 
Simply  because  our  mind  is  so  con- 


stituted that  to  doubt  whether  any- 
thing phenomenal  had  a  cause 
would  be  a  logical  suicide.  Call  it 
what  you  like,  a  law,  a  necessity, 
an  unconscious  instinct,  a  categoiy 
of  the  understanding,  it  always 
remains  the /auZ^  of  our  Self^  that  it 
cannot  receive  sensations  without 
referring  them  to  a  substance  of 
which  they  are  supposed  to  tell  na 
the  attributes.^  Ajid  if  this  is  so^ 
we  have  a  clear  right  to  say  with 
Kant,  that  that  without  whidi  even 
the  lowest  perception  of  an  object 
is  impossible  must  be  given,  and 
cannot  have  been  acquired  by  re- 
peated perception.  The  premiss  in 
this  argument,  viz.  that  what  we 
mean  by  cause  has  no  warrant  in 
the  Non-ego,  is  indeed  accepted,  not 
only  by  KEint,  but  also  by  Hume ; 
nay,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  on 
this  point  Kant  owed  very  much  to 
Hume's  scepticism.  Elant  has  no- 
thing to  say  against  Hume's  argu- 
mentation that  the  ideas  of  cante 
and  effect^  of  substance  and  quaUtyy 
in  that  sense  in  which  we  use  them, 
are  not  found  in  actual  experience. 
But  while  Hume  proceeded  to  dis- 
card those  ideas  as  mere  illusions, 
Kant,  on  the  contrary,  reclaimed 
them  as  the  inevitable  forms  to 
which  b1\  phenomena  must  submit, 
if  they  are  to  be  phenomena,  if  they 
are  to  become  our  phenomena,  the 
perceptions  of  a  human  Self.  He 
established  their  truth,  or,  what 
with  him  is  the  same,  their  inevita- 
bility in  all  phenomenal  knowledge, 
and  by  showing  their  inapplicability 
to  any  but  phenomenal  knowledge, 
he  once  for  all  determined  the  limits 
of  what  is  knowable  and  what  is 
not. 

These  inevitable  forms  were  le^ 
duced  by  Kant  to  twelve,  and  lie 
arranged  them  systematically  in  his 
famous  Table  of  Categories : — 


*  Cf.  Bacon,  Nov,  Org.  I.  41.  *  Omnea  perceptiones,  tarn  Sensus  quam  Mentii,  sont 
ex  analogia  Hominis,  non  ex  analogia  universi.  fistque  Intellectus  humaniu  iostar 
fpeculi  inaequalis  ad  radios  reram,  qui  suam  natnram  Natnrae  renim  immificet,  eam- 
que  distorguet  et  in/W*.'— Liebmann,  Kant,  p.  48. 


18TS]        Lectures  on  Mr.  BarvMt  Philosophy  of  Language. 


637 


(i)  UnUy,  Plurality,  UnwersalUy  ; 

(2)  Affirmation,  Negation,  Limita- 

tion; 

(3)  Suhstcmiiality,  Causality,  Bed- 

prociby; 

(4)  Possibility,  Reality,  Necessity, 

There  is  no  time,  I  am  afraid,  to 
examine  the  true  character  of  these 
categories  in  detail,  or  the  forms 
which  they  take  as  schemata.  What 
applies  to  one  applies  to  all,  viz. 
that  without  them  no  thought  is 
possible.  Take  the  categories  of 
quantity,  and  try  to  think  of  any- 
thing without  thinking  of  it  at  the 
£iame  time  as  one  or  many,  and 
yon  will  find  it  is  impossible.  Na- 
ture does  not  count  for  us,  we  must 
connt  ourselves,  and  the  talent  of 
counting  cannot  have  been  acquired 
by  counting,  any  more  than  a  stone 
acquires  the  talent  of  swimming 
by  being  thrown  into  the  water. 

Put  in  the  shortest  way,  I  should 
say  that  the  result  of  Kant's  analy- 
sis of  the  Categories  of  the  Under- 
standing is,  ^  Nihil  est  in  sensu,  quod 
nonfueritin  intellectu.*  We  cannot 
perceive  any  object,  except  by  the 
aid  of  the  intellect. 

It  is  not  easy  to  give  in  a  few 
words   a   true  abstract  of  Kant's 
philosophy,  yet  if  we  wish  to  gain 
a  clear  view  of  the  progressive,  or, 
it  may  be,  retrogressive,  movement 
of  human  thought  from  century  to 
century,  we  must  be  satisfied  with 
short  abstracts,  as  long  as  they  con- 
tain the  essence  of  each  system  of 
philosophy.     We  may  spend  years 
in  exploring  the  course  of  a  river, 
and  we  may  have  in  our  note-books 
accurate  sketches  of  its  borders,  of 
every   nook    and    comer    through 
which  it  winds.     But  for  practical 
purposes  we  want  a  geographical 
map,  more  or  less  minute,  according 
to  the  extent  of  the  area  which  we 
wish   to   survey;     and    here    the 
meandering    outline   of  the  river 
must  vanish,  and  be  replaced  by  a 
bold  line,    indicating  tne    general 
direction  of  the  river  from  one  im- 


portant point  to  another,  and  no- 
thing else.  The  same  is  necessary 
if  we  draw,  either  for  our  own 
guidance  or  for  the  guidance  of 
others,  a  map  of  the  streams  of 
philosophic  thought.  Whole  pages, 
nay,  whole  volumes,  must  here  be 
represented  by  one  or  two  Hues, 
and  all  that  is  essential  is  that  we 
should  not  lose  sight  of  the  salient 
points  in  each  system.  It  has  been 
said  that  every  system  of  philo- 
sophy Hes  in  a  nutshell,  and  this  is 
particularly  true  of  great  and  deci- 
sive systems.  They  do  not  wander 
about  much;  they  go  straight 
to  the  point.  What  is  really  cha- 
racteristic in  them  is  the  attitude 
which  the  philosopher  assumes  to^ 
wards  the  old  problems  of  the  world: 
that  attitude  once  understood,  and 
everything  else  follows  almost  by 
necessity.  In  the  philosophy  of  Kant 
two  streams  of  philosophic  thought, 
which  had  been  running  in  sepa- 
rate beds  for  ages,  meet  for  the  first 
time,  and  we  can  clearly  discover 
in  his  system  the  gradual  mingling 
of  the  colours  of  Hume  and  Berke- 
ley. Turning  against  the  one-sided 
course  of  Hume's  philosophy,  Kant 
shows  that  there  is  something  in 
our  intellect  which  could  never  have 
been  suppHed  by  mere  sensations ; 
turning  against  Berkeley,  he  shows 
that  there  is  something  in  our  sen- 
sations which  could  never  have  been 
suppHedbymereintellect.  He  main- 
tains that  Hume's  sensations  and 
Berkeley's  intellect  exist  for  each 
other,  depend  on  each  other,  pre- 
suppose each  other,  form  together  a 
whole  that  should  never  have  been 
torn  asunder.  And  he  likewise 
shows  that  the  two  factors  of  our 
knowledge,  the  matter  of  our  sensa- 
tions on  one  side,  and  their  form  on 
the  other,  are  correlative,  and  that 
any  attempt  at  using  the  forms  of 
our  intellect  oq  anything  which 
transcends  the  limits  of  our  sensa- 
tions is  illegal.  Hence  his  &mou8 
saying,  Begriffe  ohne  Ansohauungen 
sind  leer,  Anschauungen  ohne  Begriffe 


538 


Lectures  on  Mr.  Darwin's  Philosophy  of  Language. 


[May 


sind  hlinch  (*  ConceptioDS  without 
Intuitions  are  empty,  Intuitions 
without  Conceptions  are  blind.') 
This  last  protest  against  the  use 
of  the  categories  with  regard  to 
anything  not  supplied  by  the 
senses,  is  the  crowning  effort  of 
Kant's  philosophy,  but,  strange  to 
say,  it  is  a  protest  unheeded  by 
almost  all  philosophers  who  follow 
after  Kant.  To  my  mind  Kant's 
general  solution  of  the  problem 
which  divided  Hume  and  Berkeley 
is  perfect ;  and  however  we  may 
criticise  the  exact  number  of  the 
inevitable  forms  of  thought,  his 
Table  of  Categories  as  a  whole  will 
for  ever  remain  the  Magna  Charta 
of  true  philosophy. 

In  Germany,  although  Kant's 
system  has  been'succeeded  by  other 
systems,  his  reply  to  Hume  has 
never  been  challenged  by  any  lead- 
ing philosopher.  It  has  been 
strengthened  rather  than  weaken- 
ed by  subsequent  systems  which, 
though  widely  differing  from  Kant 
in  their  metaphysical  conceptions, 
never  questioned  his  success  in 
vindicating  certain  ingredients  of 
our  knowledge  as  belonging  to 
mind,  not  to  matter ;  to  the  subject, 
not  to  the  object;  to  the  under- 
standing, not  to  sensation ;  to  the 
d  priori^  not  to  experience.  They 
have  disregarded  Kant's  warning 
that  d  priori  laws  of  thought  must 
not  bo  applied  to  anything  outside 
the  limits  of  sensuous  experience, 
but  they  have  never  questioned  the 
true  d  priori  character  of  those 
laws  themselves. 

Nor  can  it  be  said  that  in  France 
the  step  which  Kant  had  made 
in  advance  of  Hume  .has  ever  been 
retraced  by  those  who  represent  in 
that  country  the  historical  progress 
of  philosophy.  One  French  philoso- 
pher  only,  whose  position  is  in  many 
respects  anomalous,  Auguste  Comte, 
has  ventured  to  propose  a  system  of 
philosophy  in  which  Kant's  position 
IS  not  indeed  refuted,  but  ignored. 
Comte  did  not  know  Kant's  philo- 


sophy, and  I  do  not  think  that  it 
will  be  ascribed  to  any  national 
prejudice  of  mine  if  I  consider  that 
this  alone  would  be  sufficient  to  ex» 
elude  his  name  from  the  historical 
roll  of  philosophers.  I  should  say 
just  the  same  of  Kant  if  he  had 
written  in  ignorance  of  Locke  and 
Hume  and  Berkeley,  or  of  Spinoza 
if  he  had  ignored  the  works  of  Des- 
cartes, or  of  Aristotle  if  he  had 
ignored  the  teaching  of  Plato. 

It  is  different,  however,  in  Eng- 
land. Here  a  new  school  of 
British  philosophy  has  sprung  up, 
not  entirely  free,  perhaps,  from 
the  influence  of  Comte,  but  sap- 
ported  by  far  greater  learning, 
and  real  philosophical  power— a 
school  which  deliberately  denies  the 
correctness  of  Kant's  analysis,  and 
falls  back  in  the  main  on  the  posi- 
tion once  occupied  by  Locke  or 
Hume.  This  same  school  has  lately 
met  with  very  powerful  Eupport  in 
Germany,  and  it  might  seem  almost 
as  if  the  work  achieved  by  Kant  was 
at  last  to  be  undone  in  his  own 
country.  These  modern  philoso- 
phers do  not  ignore  Kant,  hut  in 
returning  to  the  standpoint  of  Locke 
or  Hume,  they  distinctly  assert  that 
Kant  has  not  made  good  his  case,  ' 
whether  in  his  analysis  of  the  two  I 
feeders  of  knowledge,  or  in  his  | 
admission  of  general  truths,  not 
attained  and  not  attainable  by  er- 
perience.  The  law  of  causality  on 
which  the  whole  question  of  the  ^ 
d  priori  conditions  of  knowledge 
may  be  said  to  hinge,  is  treated 
again,  as  it  was  by  Hume,  as  a  mere 
illusion,  produced  by  the  repeated 
succession  of  events ;  and  psycho- 
logical analysis,  strengthened  bj 
physiological  research,  is  called  in 
to  prove  that  mind  is  but  the  tran- 
sient outcome  of  matter,  that  the 
brain  secretes  thought  as  the  liver 
secretes  bile.  No  phosphorus,  no 
thought!  is  the  triumphuit  \rar- 
cry  of  this  school. 

In  speaking  of  the  general  ten- 
dencies  of  this  school  of  thought,  I 


187S]         Lectures  on  Mr»  Darwm^s  Philosaphy  of  Language. 


539 


have  intentionally  aroided  men- 
tioning any  names,  for  it  is  canons 
to  observe  that  hardly  any  two 
representatives  of  it  agree  even  on 
the  most  essential  points.  No  two 
names,  for  instance,  are  so  i^- 
qnently  quoted  together  as  repre- 
sentatives of  modem  English 
thoQght,  as  Mr.  Stuart  Mill  and 
Mr.  Herbert  Spencer,  yet  on  the 
most  critical  point  they  are  as 
diametrically  opposed  as  Hume  and 
Kant.  Mr.  Stnart  Mill  admits  no- 
thing dj^nori  in  the  human  mind; 
he  stands  on  the  same  point  as 
Locke,  nay,  if  I  interpret  some  of 
his  paragraphs  rightly,  he  goes  as 
far  as  Hume.  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer, 
on  the  contrary,  fights  against  this 
view  of  the  haman  intellect  with 
the  same  sharp  weapon  that  Kant 
had  used  against  them,  and  he  ar- 
rives, like  Elant,  at  the  conclusion 
that  there  is  in  the  human  mind, 
such  as  we  know  it,  something 
a  priori,  call  it  intuitions,  cate- 
gories, innate  ideas  or  congenital 
dispositions,  something  at  all  events 
that  cannot  honestly  be  explained 
as  the  result  of  individual  ex- 
perience. Whether  the  prehistoric 
genesis  of  these  congenital  dispo- 
sitions or  inherited  necessities  of 
thought,  as  suggested  by  Mr. 
Herbert  Spencer,  be  right  or  wrong, 
does  not  signify  for  the  purpose 
which  Kant  had  in  view.  In  ad- 
mitting that  there  is  something  in 
our  mind,  which  is  not  the  result 
of  our  own  d  posteriori  experience, 
Hr.  Herbert  Spencer  is  a  thorough 
Kantian,  and  we  shall  see  that  he 
is  a  Kantian  in  other  respects  too. 
If  it  could  be  proved  that  nervous 
modifications,  accumulated  from 
generation  to  generation,  could 
resolt  in  nervous  structures  that 
are  fixed  in  proportion  as  the  outer 
relations  to  which  they  answer  are 
^ed,  we,  as  followers  of  Elant, 
should  only  have  to  put  in  the  place 
of  Kant's  intuitions  of  Space  and 


Time, '  the  constant  space  relations, 
expressed  in  definite  nervous  struc- 
tures, congenitally  framed  to  act  in 
definite  ways,  and  incapable  of 
acting  in  any  other  way.'  If  Mr. 
Herbert  Spencer  had  not  misunder- 
stood the  exact  meaning  of  what 
Kant  calls  the  intuitions  of  Space 
and  Time,  he  would  have  perceived 
that,  barring  his  theory  of  the  pre- 
historic origin  of  these  intuitions,  he 
was  quite  at  one  with  Kant. 

Some  of  the  objections  which 
Mr.  Herbert  Spencer  urges  against 
Kant's  theory  of  innate  intuitions  of 
Space  and  Time  were  made  so  soon 
after  the  appearance  of  his  work, 
that  Elant  himself  was  still  able  to 
reply  to  them.^  Thus  he  explains 
himself  that  by  intuitions  he  does 
not  mean  anything  innate  in  the 
form  of  ready-made  ideas  or  images, 
but  merely  passive  states  or  recep- 
tivities of  the  Ego,  according  to 
which,  if  affected  in  certain  ways, 
it  has  certain  forms  in  which  it  re- 
presents these  afiections,  and  that 
what  is  innate  is  not  the  represen- 
tation itself,  but  simply  the  first 
formal  cause  of  its  possibility.' 

Nor  do  I  think  that  Kant's 
view  of  causality,  as  one  of 
the  most  important  categories 
of  the  understanding,  has  been 
corroctl^  apprehended  by  his  Eng- 
lish cntics.  All  the  arguments 
that  are  brought  forward  by  the 
living  followers  of  Hume,  in  order 
to  show  that  the  idea  of  cause  is 
not  an  innate  idea,  but  the  result 
of  repeated  observations,  and,  it 
may  be,  a  mere  illusion,  do  not  touch 
Kant  at  all.  He  moves  in  quite  a 
different  layer  of  thought.  That 
each  individual  becomes  conscious 
of  causality  by  experience  and  edu- 
cation, he  knows  as  well  as  the 
most  determined  follower  of  Hume ; 
but  what  he  means  by  the  category 
of  causality  is  something  totaUy  dif- 
ferent. It  IS  an  unconscious  process 
which,  from  a  purely  psychological 


*  See  Dai  Unbetpusste,  p.  187,  Kant's  Werke,  ed.  RosenkranZi  B.  i,  pp.  445,  446. 
TGI.  Y1I.—H0.  XLI.      NEW  SERIES.  P  P 


540 


Lectures  on  Mr.  Darwin's  Philosophy  of  Lauguoge. 


[May 


point  of  view,  might  truly  be  called 
prehistoric.  So  &r  from  being  the 
result  of  repeated  observations, 
Kant  shows  that  what  he  means  by 
the  category  of  causality  is  the 
sine  qud  non  of  the  simplest  percep- 
tion, and  that  without  it  we  might 
indeed  have  states  of  feeling,  but 
never  a  sensation  of  somethmg^  an 
intuition  o{  an  object,  or  a  perception 
of  a  substance.  Were  we  to  accept 
the  theory  of  evolution  which  traces 
the  human  mind  back  to  the  inner 
life  of  a  mollusc,  we  should  even  then 
be  able  to  ren^n  Kantians,  in  so  far 
as  it  would  be,  even  then,  the  cate- 
gory of  causality  that  works  in  the 
mollusc,  and  makes  it  extend  its  ten- 
tacles towards  the  crumb  of  bread 
which  has  touched  it,  and  has 
evoked  in  it  a  reflex  action,  a  grasp- 
ing after  the  prey.  In  this  lowest 
form  of  animal  life,  therefore,  the 
category  of  causaHty,  if  we  may 
use  such  a  term,  would  show  it- 
self simply  as  conscious,  or,  at  all 
events,  as  no  longer  involuntary,  re- 
action ;  i^  human  life,  it  shows  itself 
in  the  first  glance  of  recognition 
that  lights  up  the  infant's  vacant 
stare. 

This  is  what  Kant  means  by  the 
category  of  causality,  and  no  new 
discoveries,  either  in  the  structure 
of  the  organs  of  sense  or  in  the 
working  of  the  mental  faculties, 
have  in  any  wav,  so  far  as  I  can 
see,  invalidated  nis  conclusions  that 
that  category,  at  all  events,  what- 
ever we  may  think  of  the  others,  is 
a  priori  in  every  sense  of  the  word. 

Among  German  philosophers  there 
is  none  so  free  from  what  are  called 
German  metaphysical  tendencies  as 
Schopenhauer,  yet  what  does  he  say 
of  Kant's  view  of  causality  ? 

'Sensation,'  ho  says,  *is  some- 
thing essentially  subjective,  and  its 
changes  are  brought  to  our  cog- 
nisance in  the  form  of  the  internal 
sense  only,  therefore  in  time,  i.e. 
in  succession.''    The  understanding, 


through  a  form  belonging  to  it  and 
to  it  alone,  viz.  the  form  of 
causality,  takes  hold  of  the  given 
sensations,  a  priori,  previous  to  all 
experience  (for  experience  is  not 
yet  possible),  as  effects  whidi,  as 
such,  must  have  a  cause ;  and 
through  another  form  of  the  internal 
sense,  viz.  that  of  space,  which  is 
likewise  pre-established  in  the  in- 
tellect,  it  places  that  cause  outside 
the  organs  of  sense.'  And  agaia  : 
*  As  the  visible  world  rises  biafore 
us  with  the  rising  of  the  sun,  the 
understanding,  by  its  one  simple 
function  of  referring  all  effects  to  a 
cause,  changes  with  one  stroke  all 
dull  and  tinmeaning  sensations  into 
intuitions.  What  is  felt  by  the  eye, 
the  ear,  the  hand,  is  not  intuitioD, 
but  only  the  data  of  intuition. 
Only  by  the  step  which  the  under- 
standing makes  from  effect  to  caose^ 
the  worid  is  made,  as  intnition,  ex- 
tended in  space,  changing  in  form, 
permanent  in  substance ;  for  it  is 
the  understanding  which  oombmes 
Space  and  Time  in  the  conoeptioQ 
of  matter^  that  is,  of  activi^  or 
force.' 

Professor  Helmholtz,  again,  who 
has  analysed  the  external  appazatns 
of  the  senses  more  minutely  than 
any  other  philosopher,  and  who,  in 
England,  and,  at  all  events,  in  this 
Institution,  would  not  be  denied 
the  name  of  a  philosopliery  arrives, 
though  starting  from  a  different 
point,  at  identically  the  same  re- 
sult as  Schopenhauer. 

*  It  is  clear,'  he  says,  '  that  start- 
ing with  the  world  of  our  sensa- 
tions, we  could  never  arrive  at  tlie 
conception  of  an  external  worid, 
except  by  admitting,  from  the 
changing  of  our  sensations,  the  ex- 
istence of  external  objects  as  the 
causes  of  change ;  though  it  is  per- 
fectly true  that,  after  the  oonoeption 
of  such  objects  has  onoo  been 
formed,  we  are  hardly  aware  how 
we  came  to  have  this  conception; 


»Liebmann,  Objccfivcr  AnlUck,  p.  114. 


18733  Lectures  on  Mr.  Darwin's  PhUosophy  of  Langiiage.  641 


becauBO  the  conclusion  is  so  self- . 
evident  that  we  do  not  look  upon  it 
as  the  result  of  a  conclusion.  We 
must  admit,  therefore,  that  the  law 
of  causality,  by  which  from  an 
effect  we  infer  the  existence  of  a 
cause,  is  to  be  recognised  as  a  law 
of  our  intellect^  preceding  all  eoj- 
perience.  We  cannot  arrive  at  any 
experience  of  natural  oWects  with- 
out having  the  law  of  causality 
acting  within  us ;  it  is  impossible, 
therefore,  to  admit  that  this  law 
of  causality  is  derived  from  ex* 
perienoe.* 

Strengthened  by  such  support 
from  opposite  quarters,  we  may 
sum  up  Kant's  argument  in  favour 
of  the  transcendental  or  d  priori 
character  of  this  and  the  other 
categories  in  this  short  sentence  : 

*  That  without  which  no  ex- 
perience, not  even  the  simplest  per- 
ception of  a  stone  or  a  tree,  is 
possible,  cannot  bo  the  result  of  re- 
peated perceptions.' 

There  are  those  who  speak  of 
Kant's  philosophy  as  cloudy  Grerman 
metaphysics,  but  I  doubt  whether 
they  have  any  idea  of  the  real  cha- 
racter of  his  philosophy.  No  one 
had  dealt  such  heavy  blows  to  what 
is  meant  by  German  metaphy- 
sics  as  Kant;  no  one  has  dnitwn 
so  sharp  a  line  between  the  Know- 
able  and  the  Unknowable ;  no  one, 
I  believe,  at  the  present  critical 
moment,  deserves  such  careM  study 
as  Kant.  When  I  watch,  as  far  as 
Ijam  able,  the  philosophical  contro- 
versies in  England  and  Germany,  I 
feel  very  strongly  how  much  might 
be  gained  on  both  sides  by  a  more 
frequent  exchange  of  thought. 
Philosophy  was  far  more  interna- 


tional in  the  days  of  Leibniz  and 
Newton;  and  again  in  the  days  of 
Kant  and  Hume ;  and  much  mental 
energy  seems  wasted  by  this  absence 
of  a  mutual  understanding  between 
the  leaders  of  philosophic  thought 
in  England,  Germany,  France,  and 
Italy.  It  is  painful  to  read  the 
sweeping  condemnation  of  Ger- 
man metaphysics,  and  still  more 
to  see  a  man  like  Kant  lectured 
like  a  schoolboy.  One  may  differ 
from  Kant,  as  one  differs  from  Plato 
or  Aristotle,  but  those  who  know 
Kant's  writings,  and  the  influence 
which  he  has  exercised  on  the  his- 
tory of  philosophy,  would  always 
speak  of  him  with  respect. 

The  blame,  however,  does  not 
attach  to  the  English  side  only. 
There  are  many  philosophers  in 
Germany  who  think  that,  since  the 
days  of  Hume,  there  has  been  no 
philosophv  in  England,  and  who 
imagine  they  may  safely  ignore  the 
great  work  that  has  been  achieved 
by  the  living  representatives  of 
British  philosophy.  I  confess  that 
I  almost  shuddered  when  in  a  work 
by  an  eminent  German  professor 
of  Strassburg,  I  saw  the  most  ad- 
vanced thinker  of  England,  a  mind 
of  the  future  rather  than  of  the 
present,  spoken  of  as — antediluman. 
That  antediluvian  philosopher  is 
Mr.  John  Stuart  Mill.  Antedilu- 
vian, however,  was  meant  only  for 
Ante-EIantian,  and  in  that  sense  Mr. 
Stuart  Mill  would  probably  gladly 
accept  the  name. 

Tet,  such  things  ought  not  to  be: 
if  nationality  must  stifi  narrow  our 
Bvmpathies  in  other  spheres  of 
thought,  surely  philosophy  ought 
to  stand  on  a  loftier  pinnacle. 


p  P  2 


542 


[Maj 


PEASANTRY  OF  THE  SOUTH  OF  ENGLAND. 
By  ▲  Wykehamist. 


THERE  were  kings  before  Aga- 
memnon, but  there  never  was 
a  president  of  a  labourers'  union 
before  Joseph  Arch,  for  which 
reason  we  must  say  a  word  about 
him,  in  the  great  toil  he  has  pro- 
posed  to  himself,  viz.  to  travel 
through  England  till  every  labourer 
has  heard  of  the  Union  as  a  pro- 
posed remedy  for  his  inadequate 
wages. 

Mr.  Arch  has  great  physical 
powers  of  voice  and  utterance,  and 
he  speaks  in  short,  terse,  Anglo- 
Saxon  sentences,  which  enable  him 
to  be  heard  at  a  great  distance. 
Whitefield,  it  was  said,  could  be 
heard  at  one  time  by  an  open-air 
meeting  of  thirty  thousand.  The 
writer  of  this  one  evening  last 
summer  was  at  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
from  a  spot  where  Joseph  Arch 
was  addressing  a  meeting  from  a 
waggon,  and  can  vouch  for  hav- 
ing caught  a  sentence  here  and 
there  of  his  address.  So  far 
as  we  have  read  his  speeches 
they  seem  temperate  and  to  the 
point ;  and  as  a  teetotaller  he  can 
speak  with  authority  on  the  possi- 
bility of  doing  hard  work  without 
beer  or  stimulants.  He  exhorts 
the  peasantry  to  make  their  cause 
strong  by  a  good  fund  for  defence, 
but  not  defiance  ;  he  repudiates  the 
idea  of  striking  for  wages  when  the 
hay  or  the  com  harvest  is  about. 
He  asks  *for  fair  play  with  no 
abuse,  no  intimidation,  and  no  re- 
taliation, and  in  the  better  times 
which  are  coming  (he  says  to 
his  fellow-workmen)  let  us  be 
temperate,  frugal,  and  united.'  He 
also  presses  strongly  upon  his  fol- 
lowers the  degradation  of  running 
to  the  relieving  officer  when  by 
chance  they  are  thrown  out  of  work, 
or  of  going  to  the  workhouse  in 


old  age.  If  he  shall  persuade  meir 
to  avoid  parish  relief  by  sobriety 
and  thrift,  who  shall  say  that  his 
mission  is  in  vain  ?  Hence  his 
biographer  argues:  *  From  Arch's 
work  the  farmers  have  eveiything^ 
to  gain.  Each  man  will  cost  them 
a  few  shillings  more  a  week,  but  as 
a  class  their  men,  being  better  fed,  I 
will  render  them  a  more  valuable 
service.  There  will  be  fewer  de-  i 
mands  upon  them  as  ratepayers,  [ 
since  there  will  be  less  of  tbat 
abject  pauperism  so  common  in 
our  rural  districts.  Nor  is  it  at 
all  unlikely  that  the  greater  cost 
of  labour  will  lead  to  a  more  ge- 
neral adoption  of  machineiy  and 
to  a  more  remunerative  class  of 
farming.'     {Life^  p.  80.) 

One  thing  we  must  notice  in 
starting.  It  is  repeated  ovct  and 
over  again  in  all  harangues  of  this 
kind,  that  farmers  should  pay  in 
money,  never  partly  in  beer.  Bnt 
this  assumes  that  the  farmer  gives 
beer  in  unnecessary  quantities  and 
to  save  his  pocket.  This  is  far  from 
being  the  case.  It  is  no  easy  task 
to  provide  fresh  sweet  beer  for  a 
large  body  of  labourers  in  Jnne 
and  August,  when  the  thermometer 
stands  high.  Then  there  is  nearly 
the  work  of  one  servant  to  draw 
and  fill  bottles  for  a  number  of 
men.  The  farmer  does  it  at  tbe 
men's  importunate  request,  to  save 
journeys  to  the  public-house,  often 
a  long  walk  in  remote  farms,  also 
to  save  the  men  the  temptation  of 
stopping  at  the  beerhouses  when 
they  go  for  their  beer,  and  chiefly 
because  men  can  work  on  &nn- 
house  beer  and  they  cannot  work 
on  the  stupefying  stuff  sold  as  malt 
liquor.  Home-brewed  beer  is 
seldom  to  be  found  now  in  the 
houses  of  the  upper  classes,  for  the 


1873] 


Peasantry  of  the  South  of  England, 


543 


risk  of  spoiling  a  Inrewing  and  the 
waste,  besides  the  trouble  and  ex- 
pense, have  driven  housekeepers 
to  resort  to  the  brewer.  There  is 
the  same  risk,  waste,  and  expense  to 
the  farmer,  besides  the  trouble  of 
serving  out  the  beer.  If,  there- 
fore, he  provides  home-brewed  for 
his  labourers,  it  is  reasonable  to 
iirgue  that  he  does  it  from  good 
motives. 

The  biography  of  Joseph  Arch 
hardly  exhibits  him  in  so  good  a 
light  as  his  own  speeches  do.  He 
has  not  found  a  Boswell  in  the  com- 
piler of  his  memoirs.  The  third 
chapter  of  this  book  describes  the 
exit  of  Arch  the  elder  from  this 
world  in  these  words :  *  Fifty  years 
a  worker,  thirty  years  a  ratepayer, 
a  life's  saving  of  four  shillings  and 
sixpence,  a  choice  between  the 
workhouse  and  his  son's  poor  cot- 
tage, eighteenpence  a  week  and  a 
loaf  for  two  months — this  was  the 
life  story  of  Arch  senior.*  '  (P.  38.) 
In  the  next  chapter  (p.  43)  we  are 
told  •  Arch's  dwelling,  which  is  his 
own,  having  been  left  him  by  his 
mother,  is  a  plain,  unpretending 
house  at  Barford  near  Warwick  ;  it 
is  somewhat  better  than  the  run  of 
village  houses.'  The  parish  is  con- 
sidered hard  upon  the  elder  Arch 
for  this  modicum  of  allowance  ;  but 
if  there  was  a  freehold  property  in 
the  shape  of  this  house  in  the  fa- 
mily, surely  the  guardian  of  the 
parish  of  Barford  was  right  in 
granting  but  a  little,  as  he  was 
dealing  with  other  people's  money; 
and  it  is  noc  clear  he  was  not 
breaking  the  poor  law  in  giving 
anj  relief  at  all.  If  Arch  had  been 
A  larger  ratepayer,  probably  he 
would  have  thought  the  guardian 
lavish  in  his  expenditure. 

Arch  the  younger,  the  hero  of 
this  biography,  having  emerged 
from  crow-scaring  at  fourpence  a 
<laj9  which  accounts  for  his  excel- 
lent lungs — ^the  exercise  of  Demos« 
thenes  on  the  sea  shore  shouting  to 


the  waves  was  nothing  as  a'  prepa- 
ration for  oratory  compared  to  Arch 
shouting  at  the  Warwickshire  rooks 
— at  ten  years  old  was  promoted  to 
be  a  ploughboy.  Ifthe  description  of 
the  sorrows  of  the  future  President 
of  the  Union  while  driving  plough 
is  true,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that, 
much  as  he  abused  that  exciting 
but  somewhat  vociferous  amuse- 
ment of  crow  keeping,  he  now  de- 
voutly wished  himself  back  again 
at  it.  Hear  what  his  biographer 
relates :  '  Sometimes  the  lads  driv- 
ing plough  can  only  get  along  in  the 
heavy  soil  by  hanging  to  the  horse 
gear.  Arch  says,  many  a  time 
when  he  has  been  clinging  as  for 
life,  the  horse,  teased  by  some  in- 
sect, has  switched  his  tail  and 
caught  him  in  the  face  with  such 
force  as  to  wound  and  nearly  blind 
him.'  We  don't  blame  the  horse  ; 
for  having  a  plough  heavy  to  draw 
in  land  such  as  this  is  described, 
the  animal  had  a  notion  that  Master 
Arch  might  walk.  If  Arch  had  said 
to  the  horse,  in  the  spirit  of  pro- 
phecy, *  Ceasarem  yehis '  —  *  You 
carry  the  President  and  founder  of 
the  National  Agricultural  Labourers' 
Union  * — probably  the  horse  would 
have  behaved  better.  But  to  con- 
tinue. ^  Now  and  then  the  stumb- 
ling, clinging  boy  will  drag  the  horse 
out  of  the  line,  and  so  endanger  the 
straightness  of  the  furrow ;  where- 
upon the  ploughman  will  hurl  a 
heavy  clod  at  him,  which  will  drive 
him  face  downwards  into  the  dirt, 
whence  he  will  rise  with  nose 
crushed,  or  eyes  blackened,  or 
mouth  and  cheeks  bruised  and 
bleeding.  Thus  at  least  Arch's 
ploughman  dealt  with  him.'  This 
certainly  lowers  one's  opinion  of 
the  working  man,  the  person  who 
in  other  places  is  described  as  the 
very  soul  of  nobleness  and  meek- 
ness. 

But  Arch  was  destined  to  sur- 
vive the  clod,  and  to  be  fined  ijs. 
because  he  endangered  the  whole 


&4A 


Peaiawtry  of  the  8<»Uh  of  England. 


[May 


poriBh  by  refusing  to  have  the  Go- 
vernment orders  of  yaccination 
carried  out  in  his  family. 

*More  recently  a  gentleman 
standing  high  in  the  county  sent 
for  Arch,  and  said,  "  Well,  Joseph, 
I  have  been  thinking  you  might 
like  to  improve  vour  condition. 
Yon  are  a  good  scholar,  yoa  have 
a  capital  knowledge  of  farming,  and 
as  a  bailiff  yoa  might  make  your 
20ol,  a  year.  What  do  you  say  ?  " 
"  Well,  sir,  I  should  like  to  improve 
my  condition,  and  I  know  very 
well,  sir,  that  you  want  me  to  be 
bailiff  to  a  friend  of  yours.  But  I 
could  not  improve  my  condition  in 
that  way,  in  accordance  with  one 
or  two  principles  which  I  hold  rather 
tight."  "  What  are  they,  Joseph  ?  *' 
"Well,  sir,  if  by  being  a  bailiff  I 
should  have  to  crush  and  ^rind  the 
men,  so  that  the  master  might  have 
more  money  out  of  the  estate,  I 
could  not  do  it."  '  So  Joseph  was 
not  made  a  bailiff. 

What,  then,  does  this  book  teach 
of  the  prospects  of  the  agricultural 
labourer  ? — that  they  are  hopeless  ? 
No.  But  that  a  man,  by  nature 
obstinate,  may  refuse  to  accept  all 
the  opportunities  of  bettering  him- 
self which,  according  to  this  biogra- 
phy, have  been  continually  turning 
up  for  Arch  in  spite  of  himself — may, 
in  open  disregard  to  Parson  Mai  thus, 
marry  at  twenty  years  of  age ;  yet 
still  shall  have  prosperity  thrust  on 
him  in  spite  of  all  this  to  such  an 
extent  that  he  shall  have  a  son, 
a  mere  boy,  already  a  colour 
sergeant,  a  daughter  married  to  a 
respectable  tradesman  (p.  54) — 
shall  have  a  following  greater  than 
that  of  both  the  Gracchi — shall 
have  his  expenses  paid,  and  an  un- 
limited supply  of  tho  cup  which 
cheers  but  not  inebriates,  and 
perhaps  end  by  having  a  statue 
erected  by  a  grateful  peasantry  to 
his  memory,  or  *  be  made  into  a 
tract '  for  the  Primitive  Methodists. 
Instead  of  saying  the  labourer  is 


in  a  bad  way,  we  rise  from  the  con- 
templation of  this  book  with  the 
notion  that,  as  the  author  of  Ginx's 
Baby  says,  '  To  the  able-bodied 
labouring  man  all  things  are  pos- 
sible.' 

That  much-enduring  person  ^  the 
labouring  man '  is  now  fiurly  before 
the  public.  From  not  having  been 
thought  of  at  all,  as  his  advocates 
say  (which,  however,  may  be 
doubted),  he  is  now  likely  to  pass 
to  the  other  extreme,  and  become 
the  hero  of  the  day.  He  ia  more 
talked  of  than  the  Queen  or  Prince 
of  Wales.  When  the  newspapers 
get  hold  of  a  man  now-a-days  his 
fortune  is  considered  to  bo  made. 
The  newspapers  have  got  hold  of 
the  working  man  with  a  vengeance; 
and  as  if  to  bo  got  hold  of  by  the 
newspapers  was  not  enough,  the 
working  man  has  got  hold  of  & 
newspaper.  Th^  Labourers*  Umou 
GhroniclCf  published  weekly  for  one 
penny,  circulates  largely  among 
Union  men.  In  a  village  in  the 
South,  where  wo  enquired  of  the 
local  secretary,  we  wero  told  it 
circulated  five  dozen  copies  in  a 
population  of  500.  Now  a  paper 
in  a  village  passes  from  hand  to 
hand,  and  therefore  has  much 
greater  influence  than  the  Telegraph 
or  Standard,  which  railway  travel- 
lers buy  and  leave  in  tho  carriages. 
Nor  is  it  only  that  each  copy  does 
so  much  service  in  this  kind  of 
village  paper,  but  the  faith  of  vil- 
lage reawiers  is  so  strong.  It  docs 
not  occur  to  the  illogical  mind  of 
Hodge  that  the  facts  may  probahlj 
be  invented  and  the  reasoning  &I^i 
or  that,  if  ho  could  hear  the  other 
side  of  the  questions  argued,  he 
would  know  how  little  trust  is  to 
be  put  in  ex  parte  statements.  Bat 
he  believes  with  all  his  heart.  If 
he  were  told  that  a  squire  had 
roasted  the  Vice-Presidents  of  the 
Union,  and  a  parson  had  lighted 
the  fire,  he  would  believe  it  It  is 
a  saying  in  country  places,  *  It  mast 


1873] 


PecLsaniry  of  the  South  of  Eiigland, 


545 


be  true,  I  saw  it  in  the   news- 
paper.' 

fiodge  therefore  being  of  strong 
&ith  and  a  gross  feeder,  the  food 
provided  for  him   is  strong  meat 
and  not   milk    for    babes.       He 
is  asked,  'What   right  have  the 
aristocracy  to  the    land?'   which 
might  be  answered  in  a  rival  paper 
(snppose  Hodge  could  be  got  to 
take  one)  by  a  series  of  artioles  on 
*What  right  has  the  labourer  to 
his  pig  when  he  has  paid  for  it  ?' 
'  What  right  has  the  labourer  to  the 
chairs   and  tables  his   father  leflb 
him  V  The  labourer  therefore  grows 
warm  under  the   stimulants  pro- 
vided for  hina  weekly ;  he  le&ms  to 
hate  England,  and  is  only  anxious 
to  shake  off  the  dust  of  his  feet  at 
the  door  of  all  the  squires  and  par- 
sons, and  to  set  out  for  Australia  or 
some  other  distant  place,  the  farther 
off  the  better,  where  he  imagines  he 
has  nothing  to  do  but  to  eat  colonial 
beef  steaks,  and  dwell  in  a  house 
with  a  spare  bedroom  for  each  of 
his  children,    forgetting   that    an 
industrious  man  can  live  in  E  n gland 
and  that  a*lazy  one  cannot  live  out 
of  it.    In  addition   to  the  papers 
getting  hold  of  Hodge,  a  Bishop  also 
has  got  hold  of  him,  and  we  know 
how  hopefully  Sydney  Smith  speaks 
of  any  work  in  which  a  Bishop  is 
concerned.  The  good  Bishop  Ellicott 
has  taken  hold  of  the  labouring  man, 
and  has  more  particularly  interested 
himself  in  the  political  agitators,  to 
whom    he    in    the    first    instance 
promised  a  cold  hath^  which  on  con- 
sideration   he    changed  for  a    hot 
'finmr  at  the  Palace  at  Gloncestcr. 
3^facaulay,  writing  in  1 848,  says :  *In 
the  times  of  Charles  the   Second 
philanthropists  did  not  yet  regard  it 
as  a  sacr^  duty,  nor  had  dema- 
gogues yet    fonnd    it    a  lucrative 
trade,  to  expatiate  on  the  distress 
of  the  labourer.      The  press  now 
often  sends  forth  in  a  day  a  greater 
quantity  of  discussion  anddeclama- 
tion  about    the    condition    of   the 


working  man  than  was  published 
during  the  twenty-eight  years 
which  elapsed  between  the  Restora- 
tion and  the  Revolution.' 

This  question,  which  Thomas 
Carlyle  twenty  years  ago  called 
'People  of  England  question,'  has 
long  been  heaving  below  the  surface, 
and  it  is  as  well  it  should  come  out 
and  make  itself  heard.  It  was  not 
likely  that  the  peasantry  in  an  age 
of  reading  would  be  the  only  class 
to  be  silent  and  contented,  and  it 
needed  but  some  one  with  ready  wit 
and  speech  to  become  the  spokesman 
for  the  class.  Joseph  Arch,  like  a 
modem  Spartacus,  was  ready  as  the 
leader  of  another  servile  war.  He  has 
been  thirty  years  a  total  abstainer 
from  spirituous  liquors,  which  is  a 
great  vantage  ground  in  addressing 
men  whose  weakness  is  public-house 
beer.  Professional  lecturers  of  more 
or  less  fluency  are  stumping  the 
villages,  and  retired  mechanics,  who 
have  learnt  the  lore  of  strikes  and 
unions  when  working  in  towns, 
occasionally  become  the  centres  of 
gatherings  in  the  villages  where 
they  live.  In  Cambridgeshire  and 
in  other  places,  a  man  with  some 
cottages  to  let,  a  shopkeeper  anxious 
to  do  a  better  trade,  and  occasionally 
a  publican  ambitious  of  a  quick 
draught  on  his  barrels,  puts  on  the 
ill-fitting  garb  of  the  leader  and 
friend  of  the  poor.  Trades-unionism 
of  all  kinds  (including  unions  of 
agricultural  labourers)  is  yet  in  its 
infancy.  And  a  very  ugly  infant  it 
is.  No  doubt  the  first  spado  was  an 
awkward  tool  to  dig  with,  and  the 
first  plough  did  not  handle  lightly 
behind  horses.  But  all  things  are 
capable  of  improvement.  If  you  see 
a  dealer  offering  a  very  gaunt  pig,  he 
describes  it  as  a  very  improving  pig^ 
being  a  sort  of  implied  compliment 
to  the  keep  of  the  person  to  whom 
he  offers  it.  It  has  had  a  bad  cup- 
board, but  with  yon  no  doubt  will 
be  well  fed  and  improved 
We  may  say  the  same  of*  unions  5  * 


546 


Peasantry  of  the  Bouih  x>f  England. 


[May 


they  of  all  things  are  improvable. 
At  present  they  resemble  Polyphe- 
mas,  bellowing  in  his  cave  with  his 
sightless  eye. 

Monstrum  hoirendum,  informe,  ingensi  cui 
lumen  ademptum. 

Bat  when  they  have  been  jostled 
and  probed  and  criticised,  they  will 
lose  their  angles  and  become  ronnd, 
like  stones  which  have  for  centuries 
been  the  sport  of  the  waves,  and 
are  become  smooth  pebbles. 

Combination  in  its  simple  form 
of  a  club  is  obviously  a  potent  force. 
In  a  London  club  a  man  of  moderate 
means  has  luxuries  which  a  prince 
may  envy.  Co-operative  stores  are 
an  acknowledged  success.  Natui'ally 
therefore  it  is  to  a  club  in  some 
shape  that  weak  units  will  look  for 
the  solution  of  the  difficulty  before 
us.  When  labourers  combine  against 
capital,  farmers  form  a  club  of  re- 
sistance— ^both  admit  the  principle. 
It  is  like  the  race  between  plate 
armour  on  ships  against  larger 
guns — each  improves — ^which  will 
ultimately  prove  the  stronger  ?  Pro- 
bably unions  will  be  better  ma- 
naged, and  see  their  true  interests, 
and  settle  down  as  normal  approved 
institutions,  in  less  time  than  it  took 
for  the  first  spade  to  become  a 
handy  instrument,  or  than  it  took 
to  develop  the  first  rough  idea  of  a 
plough  into  Howard's  or  EAnsome*s 
champion  plough.  No  one  can 
question  the  right  of  the  labourer  to 
form  himself  into  a  union  for  obtain- 
ing his  rights. 

Nor  is  there  any  sense  in  the 
reply  which  we  have  seen  put  forth  : 
if  the  labourer  wanted  more  money 
why  did  he  not  ask  for  it  P  If  he 
had  asked  as  an  individual,  he  would 
not  have  got  a  hearing,  and  indeed 
few  farmers  (however  well  disposed) 
woald  have  liked  to  take  the 
initiative  in  a  rise  of  wages.  It 
would  have  been  a  very  unpopular 
thing  to  do.  Nor  is  it  clear  that 
as  a  general  rule  fEtrmers  are  in 


a  position  to  pay  more  wages, 
unless  they  can  make  fewer  men  do 
the  work.  The  peasantry  of  England 
therefore  are  very  much  in  the  posi- 
tion  of  the  schoolfellows  of  the  big 
boy  who,  standing  overa  hamper  of 
cakes  and  oranges,  said,  '  Now,  then, 
those  who  ask  shall  not  have ;  those 
who  don't  ask  cannot  want*  This  is 
how  the  case  stands.  ^  The  labourer 
aforetime  had  not  asked  for  a  rise  in 
wages,  therefore  he  could  not  want.* 
Now  we  are  told  that  *  the  labourer 
is  a  complaining  party,  therefore  he 
shall  not  have.' 

Farmers  have  formed  Chambers 
of  Agriculture,  with,  a  Central 
Chamber  in  London,  to  discuss  the 
things  which  affect  them.  Thej 
enlarge  on  the  evils  of  over-pre- 
serving  game,  the  advantage  of 
tenant  right,  and  payment  of  oni* 
going  tenanto  for  improvemenis, 
the  wisdom  of  the  clauses  in  the 
Holkham  lease,  and  other  things  at 
their  fancy.  Clearly,  therefore, 
they  have  stopped  their  own  mouths 
from  saying  to  the  labourers,  when 
they  form  a  Union,  '  It  is  wrong  to 
combine  for  the  redress  of  grier- 
ances.' 

There  may  be,  however,  great 
reason  in  the  farmer  clatmin^  to 
himself  a  discretion  about  emploT- 
ing  Unionists,  It  cannot  be  denied 
that  a  member  of  a  union  has,  to  a 
certain  extent,  sold  his  freedom  bj 
subscribing  to  a  society,  and  becom- 
ing a  member  of  that  society,  which 
professes  to  lay  down  a  course  of 
action  for  him.  This  tyranny  his 
been  abundantly  exemplified  in  the 
strike  of  the  colliers  of  Wales.  If 
a  labourers'  union  was  strcmg 
enough  to  make  men  strike  con- 
trary to  their  wishes  (as  the  Union 
of  the  colliers  has  done),  a  &nner, 
in  hiring  a  Unionist,  would  not  be 
hiring  a  free  agent.  Men  who  talk 
most  of  hberty  are  those  who  sell 
themselves  first  for  slaves.  |I 
should  like  to  join  the  Union,  sir, 
if  you  have  no  objection.    Not  tiiat 


1873] 


Pecucmtry  of  the  South  of  England, 


547 


I  shall  ever  leave  7011,  and  I  am 
quite  satisfied  with  my  place  ;  hut 
you  might  die,  or  five  np  Arming, 
and  then  I  shonla  he  in  the  awk- 
ward position  of  not  belonging  to 
a  Union  which  would  prohibit  its 
members  from  working  with  non- 
union men.'  This  was  said  last 
summer  by  a  labourer  to  his  master. 
To  whom  the  farmer  replied,  *But, 
if  jou  join  the  Union  to-night  (as 
yoa  propose),  you  will  be  the  only 
man  out  of  twenty  on  this  farm  who 
will  be  a  Unionist.  Then,  suppose, 
to-morrow,  the  other  nineteen  say, 
"  We  non-Union  men  cannot  work 
with  you,  you  must  go  elsewhere;*' 
would  not  that  be  tyranny  ?  And 
yet  would  it  not  be  literally  carrying 
out  the  principles  of  what  you  call 
freedom  ?  '    He  was  silent. 

Everyone  is  anxious  to  put  money 
into  the  labourer's  pocket,  if  it  can 
be  done  without  taking  it,  in  an  un- 
fair proportion,  out  of  some  one 
else's  pocket. 

1.  We  want  to  see  clearly  the 
labourer's  position. 

2.  The  &rmer's  real  position. 

3.  The  landlord's  real  position. 
If  the  land  has  to  keep  these 

three  people,  in  their  several  states 
of  life,  in  order  for  either  of  the 
three  to  have  more  than  he  now  has, 
two  most  give  up  something,  nn- 
less,  indeed,  the  land  can  be  made 
so  much  more  productive  that  the 
fiBunner  can  pay  an  equal  rent,  and 
more  wagesy  without  being  a  loser, 
or  that,  by  two  labourers  doing,  when 
better  paid  and  better  fed,  the  work 
of  three^  wages  may  be  increased,  by 
fewer  hands  being  required  to  till 
the  land.  This  appears  to  be  the 
qnestion  before  us — let  us  try  to 
answer  it  fi&ithfully  and  fully. 

First  let  us  see  that  we  have  be- 
fore ns  a  fair  specimen  of  the  honest, 
&itliful  labourer,  having  long  lived 
under  one  master,  who  does  not 
treat  him  as  a  mere  machine.  There 
are,  thank  God,  hundreds  of  such 
men,  and  hundreds  of  such  masters. 
There  are  greedy  masters,  who  pinch 


their  men  to  the  lowest,  and  stop 
short  days  and  wet  days — more 
shame  to  them!  There  are  also 
servants  who  cannot  be  trusted 
out  of  sight  for  a  moment,  who, 
if  they  are  at  day  work^  loiter 
away  their  time,  and  if  they  are  at 
task  workf  scamp  the  joM — ^more 
shame  to  them !  But  these  are 
the  exceptions,  not  the  rule.  To 
say  there  are  such  of  both— masters 
and  men — is  only  to  say  that 
human  nature  wants  mending, 
which  nobody  denies.  The  ten- 
dency of  an  agitation,  like  that  of 
the  past  year,  is  to  pick  out  a  few 
specimens  of  the  most  degrading 
kind  of  masters,  and  to  bring  them, 
on  platforms  and  in  speeches,  before 
the  world  as  if  they  were  average 
specimens  of  their  kind.  In  this 
way  some  lean  Hodge,  serving  nnder 
a  bad  master,  is  put  into  the 
frontispiece  of  this  story  of  woe,  as 
Oliver  Twist,  with  his  basin  and 
spoon,  is  put  into  the  frontispiece 
of  the  immortal  fiction  of  Dickens, 
as  if  he  were  a  fair  specimen  of  a 
workhouse  boy. 

Let  us  avoid  this  scarecrow, 
tatterdemalion  Hodge,  who  is  only 
a  caricature  of  his  race,  and  bring 
forward  the  true,  respected,  cheer- 
ful labourer — his  countnfs  pride. 

The  great  trick  by  which  &lse 
and  unreal  Hodges  are  introduced 
in  declamations  on  the  woes  of  the 
peasantry,  is  by  the  suppressio  veri. 
The  proverb  justly  says,  *  Half  the 
truth  is  the  greatest  lie.'  Which  we 
may  illustrate  in  this  way^  An 
easy,  kind-hearted  squire  gave  to  a 
poor  man  a  pie.  After  a  few 
months  he  met  uie  labourer,  and 
said,  '  I  hope  the  pig  I  gave  you  is 
going  on  well  P'  To  whom  the 
labourer,  indulging  in  the  suppres- 
sion of  part  of  the  truth,  replied,  *  I 
am  very  sorry  to  say,  sir,  the  pig 
you  so  kindly  gave  me  is  dead ;'  but 
he  might  have  added, '  and  the  bacon 
is  up  the  chimney  drying,'  but  that 
woidd  have  spoilt  his  hopes  of 
another  pig. 


548 


Peasantry  of  the  South  of  England. 


[May 


We  are  (be  ifc  remembered) 
speaking  chiefly  of  the  southern 
counties  of  England.  As  you  tra- 
vel from  Kent,  westward,  through 
Dorsetshire  and  Devonshire,  we  are 
told  the  wages  decre^e.  If  Kent 
is  fiiirly  put  at  i2».  or  14^.  a  week, 
Dorsetshire  and  Devonshire  may 
be  said  to  possess  the  unenviable 
reputation  of  giving  los.  or  99. 
But  as  the  peasantry  seem  to  be  as 
well  dressed  and  as  well  fed,  and 
their  cottages  as  comfortable,  in  the 
taest  as  in  the  east,  there  must  be 
some  counteracting  influences  at 
work.  We  do  not  propose  to  go 
into  that  question,  but  to  take 
Hampshire  for  our  standard. 
Hampshire  is  the  centre  in  geogra- 
phical position  on  the  south  coast, 
and  is  reported,  as  to  its  wages,  to 
be  a  medium*  between  Kent  and 
Dorsetshire. 

Now,  how  can  we  best  arrive  at 
what  the  wages  really  are  of  an 
able-bodied  agricultural  labourer  ? 
What  the  earnings  of  a  family? 
What  the  variation  between  day 
work  and  piece  work  ? 

These  fecfcs  may  be  come  at  partly 
by  asking  what  are  the  wages  of 
railway  porters,  of  police  con- 
stables, and  putting  the  wages  of 
the  labourer  somewhat  lower.  In 
the  same  way  Lord  Macaulay, 
speaking  of  the  year  1685,  formed 
an  estimate  of  the  wages  of  the 
peasant,  by  ascertaining  the  pay 
and  beer  money  of  a  private  in  a 
regiment  of  the  line  at  that  time. 
But  from  the  wage  books  of  two 
or  three  fair  employers  of  labour, 
wo  can  come  at  the  exact  earnings 
of  men  in  a  certain  district,  and  it 
may  be  supposed  that  other  districts 
do  not  materially  differ.  For  the 
wage  of  a  county  is  tolerably  uni- 
form; and  if  some  formers  were 
willing  to  raise  the  price  of  weekly 
labour,  it  would  be  an  invidious  and 
unpopular  task  to  take  in  hand. 

Three  years  ago  a  paper  was 
read  before  the  Hants  Chamber  of 


Agriculture  on  the  earnings  of  the 
labourer  ;  and  in  the  debate  which 
ensued,  several  large  employers  of 
farm  labour  produced  their  wage 
books,  in  which  it  appeared  that 
(including  harvest  extras)  the  able- 
bodied  man's  wage  was  an  avierage 
of  16s.  a  week. 

Thus  much  of  the  individual. 
The  next  question  is,  taking  the 
average  of  several  large  families,  how 
many  members  of  tlm4:  family  bring 
in  money  on  Saturday  night  r  It  is 
often  stated  loosely  on  platforms, 
that  a  family  of  ten  children  has 
hard  work  to  exist  on  16^.  a  week, 
which  is  all  the  father  earns; 
that  if  you  deduct  for  rent  and 
fuel,  each  individual  has  to  exist 
on  about  a  penny  farthing  a  d&j. 
But  however  rapid  the  increase  of 
labourerB*  children,  there  cannot  be 
ten  children  who  are  all  a  dead 
weight  at  one  tima  on  the  fatiier's 
earnings.  As  families  increase,  so 
do  the  wages  of  the  femily  in- 
crease. Lads  go  out  as  plough- 
boys  very  early  ;•  and  if  they  bring 
only  2s.  6d,  or  35.  a  week,  it  is 
a  great  increase  to  the  weekly 
haul.  One  Httle  boy  who  earned 
3ff.  a  week  was  described  graphicaHy 
by  his  father  in  these  words — *  Ho 
earns  the  rent  and  finds  the  faeL' 
So  that  if  there  are  two  or  tliree 
boys  earning  perhaps  3.?.,  55.,  &?. 
each  per  week  respectively,  a  large 
family,  to  a  certain  extents,  rights 
itself  as  it  grows.  The  wages  of 
the  very  poor  will  be  injured  by  an 
Act  which  compels  boys  to  remain 
in  school  to  a  given  age ;  the  dednc- 
tion  of  the  little  plonghboy  at 
2s.  6d.  from  the  weekly  earnings 
will  be  severely  felt.  Nor  do  the 
farmers  like  it;  for  the  other  dav 
an  old-fashioned  smook  frock  fiinner 
said,  pointing  to  a  first-class  school 
in  a  country  district,  which  hy  its 
good  education  induced  boys  to 
stay  longer  at  school,  *  No  plongh- 
boys  to  be  got  fi)r  half-a-'crown  now ; 
them  schools  will  beih^Tuinof  V 


1873] 


Feasaniry  of  the  South  of  England, 


549 


Taking,  then,  twenty  cases  from 
a  wage  book,  we  find  one  case,  of 
a  fnan  in  work,  wife  m  work,  hav- 
ing no  young  chUdren,  four  boys 
in  work,  two  driving  a  steam 
ploagh,  one  at  each  engine,  and 
the  other  two  at  work  on  a  farm 
at  99.  a  week  and  harvest  wages ; 
the  boys  managing  the  two  steam 
engines  which  drive  the  steam 
plough  have  109.  a  week,  and  per- 
haps $d.  an  acre.  The  united  earn- 
ings of  this  family,  therefore,  would 
astonish  anyone  who  worked  out 
the  fignrcR.  But  we  only  quote 
this  as  a  £aiVOurable  case,  although 
it  has  not  arisen  from  any  extra- 
ordinary circumstances.  Except 
that  the  father  is  strong,  the  mother 
strong,  these  four  boys,  the  only 
children  of  their  parents,  all  doing 
well,  and  all  living  ai  home,  there 
is  nothing  out  of  the  way,  as  they 
live  in  the  village  whore  they  were 
bom,  and  have  no  advantages 
of  education.  Wo  quote  this  to 
show  that  there  is  hope  yet  for  the 
agricultural  labourer  by  thrift ;  the 
boys  in  the  femily  are  single,  and 
aro  saving  half  their  wages.  Of 
course,  they  may  at  any  time  settle 
and  have  families,  and  get  back  to 
the  old  story  of  a  large  family  and 
short  keep.  Even  now,  of  course, 
if  they  all  earn  as  men  they  eat  as 
men;  and,  in  fact,  this  ought, 
perhaps,  to  be  spoken  of  as  a 
number  of  households,  not  oiic,  as 
the  boys  pay  their  mother  so  much 
for  their  keep.  But  we  give  the 
facts,  honestly,  for  what  they  are 
worth. 

We  find  next  several  cases  where 
the  &ther  and  one  big  boy,  or  two 
small  boys,  bring  in  about  a  guinea 
a  week,  the  mother  earning  occa- 
sionally something.  Besides  this, 
there  is  harvest  for  man  and 
boys,  and  a  good  meal  for  all  at 
fiay  &nd  com  harvest.  The  meal 
consists  of  what  an  old  farmer 
c»lls  the  natural  food  of  the  la- 
bourer—  the    three     B*8,     home- 


cured  bacon,  home-made  bread, 
home-brewed  beer,  and  there  are 
many  things  worse  than  the  three 
B's.  The  incomes  of  these  families 
may  be  stated  to  be  Gol,  per  annum, 
and  no  house  rent  to  pay« 

In  several  other  cases  some- 
what similar  to  the  above,  the  man 
is  not  a  carter,  and  therefore  ho 
has  a  small  rent  to  pay.  But  then, 
as  he  and  his  boys  are  on  piece 
work  from  the  end  of  April  to  the 
end  of  October,  he  earns  consi- 
derably more  than  day  jpay.  The 
only  objection  to  piece  work  is 
that  the  carters  and  shepherds,  w^ho 
have  the  extra  hours  and  the  Sun- 
days, do  not  get  so  good  a  chance 
as  the  other  men.  But  this  may 
bo  obviated  by  allowing  the  carters 
and  shepherds,  if  they  have  not 
an  allotment,  to  do  some  turnip 
hoeing,  or  other  work,  after  they 
have  done  their  day's  work.  Why 
should  not  a  carter,  by  getting  his 
horses  into  the  field  of  a  summer 
morning  by  five  o'clock  before  the 
flies  are  busy,  have  done  his  acre's 
ploughing  by  two  o'clock — or  even 
earlier — and  earn  some  money  at 
task  work?  Our  readers  may  per- 
haps say,  What  jobs  are  there 
which  can  be  done  by  task  work 
in  these  counties  ?  Wo  reply, 
There  is  a  regular  succession,  which 
seldom  fails.  Bark  stripping  to 
begin  with,  at  which  men  often  earn 
il.  $8.  a  week;  ash  burning,  done 
by  the  hundred  bushels — if  fine  a 
man  can  earn  (at  4a.  6d,  a  hundred) 
perhaps  309.  a  week  ;  pea  hoeing ; 
hay  harvest ;  and  between  that  and 
corn  harvest,  turnip  and  mangold 
hoeing ;  seed  vetehcs  and  peas  to 
cut;  idter  harvest  storing  roote,  &c. 

There  are  cases,  of  course,  in  the 
beginning  of  a  man's  married  life, 
where  he  may  have  four  or  five 
children,  and  no  bread  winner  but 
the  fEither — the  wife  unable  to 
leave  the  children  to  earn  anything 
— ^these  are,  of  course,  cases  of  hard- 
ship.   But  without  wishing  to  say  a 


550 


Peasantry  of  the  S<yuth  of  England. 


[May 


word  against  early  marriage,  would 
not  the  curates,  the  jonng  barristers, 
the  clerks  in  LondoD,  be  equally 
poor  and  distressed,  if  it  were  the 
rule  with  them,  as  it  is  with  the 
peasantry,  to  marry  a  girl  of 
eighteen  without  a  shilling,  they 
themselves  being  about  twenty  and 
also  without  a  shilling  ?  If  the 
present  agitation  wakes  up  the 
thinking  powers  of  the  peasant,  we 
may  reasonably  hope  that  in  another 
generation  young  labourers  will  be 
more  thrifty,  and  such  as  to  place 
themselves  in  an  independent  posi- 
tion before  taking  a  wife.  As  the 
labourer  is  able  to  keep  a  wife  on 
his  wages,  he  could,  by  remaining 
single  a  few  years,  clearly  save 
<;onsiderably,  and  as  he  generally 
marries  a  maid-servant,  who  could 
also,^  on  the  wages  that  are  paid 
now-a-days,  save  also  something 
considerable,  they  might,  by  post- 
poning the  wedding  -  day  from 
twenty  to  twenty-five  years  of  age, 
reasonably  have  put  forty  or  fifty 
pounds  into  a  savings  bank.  In- 
stead of  that,  the  girl  has  put  her 
wages  on  her  back  and  head,  the 
man  has  put  his  down  his  throat 
to  help  the  malt  tax.  They  start 
with  no  furniture  and  one  week  in 
debt  at  the  village  shop,  and  (as 
credit  has  to  be  paid  for  like  any 
-other  commodity)  there  is  nothing 
which  takes  twenty  per  cent,  off  an 
income  like  a  village  shop-book — 
there  is  nothing  which  realises  the 
Scriptural  idea  so  forcibly,  that 
*  Unto  him  that  hath  shall  be  given, 
unto  him  that  hath  not  shall  be 
taken  away  that  which  he  seemeth 
to  have.'  While  the  rich  man,  by 
buying  largely  and  for  ready  money, 
gets  a  large  saving  in  his  chest  of 
tea,  the  poor  man,  by  having  to  solicit 
credit,  gets  tied  to  one  shop  and 
takes  home  his  ounce  of  tea  of  bad 
ouaHty  weighed  out  in  thick  paper. 
The  benefit  of  even  one  pound  saved 
to  start  with,  and  the  consequent 
independence    which     this     gives, 


having  the  week's  outlay  in  hand, 
in  the  choice  of  a  shop,  to  the 
thrifty,  those  only  can  tell  wb 
have  lived  in  contact  with  the  la- 
bourer in  his  every-day  cares  and 
sorrows. 

The  articles  which  the  labourer 
has  to  purchase  have  risen  by  the 
foolish  tyranny  of  the  trades'  union, 
working  on  the  same  principles 
which  the  labourers'  unions  are 
desirous  to  copy.  Coal  and  fuel 
are  dearer,  iron  goods  are  dearer, 
shoes  are  dearer,  and  shoes  are  a 
chief  article  to  ploughmen  and 
ploughboys  who  walk  sixteen  miles 
a  day  over  rough  ground.  Bat 
clothing,  though  not  wearing  so 
well,  is  not  much  dearer  ;  bacon  i2> 
only  the  usual  price,  as  pigs  have 
been  selling  for  6d,  a  pound,  not- 
withstanding  the  rise  in  beef  and 
mutton ;  and  tea  and  sugar  (part  of 
a  Liberal  Ministry's  untaxed  break- 
fast table)  are  cheaper  than  thej 
used  to  be.  Bread,  the  main 
commodity,  is  a  trifle  above  the 
average,  but  not  in  proportion  to 
the  demands  of  labourers. 

We  give  one  specimwi  of  the 
way  in  which  cases  of  hardship  are 
manufactured  for  declamations  and 
newspaper  articles. 

In  the  Labourers'  Union  Chronide 
of  November  9,  1872,  No.  12. 
in  an  article  headed  *  Notes  bj  tbe 
General  Secretary,'  we  have  the 
case  of  Louis  Humphrey  stated. 
He  was  one  of  300  labourers  who 
emigrated  to  Queensland  throng^h 
the  agency  of  the  Union.  He  is 
described  as  ha^ong  eight  children 
and  a  wife  to  support  on  13*.  a  week. 
This  was  noticed  by  his  emplojer, 
W.  B.  Tomes,  of  Western  Sands, 
Stratford-on-Avon,  in  BeWs  WtM^ 
Messenger^  a  farmers'  paper,  in 
the  early  part  of  January  of  this 
year.  His  total  earnings  turn  out 
from  the  wage  book  to  be  equal  to 
661,  i8«.  id,  in  the  year,  besides 
which  his  wife  and  children  for 
two  months  had  parish  relief  and 


1873] 


Peasantry  of  the  South  of  England. 


561 


medical  adyice  gratis.  But  bow 
about  tlie  eight  children  ?  When 
bis  wife  died  in  the  early  part  of 
1872,  he  married  a  young  woman 
with  three  illegitimate  children. 
He  was  not  a  reliable  servant  at  any 
time,  but  grew  more  and  more 
careless  after  he  joined  the  Union, 
took  more  frequently  to  the  public- 
hoQse,  and  ran  in  debt  at  shops 
where  he  could  get  trust.  As  the 
Secretary  of  the  Union  says,  *  What 
could  he  do  but  emigrate?  Hla  has 
done  the  best  thing  the  poor  fellow 
could.'  Certainly  both  for  himself 
and  his  late  master,  to  whom  he  was 
shepherd,  and  perhaps  for  the 
sheep  also,  not  to  mention  the 
young  woman  with  the  three  illegi- 
timate children. 

In  opposition  to  the  over-drawn 
pictures  of  rags  and  pover^  which 
the  Labourers*  Union  Ghranicle 
and  the  speeches  made  by  paid 
lecturers  have  brought  before  us, 
there  could  be  drawn  other  pictures 
widely  different.  Of  the  father, 
with  his  decent  cottage  and  large 
garden,  with  a  pig  in  the  sty  and 
another  on  the  shelf,  his  wife  per- 
haps taking  in  washing  or  going 
out  to  work  cbaring  or  in  the 
fields,  one  or  two  boys  at  work,  the 
others  receiving  a  first-rate  edu- 
cation for  a  penny  a  week :  the 
elder  boys  all  dressed  in  nice  cloth 
on  Sunday,  with  smart  ties  of  all 
colours  and  billycock  hats;  the 
girls  all  in  service  or  looking  out 
for  service,  and,  in  fact,  according 
to  their  status  in  Hfe,  far  less  un- 
real appearance  to  be  kept  up  than 
there  is  by  the  poor  governess  or 
the  fortuneless,  patronless  curate. 
And  all  this  notwithstanding  that 
the  father  and  mother  mated  (as 
the  poor  say)  when  they  were  mere 
boys  and  girls,  and  did  their  best 
to  set  at  nought  Parson  Malthus 
on  population  and  the  ordinary 
laws  of  political  economy. 

Without  doubt  there  are   cases 
of  distress  :   what  portion  of   the 


community  is  without  them  ?  Some 
there  are  who  end  their  days 
by  an  occasional  job  at  stone- 
breaking  on  the  roads,  and  have 
before  them  no  haven  but  the 
workhouse  and  the  grave.  How 
much  of  this  is  their  own  fault,  it 
would  be  a  long  story  to  describe ; 
in  some  few  cases,  perhaps,  it 
may  be  ill  luck  or  destiny; 
but  it  is  generally  traceable  to 
improvidence,  drink,  laziness,  or 
incivility.  Guardians  of  the  poor 
in  country  parishes,  and  who  are 
up  to  their  work  in  knowing  the 
details  of  every  case,  and  the  causes 
which  lead  to  applications  for  relief, 
would  do  a  great  deal  towards  the 
solution  of  these  questions  if  they 
could  but  record  their  experience. 

We  believe,  then,  that  though  the 
labourer  is  poor — and  one  would 
gladly  welcome  any  feasible  plan  for 
improving  his  wages — ^yet,  in  pro- 
portion to  his  station  and  what  is 
expected  of  him,  he  is  not  in  the  de- 
grading state  of  destitution  which 
agitators  make  out.  They  describe 
him  as  being  ill-housed,  clothed  in 
rags,  and  unable  to  do  a  fair  day's 
work  from  insuflBcient  food,  without 
anything  to  vary  the  monotony  of 
a  life  passed  in  the  bottom  of  a  wet 
ditch  or  drain,  and  without  hope 
except  in  the  workhoute  or  the 
churchyard. 

He  no  more  necessarily  is  in  such 
work  as  ditch  cleaning  or  wet 
drainage  always,  than  a  sportsman 
is  always  wet  through  in  a  snipe 
bog;  he  is  found  indoor  work  in 
bams  in  wet  weather. 

As  to  the  monotony  of  his  life 
and  its  having  nothing  cheering 
about  it,  how  is  this  ?  Compare 
him  in  the  ever- varying  round  of 
the  seasons,  watching  while  he 
works  the  co- working  of  nature  in 
the  perfecting  the  fruits  of  the 
vegetable  kingdom.  One  time  in 
peas,  another  in  beans,  then  in 
clover,  in  sandfem,  in  trifolium, 
in  com,  in  roots.    If  these  are  the 


552 


Peasantry  of  the  South  of  Englatid. 


[May 


things  to  superintend  and  watch, 
which  make  the  life  of  farmers  so 
much  to  be  envied,  why  should 
they  make  the  life  of  labonrers 
other  than  happy  ?  True,  the 
farmer  sees  his  own  gain  in  the 
well-doing  and  growth  of  crops, 
but  is  the  labourer  to  have  no  sym- 
pathy with  the  work  because  he  has 
no  direct  profit  from  it  ?  We  be- 
lieve, speaking  from  daily  expe- 
rience, that  the  labourer  does  enter 
into  it  and  enjoy  it ;  else  why  the 
use  of  the  word  we  instead  of  you? 
*  We  shall  get  the  prize  with  tilieso 
■  here  ewes,  I  do  believe,  this  year,' 
said  a  shepherd.  And  a  few  weeks 
before,  the  carter  said,  *  You  don't 
mind  my  putting  these  here  ribbons 
on  to  our  horses  when  I  goes  to 
market  ?  Our  four  chestnuts  be  just 
admired,  I  can  tell  you.* 

Compare  the  labourer's  life  with 
the  collier's,  or  the  factory  work- 
er's, or  the  iron  smelter's.  Then 
there  are  the  rise  and  welfare  of 
a  man's  own  children,  the  interest 
he  takes  in  his  own  pig  or  his 
garden.  Perhaps  there  is  a  village 
lending  library,  or  at  all  events 
what  Mr.  Disraeli  calls  the  ines- 
timable blessings  of  a  halfpenny 
paper. 

Nor  is  hope  wanting  :  men  who 
see  their  fellows  rising  to  be  drill- 
men,  to  work  a  steam  plough,  to  be 
foremen  on  off-lying  farms,  have  no 
reason  to  despair. 

Many  agencies  are  at  work  for 
bettering  the  poor  man's  condition. 
The  Licensing  Act  seeks  to  make 
him  more  sober,  the  Post  OfiGloe 
Savings  Bank  more  thrifty,  the 
Education  Bill  a  better  scholar.  The 
private  sympathy  of  individuals 
does  and  ever  will  do  more  than 
Acts  of  Parliament,  however  vnse  ; 
and  the  resident  squire  and  his 
family,  and  the  resident  pastor  and 
his  family,  do  more  for  the  poor 
man  than  the  world  generally  is 
ready  to  admit.  The  Labourers* 
Union  Oltronicle  defeats  its  own  ends 
with  the  most    intelligent  of  the 


peasantry,  because  men  who  hare 
felt  the  kindness  of  resident  gentry 
are  slow  to  believe  the  indiscri- 
minate abuse  of  squires  and  parsons 
with  which  this  paper  is  seasoned. 
The  dead  level  of  small  holdings, 
held  up  in  this  paper,  by  a  enb- 
division  of  property,  would  leave 
the  labourers  in  a  far  worse  oondiiion 
than  they  are  now,  and  would  plant 
in  England  the  evils  which  have 
been  the  curse  of  Ireland.  Leterenr 
man  be  true  to  himself,  and  we  see 
no  fear  for  the  future  of  the  agricul- 
tural labourer.  He  can  help  him- 
self better  than  charity  caai  help 
him.  Samaritanism  is  very  good  for 
the  man  fallen  on  by  robl^rs  and 
left  half  dead  by  the  wayside,  but  it 
will  not  take  the  place  of  self-help 
with  the  sound  and  able-bodied. 
Charity  is  only  the  workhouse  lys- 
tem  under  other  names.  '  Charity 
creates  much  of  the  misery  it  relicTes, 
but  it  does  not  relieve  all  the  muery 
it  creates.* 

We  must  consider  the  fanner's 
real  position.  It  is  said,  with  corn 
selling  well — ^wheat  at  64s.  a  quar- 
ter, barley  at  46^.  the  quarter,  and 
beef  and  mutton  at  a  shilling  a 
pound,  the  farmer  must  be  doing  so 
well  that  he  can  afford  to  raise  Es 
wages  thirty  per  cent.  If  this  pic- 
ture which  the  consumer  draws 
were  true,  we  admit  that  the  fenner 
might  and  ought  to  do  bo. 

We  except  from  this  discnssioD 
the  grass  land  farmer,  who  is  doing 
well,  no  doubt^  to  a  certain  extest, 
owing  to  the  rise  in  cheese  and  hot- 
ter, provided  his  dairy  and  oxet 
have  escaped  the  disease;  bnt  we 
except  him  for  this  reason,  that 
the  daizyman  and  the  grazier  hare 
very  Httle  to  do  with  labourers.  A 
man  and  his  wife  and  a  boy  can  look 
afber  a  dairy,  and  therefore  it  is  witL 
the  arable  land  fiarmer  that  we  bare 
to  do.  Hence  people  say,  *  If  wages 
rise,  we  must  put  down  onr  fields  to 
grasg.' 

The  arable  &rmer  is  almost  the 
sole  employer  of  labour.    The  qnes- 


1873] 


Peasantry  of  the  South  of  England. 


553 


tion  therefore  is,  have  times  been 
good  for  the  plough  land  occupants  P 
In  the  discussion  in  the  House  on 
Mr.  Clare  Sewell  Read's  motion  for 
a  Select  Committee  to  enquire  into 
*  The  Contagions  Diseases  (Animals) 
Act,'    much  was    said  which    the 
public  did  not  know  before,  though 
fanners  did   know    it   well.     Now 
look  back  through  the  last  decade  of 
years.      In  1^65  there  was  the  de- 
structive murrain.      In  1868  there 
was  a  fearful  drought,  all  the  hay 
and  all  the  roots  perished,  and  the 
sheep-breeders  were  obliged  to  sell 
their  breeding  ewes,  which  other- 
wise would  have  died  of  starvation. 
The  last  two  years  herds  and  flocks 
have  been  ravaged  by  two  epizootic 
diseases,  pleuromonia  (a  sort  of  ra- 
pid and  most  infectious  disease,  like 
consnniption  in  human  beings,  only 
that  it  kills  in  a  few  days),  and  foot 
and  mouth    disease,  which    draws 
animals  up  in  a  heap,  and  though  it 
does  not  generally  affect  life,  yet 
dries  np  the  milk  of  dairy  cows, 
takes  3Z.  a  head  in  a  few  days  off 
fatting  oxen,  and    108,  &  head  off 
sheep.     If  one  sheep  has  it,  it  takes 
perhaps  a  month  to  go  through  a 
flock,  and  then  leaves  them  a  set  of 
skeletons.     Nor  is  the  healing  art 
of  the  Veterinary  College  able  to  find 
any    remedy — Professors    Spooner 
and    Gamgee,    like  the  veterinary 
surgeons  of  Virgil's  time,  are  use- 
less. 

Cessere  magistri, 
Phillyridea  Chiron,   Amythaoniusque  Me- 
lampus.  (Georffic  iii.  $$0.) 

These  diseases  have  recurred  of 
late  jcars  so  frequently  that  they 
have  shaken  the  faith  of  breeders ; 
and  as  stock  is  so  expensive  in  con- 
sequence of  the  breeding  flocks 
being  done  away  with  from  the 
short .  keep  of  1866,  few  people 
have  the  confidence  they  had  in 
breeding.  As  lambs  are  killed  in 
^reat  abundance  at  three  months 
old,  and  as  sheep  are  slaughtered 
from  twelve  to  eighteen  months  old 


— owing  to  the  demands  of  an  in- 
creasing wealthy  population  re- 
quiring meat  at  a  shilling  a  pound 
— so  it  has  come  to  pass  that  stock 
is  dear  and  scarce.  But  though 
this  proves  national  wealth  it  does 
not  necessarily  show  that  the  far- 
mers are  doing  well.  If  a  man 
sells  his  mutton  at  a  shilling  instead 
of  sixpence  or  sevenpence,  yet,  if 
he  has  to  give  fif  teenpence  a  pound 
or  even  eighteenpence  a  pound  for 
lean  stock,  sheep  or  lambs,  it  is 
obvious  the  farmer  may  be  taking 
immense  sums,  but  still  be  making 
but  a  very  moderate  profit.  There 
is  something  to  be  said  in  reply 
about  breeders  of  lambs.  If  a  man 
breeds  his  own  stock  and  sells  it  at 
a  shilling  a  pound,  surely  he  must 
be  doing  well  ?  And  if  a  breeder 
of  sheep  has  fortunately  been  able 
to  keep  his  stock  tlirough  the  years 
of  drought  and  scarcity,  no  doubt 
the  turn  has  come  for  him,  if  he 
has  escaped  the  diseases  which 
overran  the  whole  South  district 
last  year.  If  a  man  has  to  give 
300Z.  for  a  hundred  stock  ewes,  for 
which  he  used  to  give  only  150Z.,  it 
is  true  he  may  turn  300Z.  by  his 
lambs  and  wool  for  the  year.  This 
shuts  out  the  small  farmers,  who 
have  not  capital  to  buy  sheep. 
They  give  their  root  crops  to  dealers 
and  men  who  have  large  flocks,  and 
are  glad  even  so  to  get  them  fed 
off  rather  than  go  to  the  trouble  of 
chopping  them  up  and  ploughing 
them  in.  This  drives  the  profit 
into  few  hands,  and  the  big  fish 
swallow  up  the  small.  A  man,  then, 
who  knows  a  neighbourhood  can 
form  a  just  opinion  as  to  whether 
farmers  are  doing  well.  If  he  sees 
men  chopping  up  fields  of  turnips, 
he  may  presume  it  is  not  because 
choppers  are  ch^apj  but  because 
sheejp  are  dear,  and  the  absence  of 
stock  to  consume  crops  is  a  proof 
that  farmers  have  not  the  money 
to  make  the  most  of  their  produce. 
If,  therefore,  crops  are  wasted,  and 


554 


PecLsaniry  of  the  South  of  JSngland, 


[May 


the  most  that  can  be  made  of  them 
is  not  made,  owing  to  what  we  have 
said,  and  the  expenses  on  land  going 
on,  we  may  fairlj  say  that  plough- 
land  farmers  of  small  holdings  are 
doing  badly.  Ask  the  land  agents, 
ask  the  country  bankers,  ask  land- 
lords who  have  small  arable  land 
farms,  and  they  will  tell  you  the 
same.  Ask  the  Secretary  of  the 
Boyal  Benevolent  Agricultural 
Society  how  many  applications 
there  are  from  broken-up  farmers, 
besides  the  500  now  on  the  books, 
and  you  will  find  this  corroborated. 

The  wealth  of  the  country  is  in- 
creasing— ^not  only  the  upper,  but 
the  artisan  classes  are  accustomed 
to  live  on  joints  of  fresh  meat — 
hence  the  price  of  beef,  mutton,  and 
veal  is  a  shilling,  while  pork  is  only 
sixpence  a  pound ;  and  if  you  offer 
to  sell  such  bacon  pigs  as  our  fore- 
fathers used  to  rejoice  in,  the  pork 
butcher  politely  says, '  Nothing  over 
100  pounds  weight— people  won't 
buy  fat  pigs  now — no  one  ever 
thinks  of  eating  anything  half  so 
coarse  now,  sir.' 

Then  having  got  thus  far  with 
the  snGtall  arable  farmer — ^how  about 
his  outgoings?  He  pays  tithes — 
now  tithes  are  up  many  per  cent, 
above  the  100 — ^by  a  rise  in  wheat 
of  late  years.  Perhaps,  then,  this 
rise  in  wheat  has  helped  him ;  no, 
there  have  been  heavy  blights — this 
year,  even  on  well-farmed  land,  the 
ears  were  only  half  filled  and  the 
crop  was  deficient  by  more  than 
one-third.  Four  sacks  and  three 
sacks  were  ofben  spoken  of  as  the 
yield. 

Then  historians  tell  us  that  the 
original  intention  of  tithes  in  their 
integrity  was  a  tripartite  partition — 
one  third  to  the  pastor,  one  third  for 
education,  one  third  for  the  poor — 
and  there  is  no  doubt  that  in  matter 
of  fact,  before  the  Beformation,  the 
monasteries  and  almonries  did  so 
use  the  tenths.  Now  the  farmer 
has  to  pay  tithes  which  the  pastor 
claims  as  his  own,  and  is  asked  for 


another  large  sum  for  poor  raies^ 
and  will  be  again  for  a  third  sum 
for  rate  schools ;  the  landlord  in 
all  such  rates  and  county  rates  kc. 
paying  only  on  his  house  and 
grounds,  the  tenant  being  taxed 
over  the  farm  he  holds.  So  that  it 
may  happen  that  a  large  landowner 
is  really  very  little  concerned  abont 
rates,  though  in  theory  it  depreci- 
ates his  property.  After  a  while  a 
road  rate,  on  the  abolition  of  turn- 
pike gates,  will  come  also  amongst 
the  tenant's  payments. 

Most  arable  farmers  on  small 
holdings  have  gone  into  their  farms 
with  what  even  when  stock  was  low 
was  an  insufficient  capital.  This 
capital  has  been  clipped  by  bad 
years,  blights  and  cattle  diseases. 
If  it  costs  three  pounds  to  hny  a 
stock  ewe  instead  of  thirty  shillings, 
a  capital  of  fifteen  pounds  an  acre  is 
required  to  take  a  farm  and  work  it 
properly.  When  it  was  said  ten 
pounds  an  acre  was  a  sufficient  capi- 
tal, many  people  took  farms  with 
about  hidf  this ;  clearly,  therefore, 
bad  times  have  found  out  their  weak 
point,  and  it  must  be  admitted  that 
many  small  farmers  are  worse  of 
than  their  labourers.  If  we  assume, 
then,  that  a  man's  wages  are  about 
twenty  per  cent,  above  his  rent, 
reckoning  wages  as  in  times  past 
a  small  farmer  with  150Z.  rent  in 
plough  land  has  iSol.  to  find  for 
WBjges. 

Our  conclusion  therefore  is,  that 
the  majority  of  arable  farmers  are 
not  in  a  position  to  give  more  wages 
weekly  to  their  men  unless  they 
can  get  fewer  men  to  do  the  work. 

It  is  quite  the  fact  that  here  and 
there  farmers  drive  their  carriages 
and  mix  in  expensive  society ;  bnt 
these  are  the  exceptions — ^sneh 
people  have  private  means,  or  have 
gone  into  good  farms  with  such  a 
heavy  capital — say  20,000?. — that 
seasons  have  not  afiected  them, 
they  have  been  able  to  average  the 
good  against  the  bad  seasons.  And 
H  men  of  these  means  had  invested 


1878] 


Peasantry  of  the  South  of  Uiigland, 


555 


their  large  capital  in  other  things, 
saj  in  breweries  or  the  Manchester 
trade,  they  might  have  been  entitled 
to  a  deer  park  or  a  grouse  moor. 
It  is  only  in  Warwickshire  that 
rapid  fortunes  are  made  by  the  very 
small  farmers.  Hear  what  Mr.  Arch 
told  a  labourers'  meeting  last  year : 
*I  remember  some  few  years  ago 
a  farmer  came  into  my  own  neigh- 
bourhood and  entered  upon  a  farm 
with  a  capital  of  200Z.,  as  he  told 
me  himself.  During  the  first  five 
rears  he  had  bought  himself  a 
fine  hunting  horse.  I  said  to  him, 
"I  should  judge  that  hunter  you 
have  bought  is  worth  150Z.  Now 
if  you  commenced  business  with 
200/.  how  is  it  that  you  could  buy 
that  hunter  ?  »"     (Life,  p.  19.) 

In  a  future  paper  we  will  discuss 
the  various  remedies  which  have  been 
proposed  —  co-operative  farming, 
allotments,  cow  runs,  piece  work, 
and  *many  other  things — which, 
though  neither  of  them  will  work  in 
all  cases,  or  can  be  considered  a 
specific  to  cure  the  insufficient  in- 
comes of  the  peasantry,  yet  each 
may  do  something ;  and  by  a  long 
pull,  a  strong  pnll,  and  a  pull  all  to- 
gether, *the  people  of  England's 
condition,'  as  Carlyle  calls  it,  may 
not  be  suffered  to  remain  in  its 
present  state,  but  may  see  better 
times.  This  upheaving  of  the  lower 
strata  of  society,  like  the  upheavings 
of  an  earthquake,  cannot  leave  the 
world  exactly  as  it  was  before.  It 
behoves  the  middle  and  upper 
classes  so  to  study  the  nature  and 
protect  the  rights  of  the  cottier, 
that  he  shall  of  his  own  accord  say 
to  the  Agitator,  *  I  do  not  want  you 
—your  occupation  is  gone — I  am 
satisfied.' 

The  question  of  the  agricultural 
labourer,  much  as  it  presses  upon 
us  now  for  a  solution,  will  become 
more  pressing  as  population  hu 
creases.  The  farmer  cannot  do  all, 
though  he  can  do  much.  Let  it  be 
remembered  that  many  masters  do 
now  keep  on,  in  the  winter  months, 

VOL.  VII. NO.  XLI.      NEW  SERIES. 


more  hands  than  they  require  for 
their  actual  staff,  and  this,  though  it 
maybe  done  from  expediency  in  part, 
must  not  be  overlooked.  Many 
farmers  have  said  very  practically 
to  the  men  something  of  this  sort, 
'  I  have  only  a  certain  sum  to  spend 
in  labour :  if  you  want  more  per 
week  in  the  summer,  there  will  be 
less  to  divide  amongst  you  in  winter ; 
or  if  you  want  more  wages  all  the 
year  round  (as  I  have  only  such  a 
margin  between  expenses  and  living, 
that  you  can  have,  without  making 
me  a  bankrupt),  you  must  divide 
what  there  is  amongst  a  smaller 
number.  If  ten  can  do  the  work  of 
twelve,  then  by  all  means  do  it  and 
take  the  wages  of  twelve.'  And  by 
a  judicious  system  of  piece  work, 
applied  to  all  things  to  which  it  is 
applicable,  much  can  be  done  in 
this  way.  It  is  hard  upon  the 
carters  and  shepherds,  as  you  can- 
not pay  them  by  the  acre,  or  the 
rod;  if  you  did, the  carter  would 
soon  kill  his  horses,  ploughing  two 
acres  a  day  instead  of  one,  and 
the  shepherds  would  soon  run  the 
hurdles  over  a  field  of  turnips  and 
surfeit  your  sheep.  But  we  have 
shown  how^ — and  it  is  our  own  plan, 
practised  for  many  years  —  this 
may  be  obviated,  by  letting  piece 
work  to  carter  and  shepherd,  say 
a  bit  of  turnip  hoeing  close  to 
his  cottage  after  he  has  done  his 
day's  work;  or  by  giving  him 
a  few  rods  of  ground  close  to 
his  cottage  to  cultivate,  which  on  a 
large  plough  farm  would  be  only  a 
trifling  sacrifice,  and  would  restore 
the  balance  between  him  and  the 
other  men  who  were  going  ahead 
by  piece  work.  Some  few  masters 
are  so  niggardly  that  they  begrudge 
paying  a  man  on  Saturday  night  a 
large  sum,  even  though  he  has 
earned  it  by  task  work.  They  say, 
'This  comes  heavy  upon  me  on 
Saturday  nights,  I  cannot  stand  it  ;* 
but  if  the  result  be  looked  at,  it  is 
in  the  farmer's  favour,  because  if 
he  has  ten  acres  of  turnips  to  set 

QQ 


556 


Peasaidry  of  the  South  of  England. 


[May 


oat,  and  they  are  ree^y,  the  sooner 
it  is  done  the  better.  And  if  fewer 
men  can  perform  the  work  and  get 
oyer  the  field,  he  will  have  fewer 
hands  to  provide  for  in  winter. 
But  this  requires  reason,  and  some 
men  have  not  the  faculty  of  reason- 
ing. They  look  at  the  cash  passing 
out  of  the  pocket,  and  they  feel  it 
like  having  a  tooth  drawn. 

Still,  snpposing  masters  to  co- 
operate well  with  men  in  setting  to 
work  on. a  good  system  of  piece 
work,  and  the  result  was  th^i  fewer 
men  did  the  work,  then  the  old  and 
feeble  would  be  driven  out  of  work. 
A  certain  number  of  people  live  in 
a  village  or  on  an  estate,  and  they 
must  be  all  employed.  Here,  there- 
fore, unless  other  agencies  come  to 
hand,  we  are  on  the  horns  of  a  di- 
lemma. 

We  believe  most  thoroughly  that 
land  is  only  half  farmed.  If  every 
man  who  had  400  acres  was  driven 
to  spend  the  same  money  on  200, 
and  the  200  acre  man  driven  to 
1 00  acres,  they  would  all  do  better. 
If  80  much  rent  and  so  much 
tithe  and  taxes  is  to  be  paid 
on  every  acre,  the  most  ought 
to  be  made  off  each  acre.  But  this 
is  difficult  in  practice,  because  it 
j^  hard  to  turn  out  old  tenants ;  and 
if  you  did,  could  another  race  be 
got  with  double  or  treble  the  ca- 
pital to  take  the  farms  ?  A  farmer 
naturally  holds  on  to  the  last»  be- 
cause no  one  is  so  notoriously  unfit 
for  any  other  profession  as  a  broken- 
down  farmer.  There  is  no  doubt 
that  the  average  of  small  plough 
land  farmjers  cannot  show  a  capital 
of  five  pounds  per  acre;  and  it  is 
equally  certain  that,  to  make  the 
most  of  the  land  at  the  present 
price  of  stock,  they  ought  to  have 
111.  or  15L 

A  Bill  is  before  the  House,  intro- 
duced in  a  very  practical  manner 
by  Mr.  James  Howard,  having  for 
its  object  a  better  relation  between 
landlord  and  tenant.  It  is  argued, 
if  men  had  better  security  by  leases 


(which  are  to  bo  made  transferable) 
and  compensation  for  all  improve- 
ments— in  fact,  a  sort  of  tenant 
right — they  would  invest  money 
more  freely  in  land,  and  no  doubt 
they  would.  The  only  difficulty 
we  have  always  seen  in  the  prac- 
tical working  of  any  such  measure, 
comes  on  the  landlord's  side  of  the 
question.  If  the  tenant  had  infinite 
security  to  give,  the  question  would 
bo  fair  on  both  sides.  But  suppose 
the  case  (not  an  uncommon  one)  of 
an  unsatisfactory,  spendthrift  tenant 
getting  hold  of  a  farm  for  twenty- 
one  years ;  the  landlord  then  has 
parted  with  his  estate  for  thattenn 
of  years,  and  in  fact  might  as  veil 
not  be  the  possessor  of  it,  as  he 
could  get  better  interest  in  other 
securities. 

But,  fancying  land  as  a  securify, 
a  gentleman  buys  an  estate.  He 
grants  leases  of  twenty-one  years  to 
abody  of  tenants — leases,  rememb^, 
which  they  can  dispose  of  to  other 
tenants,  so  that,  if  the  first  senet  of 
tenants  are  good  and  moneyed  men, 
the  second  may  possibly  not  he  so. 
At  the  end  of  a  term  of  years  the 
leases  fall  in ;  if  the  land  is  im- 
proved, the  landlord  has  to  pay,  or, 
what  is  the  same  thing,  find  another 
tenant  who  will  pssy,  for  the  im- 
provements. But  suppose  tite  re- 
verse to  be  the  case — ^the  land 
worked  out  and  the  tenant  in  diffi- 
culties. Who  is  to  make  up  the 
compensating  money  to  the  lazid- 
lord  P  And  if  this  is  so,  is  it  not  a. 
fBLBi  and  loose  agreement?  Is  it 
not  a  tenant  right  without  a  Icmdbret 
right? 

We  look,  however,  for  some  solu- 
tion of  the  difficulties  in  this^ 
measure  from  the  very  practical 
men  in  whose  hands  it  is  admi^g^ 
and  holding  most  firmly  the  prina- 
ple  that  security  for  outlay  would 
induce  men  to  farm  more  expesi^ 
sively.  A  good  measure  of  this  sort, 
when  it  had  become  universally  the 
law  of  the  country,  would  let  Jooae- 
capital  into  the  soil— just  as  vitnol 


1873] 


Peasantry  of  the  South  of  England. 


557 


ponred  on  bone  lets  loose  the  phos- 
phates. This,  no  doubt,  yviA  act 
beneficially  to  the  poor  man's  in- 
terest— ^in  a  better  style  of  farming 
it  is  to  be  hoped  the  cmmbs  of  the 
rich  man's  table  will  fall  to  the 
labourer,  and  an  improved  sys- 
tem of  husbandry  will  elevat'O  the 
social  status  and  the  income  of  the 
cottager. 

Those  *  who  are  not  in  the  ring,* 
meanwhile,  have  a  very  small  notion 
(if  indeed  any  notion  at  all) 
of  the  proportion  wages  on  an 
arable  fann  ought  to  bear  to  the 
other  expenses  of  that  farm.  We 
have  often  asked  this  question  of 
intelligent  men,  who  on  most 
points  are  well  informed,  men  who 
live  in  the  country,  landlords  who 
have  tenants,  and  most  people  say, 
*  I  never  thought  on  the  subject — I 
have  no  notion  ;*  others  say,  *  Half 
the  rent,'  or  *  A  quarter  of  the  rent.* 
Thia  shows  how  little  right  out- 
siders, who  are  not  concerned  in  the 
matter,  have  to  dictate  what  tenant 
farmers  ought  to  do.  Ton  often 
hear  it  said,  •  Why  don't  they  give 
the  poor  fellows  who  work  for  them 
more  ?  What  would  it  hurt  them  to 
raise  the  wages  three  or  four  shil- 
lings a  week  P  '  This  is  rather 
like  Sydney  Smith's  illustration  of 
charity.  A  says  to  B,  *  Don't  you 
observe  C  has  no  ftiel  P  Ask  D  to 
give  him  some.' 

But  if  a  practical  man,  answering 
one  who  gives  this  sort  of  advice  to 
a  third  party,  explains  that  on  a 
farm  wholly  arable  (if  well  done) 
the  wages  come  to  twenty  per  cent, 
more  &an  the  rent  (so  that  if  a 
man's  rent  is  200Z,  his  wages  would 
be  fairly  estimated  at  240Z,  per  an- 
num), then  the  original  speaker 
says,  *  Very  likely  it  is  so,  although 
I  should  not  have  thought  it.  Of 
course  that  makes  a  difierence — the 
case  wants  consideration.' 

If  it  is  shown  him  further  that 
the  very  small  farmers  (the  twenty 
or  thirty  acre  men)  are  worse  off 
than  the  labourers,  and  that  the 


arable  farmers,  except  the  very 
large  flock  masters,  are  with  diffi- 
culty able  to  raise  the  money  to 
meet  the  Saturday  nights,  even  on 
the  present  scale  of  wages,  then  he 
says,  '  The  landlord,  then,  must  re- 
duce the  rent ;  if  the  tenant  cannot 
help  ^elahourer,  some  one  else  must 
— the  landlord  must.*  There  is  too 
much  disparity  between  the  very 
rich  and  the  very  poor;  the 
fipont  wheel  of  society's  coach  has 
run  away  from  the  hind  one.  Why, 
if  the  millionaire  were  to  shake  off 
tyrant  fashion,  and  dispense  with 
only  the  entries  at  his  dinner,  he 
would  enjoy  his  dinner  a  great  deal 
more ;  his  cook  would  be  in  better 
temper,  and  come  to  him  for  less 
wages ;  the  people  who  dined  with 
him  would  feel  that  there  was  some 
chance  of  enjoying  the  turkey  and 
the  joint ;  and  his  neighbours  m  the 
classes  beneath  (who  owe  debts,  like 
Mrs.  Mardle,  to  the  lower  circles  of 
society)  would  say,  *  Well,  we  will 
not  make  ourselves  miserable  all 
the  rest  of  the  Week  by  eating 
warmed-up  entries,  for  if  the  Dake 
of  Omnium  does  not  consider  them 
necessary,  then  they  are  not  neces- 
sary, and  we  will  give  our  parties 
without  entrdes.' 

To  this  we  have  very  little  to  re- 
ply. The  sumptuary  laws  of  Ed- 
ward the  Third,  which  limited 
meals  on  ordinary  days  to  two  courses 
and  on  festivals  to  three  courses — 
passed  by  the  nobility  and  great 
men  of  that  age  —  show  at  least 
how  fashion  dared  in  those  ages  to 
speak  up  for  Spartan  simplicity  of 
diet. 

Tet  it  must  be  stated  that  under 
large  territorial  proprietors  and 
public  bodies,  farms  are  likely  to  be 
more  easily  rented  than  under  small 
holders,  who  have  to  keep  their  own 
place  in  the  social  scale  by  making 
the  utmost  of  their  moderate  pro- 
perties. There  are  more  tenants 
than  farms,  and  hence  farms  fetch 
a  high  price,  because  the  tenants 
who  want  farms  can  turn  their  hands 
Q  Q  2 


5&8 


Peasantry  of  the  South  of  England. 


[May 


to  nothing  else  than  farming,  and 
80  are  obliged  to  bid  against  each 
other  whenever  a  vacancy  occnrs. 
Yet  even  if  farms  were  let  by  tender, 
a  still  higher  price  might  in  many 
cases  be  obtained,  because  a  greater 
competition  would  be  brought  to 
bear.  But  this  is  not  good  poKcy, 
for  the  highest  bidder  may  often 
be  far  from  the  best  farmer,  and 
evil  consequences  naturally  follow 
upon  an  estate  which  is  over-rented. 
As  rent  goes  up,  so  do  rates — for 
assessments  are  from  time  to  time 
made  with  increased  severity  upon 
improved  property — and  rent  is  the 
chief  basis  from  which  assessors 
derive  the  data  on  which  to  form 
their  new  calculation  of  the  value  of 
an  estate  or  farm. 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that 
those  who  seek  the  cheerful  out- 
door life  of  agriculture  are  an  in- 
creasing body.  The  younger  sons 
of  great  proprietors,  now  that  farm- 
ing is  admitted  to  be  raised  by 
science  out  of  the  mire  of  vulgar 
pursuits,  are  finding  it  a  more 
suitable  pursuit  than  the  risk  of 
earning  a  livelihood  in  the  learned 
professions.  What  Cicero  said  of 
old  is  now  admitted :  *  Agricultura 
nihil  suavius,  nihil  libero  homine 
dignius.'  And  what  wonder  ?  Com- 
pare the  man  who  toils  within  the 
narrow  confines  of  an  office  with 
the  agriculturist.  Look  at  the 
different  life  which  a  man  leads 
at  a  desk  over  ledgers  to  what 
he  does  who  becomes  a  fellow 
worker  together  with  nature  and 
the  seasons  in  the  cultivation  of  the 
soil.  For  though  in  one  sense  any- 
one can  be  a  farmer  (we  should 
rather  say  anyone  can  rent  land), 
yet  to  follow  out  agriculture  to  its 
highest  ends  needs  the  tact  and  the 
grasp  of  intellect  which  can  *  drive 
.all  the  sciences  abreast,* 


There  is  hope  in  a  Bill  proposed 
by  Sir  Massey  Lopez  and  others  for 
deriving  the  taxation,  which  now 
falls  on  land,  from  a  wider  area. 
Truly  the  answer  to  all  taxation 
has  hitherto  been,  ^  Put  U  mi  the. 
land.*  The  Duke  of  Omnium  pays 
only  on  his  castle,  his  park,  and 
woods — his  tenants  pay  the  rates. 
And  though,  in  one  sense — or, 
rather,  we  should  say  in  theoiy— 
every,  fresh  rate  comes  out  of  the 
landlord's  pocket,  because  it  is 
supposed  to  reduce  the  value  of  his 
estate,  and  consequently  to  lower 
the  rent,  yet  it  is  a  matter  of  every- 
day experience  that  this  is  not  the 
case.  The  argument  is  that  which 
was  used  about  the  repeal  of  the 
compulsory  Church  Bate  Act.  It 
was  said,  if  you  save  a  tenant  ten 
shillings  by  doing  away  with  his 
Church  rate  you  put  ten  shillings 
into  the  landlord's  pocket,  becaase 
his  farm  will  be  worth  ten  shillings 
more  when  he  re-lets  it.  But  this 
does  not  operate  in  practice,  because 
*  De  minimis  non  curat  lex.'  We 
never  heard  of  any  landlord  asking 
less  for  his  farm  because  it  was  not 
liable  to  a  compulsory  Church  rate. 
It  is  so  de  jure,  but  not  de  facUx 

Apply  the  same  reasoning  in  the 
converse,  and  the  case  holds  good. 
We  are  to  have,  in  most  parishes, 
an  education  rate — where  turn- 
pikes are  abolished,  a  road  rate— in 
addition  to  our  present  rate  for 
parish  roads.  People  say  it  will 
come  ultimately  out  of  the  owner's 
pocket,  not  the  tenant's.  We  doubt 
it. 

The  land,  therefore,  is  heavily 
taxed.  Under  its  present  stress  of 
canvas  it  might  sail — ^if  everyone 
had  capital  to  make  his  land  a  meat 
producing  estate — growingbut  little 
corn,  and  then  heavy  crops  as  a 
natural  consequence. 


1873] 


559 


GERARD   DE    NERVAL. 
1810-1855. 


THE  recent  death  of  M.  Th^opliile 
Gaatier,  with  scarcely  that  fnll- 
ness,  either  of  years  or  of  honours, 
which  his  genius  and  puissant  nature 
seemed  to  promise,  calls  attention 
to  the  school  of  artists  of  which  he 
was  almost  the  last  survivor,  the 
most  fiunous,  and  the  most  success- 
M.  Time  has  dealt  hardly  with 
the  romantic  group  which,  forty 
Tears  ago,  was  so  full  of  life  and 
hope.  The  poets  have  died  one  by 
one,  victims  of  pleasure,  of  the  sa- 
tiety and  insatiable  eagerness  of 
their  lives ;  or  the  poet  within  them 
is  dead,  and  they  exist,  like  M.  de 
Saint- Victor,  only  as  the  most  re- 
fined of  critics.  They  are  sad  books, 
with  all  their  light  tone,  in  which 
M.  de  Villemessant  and  M.  Champ- 
fleory  collect  their  memories  of  the 
old  feasts  and  the  old  boon  com- 
panions, masquerades  in  houses 
long  dismantled,  nights  like  those 
of  Groethe's  youth  in  Rome.  It  is 
of  one  of  that  group  —  the  least 
known  perhaps  in  England,  but  in 
^obhj  ways  the  most  attractive,  and 
of  the  most  amiable  memory — ^that 
this  paper  proposes  to  speak.  In 
writing  of  Gerard  de  Nerval,  it  is 
a  necessary  preliminary  to  say 
something  of  the  origin  and  influ- 
ence of  the  movement  in  which  his 
career  began,  though  he  wandered 
far  from  that  at  last,  and  from  other 
ties  of  society  and  sympathy. 

The  younger  school  of  thought 
and  art  in  SVance,  like  that  from 
vhich  much  of  our  later  English 
activity  springs,  received  its  main 
impulse  from  the  study  of  the  Mid- 
dle Ages.  But  no  two  things  could 
he  more  unlike  than  the  manner  in 
which  this  same  influence  acted  on 
the  youth  of  the  two  countries.  It 
was  all  the  difference  between  an 
Oriel  common  room  in  the  time  of 
Newman  or  of  Clough;   and  the 


famous  studio  in  the  Rue  du 
Doyenn6,  where  Gorot  or  Rousseau 
might  be  decorating  a  panel ;  Gau- 
tier  dreaming  over  La  ComSdie  de 
la  Mort;  and  La  Cydalise,  the 
beauty  of  the  hour,  swinging  in  a 
silken  hammock.  On  young  En- 
glishmen the  re-discovery  of  the 
past  acted  chiefly  as  a  'motive  in 
politics,  religion,  the  study  of 
society.  It  was  generally  seen  that 
life  had  once  been  ordered  in  an- 
other than  our  modem  fashion ;  and 
the  knowledge  of  this,  and  the  effort 
to  revive  what  was  good  in  the  old 
order,  led  men  into  various  paths, 
and  often  into  hostile  camps,  but 
always  survived  in  width  and 
seriousness  of  thought,  and  in  all 
that,  for  good  or  bad,  is  known  as 
earnestness.  Ten  years  ago,  any- 
one estimating  the  results  of  the 
Oxford  movement  and  its  causes, 
might  have  given  himself  this  ac- 
count of  it,  and  might  have  added 
that  in  architecture  there  was  much 
imitation  of  the  Gothic,  and  that 
Mr.  Tennyson  had  chosen  medieeval 
themes  for  some  of  his  most  grace- 
ful idyls.  Of  late  years,  the  rela- 
tion of  English  art  to  the  Middle 
Ages  has  entirely  changed,  but  the 
change  is  due  to  exotic  influences, 
and  greatly  to  that  of  the  Roman- 
tic School  of  1830,  in  France. 

France,  too,  had  her  Catholic  re- 
action, and  Mr.  Thackeray  saw  se- 
veral old  women  at  prayers  in  Notre 
Dame.  But  in  France  it  was  not 
so  much  religion,  politics,  and  the 
graver  literature,  that  were  stimu- 
&ted  by  a  recognition  of  the  har- 
monious thought,  the  strength  and 
order  of  feudalism,  and  Catholicism, 
as  art  that  was  coloured  by  the  re- 
flection of  the  fantasy,  the  wild  pas- 
sion, the  inner  contitidictiohs  of  the 
medisBval  times. 

A  number  of  young  men  of  un- 


560 


Oerard  de  Nerval. 


[Ma  J 


nsual  genios  were  entering  on  the 
career  of  letters.  Thej  had  inhe- 
rited all  the  license,  hut  none  of  the 
hope  of  the  Bevolution,  had  seen 
the  Restoration,  and  were  persnaded 
that  politics  were  a  vulgar  profes- 
sion,  and  philanthropy  an  organ- 

j  ised  hypocrisy. 

Art  alone  was  worth  cultivating 
for  its  own  sake,  and  art  was  with- 
out a  law,  a  conscience,  or  an 
aim.  Then  came  the  production 
of  Victor  Hugo's  plays  —  what 
the  Germans  call  '  epoch-making 
works.'  A  bitter  controversy  arose, 
and  from  their  antagonism  to  the 
'periwigged,'  or  classical  school, 
the  Romanticists  struck  out  an 
aesthetio  and  canon  of  their  own. 
Recognising  that  both  art  and  so- 
ciety were  decadent  and  corrupt, 
they  accepted  with  joy  the  situa- 
tion, and  urged  the  historical  neces- 
sity of  working  in  the  taste  of 
decadence.  They  were  to  be  free 
in  choice  of  subject,  free  to  be  as 
profuse  in  colour  and  decoration,  as 
morbid  in  sentiment,  as  they  chose.  , 
They,  were  to  inspire  themselves 
not  from  the  catholic  perfection  of 
the  art  of  Greece,  but  from  all  that 

'  was  strangest  in  the  art  of  remote 
times  and  peoples.  To  Mr.  Arnold's 
charge  against  modem  literature — 
that  it  wants  sanity — they  would 
have  replied  that  it  is  a  mad  world, 
and  that,  to  have  any  value,  poetry 
must  go  mad  with  the  times,  of 

'  which  it  is  the  ultimate  expression 
and  final  result.  With  this  fatalist 
theory  to  justify  them,  and  with  the 
art  of  all  the  ages  and  all  lands, 
from  Assyria  to  Japan,  to  choose 
from,  they  turned  for  inspiration  to 

\  what  is  certainly  the  most  effective 
side  of  the  medieval  spirit,  its  inner 
contradictions.     They  were  taken 

i  with  the  fantastic  colour  and  splen- 
dour ;  with  the  lawless  love,  that  was 
held  at  once  a  deadly  sin  and  a  glo- 
rious passion,  only  to  be  expressed 
in  words  of  mystic  longing  and 
desire.  It  was  not  the  harmony  of 
the  ages  of  faith  that  pleased,  but 


the  wild  ways  in  which  pafision 
broke  through  this  harmony,  and 
turned  the  sacred  symbols  of  hea- 
venly love  to  the  uses  of  earthly 
desires;  the  madness  of  the  Fla- 
gellants, the  sins  of  the  Templars, 
the  monstrous  guilt  that  loved  to 
walk  amid  smoke  of  censers  and 
choirs  of  singing  boys.  All  thai 
was  most  terrible  and  grotesque  in 
the  mediaeval  decadence,  the  ancient 
comedy  of  Death,  all  the  art  that 
hid  itself  where  the  light  fell  dim- 
mest  and  least  religious,  throngh 
glass  of  strange  green  and  lurid 
red,  was  to  be  adapted  to  the  deca- 
dence of  the  modem  time.  For 
that  longing  that  cannot  be  uttered, 
of  medisaval  mysticism,  they  substi- 
tuted a  new  Seknsuchtf  a  new  sad- 
ness ;  the  melancholy  of  Wertber 
and  of  Obermann.  Like  these  they 
'  felt  that  the  world  was  a  trap  of 
dullness  into  which  their  great  souU 
had  fallen  by  mistake,'  but  they 
had  the  example  of  Byron,  and  the 
instincts  of  youth,  to  point  one 
way  out  of  the  trap.  So  they  par- 
took of  their  life  in  a  free  and  pic- 
turesque fashion,  lodging  together 
in  an  ancient  house  near  the  Loavre, 
which  Rousseau  and  Corot  and 
Wattier  decorated,  and  they  all 
helped  to  fill  with  hric^a^hfiCf  and 
old  furniture,  dances,  laught^,  and 
ladies  of  the  Opera.  Thus  mansion 
of  the  Rue  du  Doyenne  was  no  bad 
figure  of  their  stylo  and  school: 
the  gloomy  walls  tenanted  by  care- 
less youth  and  genius,  as  in  litera- 
ture they  informed  the  sombre  me- 
dieval world  with  a  wantonness  that 
was  gay  enough,  when  it  forgot  to 
be  as  sad  as  night. 

To  this  brotherhood  of  men,  who 
signed  themselves  Petnu  and  /eAo*, 
for  Pierre  and  Jean,  who  wrote  son- 
nets to  Yolandes  and  Yseults,  and 
introduced  the  rage  for  pale  &cea 
shadowed  with  crisp  tawny  hair,  a 
new  recruit  joined  himself  about 
1830.  This  was  the  writer  who 
adopted  the  nom  de  plume  of  QSrvd 
de  Nerval.     There  is  a  kind  of  n>- 


1873] 


OSrard  de  Nerval. 


561 


manoe  even  in  the  name  of  this 
gentle  and  amiable  poet,  as  indeed 
in  all  his  snrronndings.  For  he  was 
not  one  of  those  to  whom  poetiy  is 
the  lyre  to  be  taken  np,  and  sonnded, 
and  laid  down  again.  Bather  it  was 
the  wind  that  blew  where  it  listed, 
the  breath  of  life  that  took  visible 
fonn  in  himself  and  his  adventnres. 
Of  all  the  gronp  of  comrades,  his 
end  was  the  most  tragic,  and  yet  it 
may  be  that  he  was  the  least  un- 
happy. For  to  him  all  life  was  a 
spectacle  and  a  dream ;  poverty  and 
wealth,  great  cities  and  Arab  tents, 
and  the  qniet  of  forgotten  villages, 
saccess  and  failure,  even  madness 
iteelf^  only  shifbing  scenes,  each  with 
its  own  surprise,  its  own  power  to 
waken  visions  and  memories  that 
soon  became  as  real  as  the  experi- 
ence that  begot  them.  To  him,  a 
Stoic  without  knowing  it,  the  world 
was  indeed  '  the  beloved  city  of 
Zeus,'  and  he  seems  to  say  like 
Marcus  Aurelius,  'Nothing  comes 
amiss  to  mo  that  fits  thee,  O  Uni- 
verse !' 

Gerard  de  Nerval  was  the  son  of 
an  officer  of  the  Grand  Army.  His 
mother,  whom  he  never  remembered 
to  have  seen,  died  of  the  fatigues  of 
the  Russian  expedition,  leaving  him 
his  restless  spirit  and  love  of  travel. 
He  was  brought  up  in  one  of  the 
little  old  towns  of  the  Isle  of  France, 
and  all  his  life  loved  to  wander  in 
that '  happy  poplar  land.'  Ancient 
ways,  ancient  songs  and  stories  still 
lingered  there,  and  the  world-old 
custom  of  the  ballad-dance,  now 
extinct,  save  in  corners  of  Italy  and 
the  Grecian  islands.  Even  after  the 
Hevolution  there  remained  traces  of 
that  mstio  golden  age  which  is  not 
siil  a  dieam.  He  saw  what  Qawain. 
Douglas  saw  in  Scotland  before  the 
Heformation. 

Wenchc»  and  damosels 
In  grassy  gr«eDii,  wandfering  by  spring  wells, 
Of  bloooied  branches,  ami  flowris  white 

and  red, 
PlctUmd  their  lusty  chaplets  for  their  head ; 
^^mo  sanfi;  ring-songs,  dancos,  ledes,  and 

rouncTs ! 


Hooanghtthe  last  accents  of  the 
living  folk-song,  and  thus  describes 
a  scene  in  a  France  that  has  passed 
beyond  recall,  on  the  horizon  of 
onr  time,  dim  and  peaceful  as  the 
Phasaoian  island. 

*  In  front  of  a  chateau  of  the 
time  of  Henri  IV.,  a  ch&teau  with 
peaked  roofs,  with  a  facing  of  red 
brick  varied  by  stone-work  of  a 
paler  hne,  lay  a  wide  green  lawn^ 
set  round  with  limes  and  elms,  and 
through  the  leaves  fell  the  gulden 
light  of  the  setting  sun.  Yonug 
girls  were  dancing  in  a  circle  on 
the  mossy  grass,  to  the  sotmd  of 
airs  that  their  mothers  had  sung, 
airs  with  words  so  pure  and  na« 
tural  that  one  felt  oneself  indeed 
in  that  old  Yalois  land,  where  for 
a  thousand  years  has  beat  the  heart 
of  France.'  The  daughter  of  the 
chateau,  fair  and  tall,  enters  the 
circle  of  peasant  girls.  '  To  obtain 
the  right  to  join  the  ring  she  had 
to  chant  a  scrap  of  ballad.  We  sat 
around  her,  and  in  a  fresh  clear 
voice  she  sang  one  of  the  old  ballads 
of  romance,  full  of  love  and  sad- 
ness. ...  As  she  sang,  the  shadow 
of  the  great  trees  grew  deeper,  and 
the  broad  light  of  the  risen  moon 
fell  on  her  alone,  she  standing  with- 
out the  listening  circle.  Her  sopg 
was  over,  and  no  one  dared  to  break 
the  silence.  A  light  mist  arose  from 
the  mossy  ground,  trailing  over 
the  grass.  We  seemed  to  be  in 
paradise.' 

Among  such  scenes,  among  these 
woods,  where  the  peasants  still 
talked  of  Henri  IV.,  and  Gabrielle, 
where  Bousseau .  died,  where  here 
and  there  a  mouldering  temple  of  the 
genitta  loci  survives  from  the  classic 
taste  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
Gerard  found  his  innocent  first 
loves.  To  these  he  always  returned, 
or  to  the  woods  haunted  by  their 
memories,  and  he  has  written  of 
them  with  a  freshness,  and  tender- 
ness as  sweet  as  the  idyllic  prose 
of  Heine.  Celenee  and  Sylvie  were 
his  little  lovers,  peasant  damsels, 


Oerard  de  Nerval. 


[May 


who  loved  the  grottoes  of  the  woods, 
the  mins  of  the  old  chateaux,  the 
huts  and  fires  of  the  charcoal 
hnmers,  where  they  would  tell  the 
legends  and  sing  the  ballads  of  the 
country.    The  Imllads  told  how 

John  of  Tours  came  home  with  peace, 
Yet  he  came  home  ill  at  ease ; 

or  of  the  loves  of  *  Three  Sisters  by 
I  the  Mere,'  or  under  the  apple  blos- 
I  som  of  their  father's  close.  Another 
favourite  was  the  song  of  the  king's 
daughter  imprisoned  for  seven  years 
in  &e  tower  for  her  lover's  sake, 
and  how  she  feigned  death,  and  ht)w 
he  met  her  funeral  at  the  third 
church  on  the  way,  and  cut  her 
shroud  with  his  couteau  d*orfin,  and 
she  arose  and  followed  him.  The 
ballad,  like  several  that  Oerard  col- 
lected, is  common  to  Scotland,  and 
probably  to  the  peasantrv  of  most 
countries ;  for  folk-songs,  like  fedry- 
tales,  are  the  same  everywhere. 
It  is  curious  to  think  that  Goethe 
in  Germany,  and  Ch^nier  at  Byzan- 
tium, and  Scott  in  Smailholme, 
and  Andersen  in  the  island  of  Funen, 
must  have  had  their  imaginations 
wakened  by  the  same  stories,  and 
lulled  by  the  refrain  of  the  same 
cradle-songs.  This  free  life  among 
the  peasant  children,  this  associa- 
I  tion  with  all  that  was  left  of  the 
'  beauty  of  old  France,  seemed  a  fit 
boyhood  for  a  poet.  *  II  y  avait  Ik 
de  quoi  faire  un  poete,  et  je  ne  suis 
qu'un  reveur  en  prose,'  De  Nerval 
says  sadly  in  one  of  the  few  pas- 
sages of  his  vrritings  where  he 
coi!kiplains  or  desponds.  Not  only 
the  Burroundinffs  of  his  youth,  but 
the  variety  of  nis  studies,  seemed 
to  mark  him  as  one  with  a  great 
future.  He  read  Italian,  Ghreek  and 
Latin,  Germaii,  English,  Arabic  and 
Persian.  His  schoolfellows  looked 
on  him  as  Lamb  at  Christ's  Hospi- 
tal regarded  Coleridge ;  and  indeed 
the  beut  of  his  mind  led  him  to  the 
same  pursuits,  reveries  of  the  New 
Platonists,  Pythagorean  dreams. 
These    dim  musings,   the   shifting 


cloudland  about  the  setting  light  oi 
Greek  thought,  have  hung  around 
the  dawn  of  many  a  dearpluloBophy, 
but  De  Nerval  never  passed  beyond 
them  into  a  pnrer  air.  The  desul- 
tory guesses  suited  his  turn  of  mind, 
which  was,  as  Sir  Thomas  More 
wrote  of  the  great  Italian  Mirandola, 
whose  learned  youth  Gerard's  so 
much  resembled,  *  to  be  always  flit- 
ting  and  wandering.'  He  passed 
from  one  field  of  knowledge  to  an- 
other rapidly,  in  a  dreamy  fashion, 
gathering,  like  Pharamond  in  his 
vision,  here  a  flower,  and  there  a 
gem,  precious  to  him,  but  worthless 
enough  to  the  waking  world.  The 
most  substantial  result  was  that  the 
Greek  led  him  to  the  German  mys- 
tics, and  so  to  Goethe ;  and  his  first, 
probably  his  most  permanent  work, 
was  a  translation  of  Faust.  For 
this  he  received  the  thanks  of  the 
great  poet  of  Weimar,  and  with  this 
distinction  still  fresh,  he  entered 
the  career  of  letters  in  Paris,  and 
joined  the  circle  of  his  old  sdiool- 
fellow  Th^ophile  Gautier. 

Had  De  Nerval  possessed,  along 
with  Heine's  tenderness,  anything^ 
of  his  keenness  and. vigour,  the  con- 
tact with  the  Romantic  School  might 
have  hardened  and  tempered  his 
genius.  But  he  fqund  himself  in  a 
life  compounded  of  activity  and 
hesitation  and  indolence — a  world 
of  bright  Utopias  and  vague  en- 
thusiasms ;  of  languid  ambition, 
languid  conscience,  of  paradoxes 
that  justified  indulgence.  *We 
aspired,'  he  says,  *to  the  mystic 
roses  wherewith  the  lovely  Isis 
was  to  renew  our  hearts;  the 
goddess  ever  young  and  ever 
pure  appeared  to  us  in  the  night, 
and  we  blnshed  for  the  hours  of  our 
wasted  days.  Without  energy, 
without  care  for  success,  we  took 
refuge  in  the  enchanted  tower  of 
poetry,  mounting  ever  iiighcr  to 
isolate  ourselves  fromine  crowd.' 
Most  natures  would  have  been 
soured  by  a  sense  of  this  impotent 
genius  and  futile  consdence,  bat  it 


1873] 


Oerard  de  Nerval, 


563 


was  De  Nerval's  waj  to  take  things 
as  they  came,  to  find  a  pleasure  even 
in  the  refined  sense  of  the  contra- 
dictions of  his  existence.  It  was 
'  as  if  a  man  should  play  the  part 
of  a  choms  in  the  tragedy  of  his 
own  life.' 

Of  all  the  fantastic  school,  he  was 
the  most  innocently  and  simply  fan- 
tastic. He  did  not  '  pose '  himself, 
like  Baudelaire,  or  assume  bizarre 
desires  and  inordinate  affections. 
The  ruling  taste  for  hric-d-hrac  be- 
came a  passion  with  him,  and,  along 
with  his  habit  of  wandering  through 
the  night,  led  to  strange  contrasts 
and  adventures.  Thus,  it  is  said 
that  he  had  a  garret  full  of  precious 
porcelain,  but  it  was  a  garret  in  a 
friend's  house,  and  he  lodged  neither 
there  nor  elsewhere.  His  home  was 
the  street,  and  any  chance  shelter 
sufficed  him — with  soldiers  who 
listened  to  his  stories  of  Africa, 
vrith  vagrants  at  Uttle  rustic  inns  ; 
in  prisons  often,  from  carelessness 
of  papers  and  passports,  and  what 
he  calls  '  exaggerated  Troubadour- 
ism  . '  Once — it  was  when  he  had  in- 
herited a  small  fortune— he  actually 
bought  a  bed,  a  wonderful  and  an- 
cient piece  of  the  Medicean  period, 
carvedwithLoves  and  cherubs.  This 
couch  had  to  be  fitted  with  hangings 
of  a  certain  silk  only  to  be  found 
in  (}enoa;  the  curiosity  shops  of 
Handers  were  ransacked  to  supply 
a  missing  leg.  Gerard's  bed  was  as 
famous  as  Balzac's  cane,  but  by  the 
time  it  was  completed  his  wealth 
had  taken  to  itself  wings,  and  it 
is  not  believed  that  he  ever  slept 
beneath  his  silken  canopy. 

This  period  bore  little  fruit  in 
poetry.  Certain  Odelettea  show  the 
influence  of  Bonsard  and  the  Be- 
naissance,  for  the  interest  in  the 
Benaissance  was  reviving,  and,  like 
Sainte-Beuve,  De  Nerval  wrote  an 
unsncoessfiil  prize  essay  on  the 
poets  of  the  sixteenth  century. 
Sainte-Beuve's  studies  resulted  in 
the  Tahleani  de  la  Fo6m  fraru^ise^ 
a  classical  and  permanent  criticism. 


De  Nerval  only  produced  snatches 
of  song,  which  he  was  wont  to  chant 
himself,  holding,  like  Du  Bellay, 
that  Music  and  Poetry  were  in- 
separable sisters.  Perhaps  for  this 
reason  his  verses  have  a  musical 
quality,  which  to  us,  *  with  the 
German  paste  in  our  composition,' 
French  lyrics  frequently  lack. 

Oili  sont  DOS  amourenses  ? 

EUes  80Dt  au  tombeau ; 
Elles  sont  plus  heoreases, 

Dans  un  s^jour  plus  beau. 

Surely  this  is  not,  as  Mr.  Arnold 
complains  of  French  verse,  *  deeply 
unsatisfying,'  but  a  natural  and 
ringing  lyric  note.  In  another 
little  poem,  called  Fdniaide,  there  is 
a  wonderful  power  of  vision ;  before 
the  reader,  as  before  the  poet,  the 
ancient  castle  '  rises  into  towers,'  to 
the  melody  of  the  magic  tune. 

II  est  un  air  pour  qui  je  donnerais 
Tout  Rossini,  tout  Mozart  et  tout  Weber, 
Un  air  trAs-vieux,  languissant  et  funibre. 
Qui  pour  moi  seul  a  des  charmes  secrets. 

Or,  chaque  fois  que  je  viens  k  I'entendre, 
Be  deux  cents  ans  mon  &me  raieunit ; 
CTest  sous   Louis  treize,   et  je  crois  voir 

s'^tendre 
Un  coteau  vert  que  le  couchant  jaunit. 

Puis  un  ch&teau  de  brique    a    coins  de 

pierre, 
Auz  vitraux  teints  de  rougeAtres  couleurs, 
Ceint  de  grands  pares,  avec  une  riviere 
Baignant   ses  pieds,  qui  coule  entre   des 

fleurs. 

Puis  une  dame,  a  sa  haute  fenStre, 
Blonde,   aux   yeux  noirs,    en  ses    habits 

anciens — 
Qui,  dans  une  autre  existence  peut-6tre, 
J'ai  d6jA  Tue — et  dout  je  me  souviens. 

Another  poem,  the  Toint  noir^  is 
a  criticism  of  his  own  weak  am- 
iDition.  As  a  black  point  swims 
before  the  eyes  of  one  who  has 
looked  too  long  on  the  sun,  so  to 
him,  who  had  gazed  on  the  glory 
that  might  be  his,  the  reality  of 
things  was  ever  obscured,  and 
things  not  present  floated  in  a 
luminous  mist. 

Another  task  of  this  period  was 
the  libretto  of  an  opera  composed 
for  the  debut  of  an  actress  whom  he 


564 


Qerard  de  Nerval. 


[% 


loved  with  an  inexplicable  paasion 
that  survived  her  death,  and  his 
own  madness,  ^e  seemed  to  re- 
cognise in  her  a  \>eing  loved  in  a 
former  life.  For  the  '  fallings  from 
us,  vanishings,  misgivings,'  that 
Wordsworth  knew,  possessed  De 
NervaFs  mind  in  an  extraordinary 
degree.  The  conditions,  whatever 
they  may  be,  that  make  ns  feel  that 
some  experience  has  occurred  before, 
were  constantly  and  actively  pre- 
sent to  him.  His  was. a  soul,  Plato 
might  have  said,  that  had  drunk 
too  sparingly  of  the  water  of  forget* 
fulness,  and  that  was  haunted  by 
memories  of  a  lost  estate. 

Returning  one  night  from  the 
theatre  where  he  went  every  even- 
ing to  watch  this  siren,  De  NervaVa 
mind  slipped  back  to  a  real  anfl 
innocent  past,  and  without  fur- 
ther thought  ho  made  his  way  to 
the  scones  of  his  childhood.  Wi^s 
Sylvie  still  aUve  and  un wedded  ? 
could  the  old  childish  affection  l^e 
revived  ?  He  found  her  a  woman 
grown,  beautiful,  unspoiled,  stijl 
remembering  the  primitive  songs 
and  fairy  tales.  They  walked  tp- 
gcther  through  the  woods  to  the 
cottage  of  the  aunt  of  Sylvie,  an  old 
peasant  woman  of  the  richer  class. 
She  prepared  dinner  for  them,  ai^d 
sent  De  Nerval  for  the  girl,  wl^o 
had  gone  to  ransack  the  peasapt 
treasures  in  the  garret.  Two  pqr- 
traits  were  hanging  there — one  that 
of  a  young  man  of  the  good  qld 
times,  smiling  with  red  lips  and 
brown  eyes,  a  pastel  in  an  ovsd frame. 
Another  medallion  held  the  portrait 
of  his  wife,  gay,  piquantCy  in  a  bod)ce 
with  ribbons  fluttering,  and  with  a 
bird  perched  on  her  finger.  It  was 
the  old  aunt  in  her  youth,  and  fur- 
ther search  discovered  her  ancient 
festal-gown,  of  stiff  brocade.  Sylvie 
arraved  herself  in  this  splendour ; 
patches  were  found  in  a  box  of  tar- 
nished gold,  a  fan,  a  necklace  of 
amber.  The  holiday  attire  of  the 
dead  uncle,  who  had  been  a  keeper 
in  the  royal  woods,  was  not  far  to 


seek,  and  Gerard  and  Sylvie  ap- 
peared before  .the  aunt,  as  her  old 
seli^  and  her  old  lover.  *My  diil- 
dren ! '  she  cried  and  w^t,  and 
smiled  through  her  tears  at  the 
cruel  and  charming  apparition  of 
youth.  Presently  she  dried  ber 
tears,  and  only  remembered  the 
pomp  and  pride  of  her  wedding. 
'  We  joined  hands,  and  sang  the 
naive  epithalamium  of  old  France, 
amorous,  and  full  of  flowery  tarns, 
as  the  Song  of  Song^  ;  we  were  the 
bride  and  the  bridegroom  all  one 
sweet  morning  of  summer.'  It  is 
only  the  author  of  the  ViUage  on 
the  Cliff  that  can  rival  this  picture 
of  happy  youth,  of  happy  age: 
the  pathos  and  the  mirth ;  the  tears 
that  turn  to  laughter ;  the  lan^ter 
that  ends  in  a  sigh,  for  love  fulfilled 
and  unforgotten,  for  the  presage  of 
love  never  to  bo  fulfilled. 

De  Nerval  wont  back  to  Paris, 
and,  like  Lancelot  in  the  romance, 
'  fell  to  his  old  love  again,'  to  her 
wliom  he  calls  Aurelie.  Bat  the 
wandering  fever  was  astir  in  him, 
and  he  passed  to  Germany,  with 
little  money,  and  few  needs.  Thence 
he  wandered  to  the  East,  with  the 
touching  confidence  of  the  children 
in  the  Boys*  Crusade.  They,  too, 
set  out  for  Palestine,  without  goR 
without  staff  or  scrip,  asking  at 
each  town, '  Is  not  this  Jerusalem  ? ' 
Each  was  Jerusalem  to  Crerard,  a 
spiritual  city  ;  for  in  each  life  was 
busy,  and  novelty,  and  food  for 
visions,  and  the  stuff  that  dreams 
are  made  of.  There  is  some  stoty 
of  a  love  adventure  with  the 
daughter  of  a  Sheik  in  the  Leba- 
non. Probably  the  Eastern  rever- 
ence for  those  whom  God,  as  ther 
think,  has  darkened  with  excess  of 
light,  was  his  protection.  The 
East  was  disastrous  to  his  genins, 
and  <  the  Sphinx  of  the  Nile  aided 
what  the  Fairies  of  the  Bbine  had 
begun.'  His  dreams  grew  inoo- 
herent.  Arabian  genii,  pagan  gods, 
demons  of  the  Tahnad,  all  the 
ghosts  of  old  TheosophieB,  cr&wded 


1873] 


Qerard  de  Nerved. 


565 


in  his  brain,  as  they  filled  the  pan* 
theon  of  decaying  Borne.  On  his 
homeward  way,  he  visited  Pompeii, 
and  sought  out  the  temple  of  Isis. 
*  The  sun  was  setting  over  Capre©, 
the  moon  rose  slowly  through  the 
thin  smoke  above  Vesuvius.'  There, 
between  8un  and  moon,  in  the 
temple  where,  long  ago,  they  had 
been  adored  as  Isis  and  Osiris,  he 
sat  dreaming  of  the  death  and 
birth  of  creeds.  The  Revolution 
had  denied  all.  Might  he  not  accept 
all,  and  find  that  all  the  ages  uttered 
one  truth  under  many  names  ;  life 
made  perfect  in  sacrifice ;  death, 
resurrection;  rest  in  the  arms  of 
the  nniversal,  the  eternal  mother, 
Cybele,  Persephone,  Demeter,  Isis, 
Mary  ? 

Probably  the  poem  Le  Christ  aux 
Oliviers  belongs  to  this  period.  It 
is  inspired  by  Richter's  dream  of 
a  dead  Ood,  and  alone  in  French 
poetry  approaches  in  sorrowful  de- 
nial Clough's  Ode  on  Easter  Day. 

Quaud  le  Seigneur,  lerant  au  ciol  ses  maigrcs 
bras. 
Sous  las  arbres  sacr^s,  comma  font  les 

pontes, 
Se  fut  lougteraps  perdu  dans  scs  dou- 
leurs  muettos, 
£t  80  jugca  trahi  par  des  amis  ingrats, 

II  se  touma  vera  ceux  qui  Tattendaicnt  en 
bas, 
JElftvant  d'6tre  des  rois,  des  sages,  dcs 

prophites, 
Mais  engouidis,  perdus  dans  le  sommoil 
des  b^tes, 
£It  se  mit  k  crier, '  Non,  Dieu  n'eziste  pas ! ' 

Db  donnaient.   '  Mcs  amis,  Barez-vons  la 

nouvelle  ? 
Xai  touch^  de  mon  front  h.  la  voiite  ^ternelle, 
Je  Buis  sanglant,  bris^,  soufirant  pour 

bien  des  jours ! 
Freres,  je  tous   trompais;   abime,  abime, 

abtme, 
Le  Dieu  manque  &  Tautel  o^i  je  suis  le 

victime. 
Dieu  n'est  pas,  Dieu  n'est  plus ! '    Mais 

ils  donnaient  toi\jours. 

.        De  Nerval's  frail  genius  did  not 

\  long  endure  the  bnrden  of  these 

\  thoughts.     There  was    a    sndden 

and  violent  crisis  of  madness,  and 

lie  never  again  was,  even  in  the  old 


degree,  a  man  among  other  men.  M. 
de  Saint-Victor  tells  how  he  might 
be  fonnd  in  some  lonely  country 
place,  *  dreaming  with  open  eyes,  \ 
watching  a  leaf's  fall,  an  insect's 
flight,  the  passage  of  a  bird,  the 
shifting  shape  of  clouds,  all  tender 
and  subtle  changes  of  earth  and 
au*.' 

Bapt,  twirling  in  his  hand  a  withered  spray. 
And  waiting  for  the  spark  from  Heaven  to 
faa 
There  came  another  malady, 
another  period  of  darkness.  But^ 
strangely,  De  Nerval  did  not  ^  lose 
the  years  of  darkened  mind.'  The 
night  of  his  spirit  had  been  lumi- 
nous with  stars,  and  meteors,  and 
spaces  of  light.  He  has  told  the 
experience  of  his  own  madness,  inj 
a  book  called  Aurelie^  ou  Le  Reoe\ 
et  la  Vie.  This  strange  work  does 
for  insanity  what  the  Dream  of 
Oerontnis  has  done  for  death.  If 
dying  be  not  what  Father  Newman 
has  found  words  to  tell,  if  Do 
Nerval  has  not  lifted  the  veil  from 
before  the  confusions  of  delirium, 
scarcely  elsewhere  can  a  sane  and 
living  man  learn  what  manner  of 
end  may  await  his  life  or  his  reason. 
All  through  his  mania,  he  felt  that 
his  feet  were  losing  hold  of  earth, 
and  wandering  into  emptiness ;  and 
his  dream  took  the  form  of  a  return 
to  the  surer  ground  of  his  past 
life,  that  he  might  convince  himself 
he  still  lived.  It  was  to  Aurelie, 
the  singer,  that  his  confused  me- 
mory returned.  As  long  ago  he 
had  sought,  and  found  for  a  season, 
his  former  love,  his  former  self  in 
the  woods  of  Yalois,  so  now  he 
pursued  a  later  self,  and  a  fiery 
remembered  passion.  But  now  he 
did  not  wander  among  the  grottoes 
of  the  woods,  by  the  flags  on  the 
stream-side,  watching  for  the  ballad 
airs.  Through  graveyards,  and 
tracts  of  clouds,  and  unknown 
worlds  of  stars,  the  Bridegroom 
seemed  to  seek  the  Bride,  to  follow 
the  fleeting  shade,  and  listen  for  the 
departed  music. 


5GS 


Gerard  de  Nerval. 


[May 


This  '  canticle  of  madness,  this 
song  of  songs  of  delirium/  was 
to  be  the  last  of  Gerard's  la- 
bours. The  end  came  suddenly. 
He  had  ever  loved  the  old  streets  of 
Paris,  the  Paris  of  Gringoire  and 
Esmeralda,  the  gable  ends,  the 
towers,  and  spiral  lanes  that  survive 
only  in  Hugo's  novel,  and  in  the 
etchings  of  Meryon.  Late  one 
night,  De  Nerval  left  a  supper  of 
ar^ts,  where  he  had  sung  his  own 
verses,  as  long  ago.  It  will  never 
he  known  how  the  homeless  poet 
wandered  to  the  most  horrible  place 
of  the  dark  places  of  old  Paris,  the 
ill-omened  Rue  de  la  Vieille  Lan- 
teme,  nor  how  he  came  by  his  death 
there. 

The  fate  of  men  like  Murger  and 
Roger  de  Beauvoir  can  scarcely  be 
regarded  without  some  indignation 
as  well  as  pity.  If  De  Nerval's 
life  calls  for  pity,  it  is  all  tender, 


and  without  contempt.  Blame 
is  out  of  place.  He  never,  alone 
perhaps  of  his  coterie^  stimulates 
luxury,  or  appeals  to  the  senses ;  if 
he  did  not  increase  his  talent,  at 
least,  he  kept  the  treasure  of  liis 
genius  pure.  Like  Plato's  poet,  lie 
was  indeed  a  light  and  sacr^  thing, 
sacred  as  children  are,  and  tho% 
whom  God  has  enlightened  and 
aflBicted.  He  was  not  of  the  world, 
nor  of  those  whom  the  world  can 
spoil.  And  if,  when  he  made  haste 
to  be  poor,  he  wooed  Poverty  in 
another  fashion  than  St.  Francis,  it 
was  on  the  impulse  of  a  natare 
gentle  and  guileless,  though  un- 
tamed. In  any  age  he  would  have 
been  a  figure  of  mark  and  interest. 
That  the  beauty  and  interest  should 
be  so  dimmed,  is  the  fault  of  erii 
days,  and  the  sad  later  fates  of 
Prance. 

A.  Lang. 


187S] 


5G7 


A  'NOTE'   OF  INTERROGATION. 
By  Florence  Nightingale. 


A  NOVEL  of  genius  has  appeared. 
Ifcs  writer  once  put  before 
tbe  world  (in  a  work  of  fiction 
too),  certainly  the  most  living, 
probably  the  most  historically 
truthful,  presentment  of  the  great 
Idealist,  Savonarola  of  Florence. 
This  author  now  can  find  no 
better  outlet  for  the  heroine — also 
an  Idealist — because  she  cannot  be 
a  *St.  Teresa'  or  an  'Antigone,' 
than  to  marry  an  elderly  sort  of 
literary  impostor,  and,  quick  after 
him,  his  relation,  a  baby  sort  of  iti- 
nerant Cluricaune  (see  Irish  Fairies) 
or  inferior  Faun  (see  Hawthorne's 
matchless  Transformation), 

Yet  close  at  hand,  in  actual  life, 
was  a  woman — an  Idealist  too — 
and  if  we  mistake  not,  a  connection 
of  the  author's,  who  has  managed  to 
make  her  ideal  very  real   indeed. 
By  taking    charge    of    blocks   of 
bnildings  in  poorest  London,  while 
making  herself  the  rent-collector, 
she  found  work  for  those  who  could 
not  find  work  for  themselves;  she 
organised  a  system  of  visitors — real 
visitors ;  of  referees — real  referees  ; 
and  thus  obtaining  actual  insight  in- 
to the  moral  or  immoral,  industrial 
or  non-industrial  conduct  of  those 
who  seemed  almost  past  helping, 
except    into    the    workhouse,    she 
brought  sympathy  and   education 
to  bear  from  individual  to  individual 
—not  by  ruling  of  committee,  but 
by  personal  acquaintance,  utilising 
the  committee-relief  as  never  had 
been  done  before,  and  thus  initiated 
a  process  of  depauperisation;  so  that 
one  might  be  tempted  to  say — Were 
there  one  such  woman  with  power 
to   direct    the    flow  of   volunteer 


help,  nearly  everywhere  running 
to  waste,  in  every  street  of  Lon- 
don's East  End,  almost  might  the 
East  End  be  persuaded  to  become 
Christian. 

Could  not  the  heroine,  the  *  sweet 
sad  enthusiast,*  have  been  set  to 
some  such  work  as  this  P  Indeed 
it  is  past  telling  the  mischief  that 
is  done'in  thus  putting  down  youth- 
ful ideals.  There  are  not  too  many 
to  begin  with.  There  are  few  in- 
deed to  end  with — even  without 
such  a  gratuitous  impulse  as  this 
to  end  them. 

Another  Ideal  has  just  been  pub- 
lished, most  powerful,  yet  lame  and 
impotent  in  its  conclusion,  for — if 
conclusion  it  has — it  is  this :  That 
Christ  was,  or  would  have  been  had 
He  now  lived,  a  Red  Republican. 

Yet  in  that  book  is  a  true  em- 
bodiment of  what  will  make  itself 
be  recognised,  and  in  political  storm 
and  social  tempest  soon,  if  we  re- 
ftise  to  recognise  it  by  shutting  our 
eyes  and  writing,  '  There  is  happi- 
ness enough,*  viz.  (i)  the  intense 
miseries  in  our  one  dark  London 
alone  ;  (2)  the  undeniable  fact  that 
upon  the  great  mass  of  London  poor 
all  existing  forms  of  religion  have 
lost  all  hold  whatever ;  and  that 
*  Charity  Organisation  people  '^  are 
helpless  to  cope  with  the  former, 
farther  than  by  preventing  mischief 
being  done — which  is  doubtless  a 
great  thing;  as  helpless  as  are 
'  Bishop  of  London  *  Funds  to  cope 
with  the  latter. 

Another  Ideal — really  an  ideal, 
though  somewhat  marred  by  flip- 
pancy on  the  most  serious  of  all 
subjects,  and  by  a  tendency  not  to 


'  Xot  one  word  against  *  Charity  Organisation  people.'  They  are  doing  a  great  work — 
leading  the  way  to  a  greater.  But  they  pander  (unconsciously)  to  the  prevailing  fallacy: 
that,  if  we  do  not  give  to  vagrants,  they  will  find  work  for  themselves.  While  helping 
the  industrious  to  help  themselves,  there  is  a  greater  thing  still  to  do  yet ;— to  help  the 
helpless  to  help  themselves. 


568 


A  '  Note  '  of  ItUerrogaiion. 


[May 


fight  like  a  man,  but  to  soratch  like  a 
cat — has  also  lately  appeared,  which, 
while  discarding  miracle  and  le- 
gend, shows  a  true  and  even  deep 
insight  into  the  character  of  Christ 
and  the  value  of  Christianity,  as 
teaching  ns  (i)  to  cherish  onr  own 
higher,  inner  self — ^to  *  find '  our 
own  '  soul ;'  (2)  to  deny,  nay  more, 
to  disown  our  lower,  outer  self ;  (3) 
to  be  mild  and  gentle,  *  meek  and 
lowly  in  heart.** 

On  the  other  side  we  have  a 
Professor,  a  real  man  of  science, 
undoubtedly  one  of  the  prime  edu- 
cators of.  the  age,  but  making  a 
profound  mistake  when  he  says  to 
mankind :  '  Objects  of  sense  are  more 
worthy  of  your  attention  than  your 
inferences  and  imaginations.  Tou 
can't  see  the  battle  of  Tbermopylea 
take  place.  What  you  can  see  is 
more  worth  your  attention.' 

We  might  almost,  and  more  truly 
say:  On  the  contrary,  the  finest 
powers  man  is  gifted  with  are  those 
which  enable  him  to  infer  from 
what  he  sees  what  he  can*t  see. 
They  lift  him  into  truth  of  far 
higher  import  than  that  which  he 
learns  firom  the  senses  alone. 

As  our  penultimate  author  speaks 
a  great  deal  of  'extra-belief*  (Aber- 
glaube),  meaning,  not  superstition, 
but  belief  in  things  not  verified  by 
the  senses,  so  this  most  able  Pro- 
fessor and  man  of  science  advocates 
or  succumbs  to  a  sort  of  infra- 
belief;  covering,  indeed,  but  small 
part  of  the  ground  man  stands 
upon,  less  still  of  the  horizon  be 
looks  on. 

All  these  are  '  signs  of  the  times.' 
They  suggest  a  ? — a  note  of  inter- 
rogation. 

Faint,  indeed,  is  the  note  of  this 
'note,*  the  veriest  hint,  that  will 
be  here  sounded. 


'Because  I  am  God,  and  not 
man,'  said  One  a  few  thousands  of 
years  ago.  Then  surely,  is  it  not 
the  most  important  and  at  the 
same  time  the  most  neglected  point 
in  theology,  to  determine  vhd 
God  is — what  His  character  is 
like? 

Beams  of  sermons  are  written  on 
every  point  but  this.  And  yet  this 
is  the  foundation  of  all. 

It  may  seem  a  little  too  familiar 
an  illustration  to  say  that  in  mar- 
riage  it  is  a  constant  reproach 
brought  against  continental  na- 
tions, that  they  do  not  let  the  wo- 
man know  what  her  husband  is 
like,  nor  the  man  his  wife,  before 
they  are  married. 

A  poet  who  is  gone  from  among 
us  said,  that  *  love '  was  *  fellow- 
service.*  That  is  just  what  it  is. 
And  how  can  there  be  *  fellow  ser- 
vice '  in  the  way  in  which  men  and 
women  meet  now  ? 

And  how  much  more  is  this  tiie 
case  with  regard  to  Him  whom  we 
(some-  of  us)  say  we  serve  ? 

Yet  Him  we  have  always  with 
us.  And  we  make  no  CTort  to 
know  Him. 

Indeed,  it  does  not  seem  to  be 
included  as  a  part  of  theology,  as 
a  point  of  enquiry,  as  a  basis  of  aH 
sermons  —  the  Imowledge  of,  the 
acquaintance  with  God. 

The  same  poet  writes : — 

It  fortifies  my  soul  to  know 
That,  tho*  r  perish.  Truth  is  po; 
That,  howsoe'er  I  stray  and  range. 
Whatever  I  do,  Thoa  dost  not  chaiga 
I  steadier  step  when  I  reeall 
That,  if  I  slip,  Thou  dost  not  fall 

Yes:  but  'Truth  is  so'  thai 
*  I '  shall  not  *  perish;' 

'  Though  He  slay  me,'  says  Joh, 
*yet  will  I  trust  in  BKm.'  Yes: 
but  I  trust  in  Him  because  I  know 


»  Very  curious,  this  difference  as  to  who  Christ  was — ^in  two  contemporaries  pfoWifihiBg 
in  tho  same  tongue,  the  same  year,  and  almost  the  same  street,  or  *  hill.'  One  sajs. 
Christ  the  Red  Republican — the  other,  Christ  tho  teacher  of  self-kiiowlfdge,  self- 
renunciation,  mildness,  and  lowliness. 


1873] 


A  *  JVote  '  of  Interrogation. 


569 


that  He  will  7iot  *  Blay  '  me  or  any- 
one else. 

It  always  seems  to  be  a  fact 
ignored,  or  put  oat  of  sight,  that 
for  no  one  of  our  beliefs,  religions, 
physical,  moral,  scientific,  have  we 
any  dependence  but — the  character 
of  God. 

It  is  said  that  the  reason  why 
we  believe  that  the  sun  will  rise 
to-morrow  is  that  the  sun  has  always 
done  60.  But  Joshua  did  not  think 
so.  Surely  the  reason  is,  our  de- 
pendence on  the  invariable  character 
of  God. 

And  this  seems  to  most  people  to 
be  a  very  poor  dependence.  At 
least  few  take  the  pains  to  find  out 
what  is  the  character  of  God. 

A  very  great  deal  of  foregone  con- 
clusion, of  what,  as  it  appears,  is 
untme  to  fact  and  to  feeling,  is 
talked,  for  instance,  as  to  belief  in 
afatnre  state — ^that  this  is  '  instinc* 
tive,'  *  intuitive,'  the  fruit  of  the 
natural  craving  of  man,  &c,  &c. 
We  do  not  see  such  *  craving.'  On 
the  contrary.  There  is  perhaps  no 
one  subject  interesting  himself  on 
which  ordinary  man  thinks  so  little, 
cares  so  little.  Of  the  best  men 
there  are,  too,  many  now  who  would 
rather  not  have  a  future  state  for 
themselves.  Alas !  the  highest  stamp 
of  men  are  oftenest  those  who  feel 
this — men  who  have  consecrated 
themselves  to  the  good  of  their  kind. 
Such  men  are  generally  extremely 
sensitive.  And  the  very  strain  of 
constant  self-consecration  acting  on 
SQch  a  temperament  produces  that 
condition  of  mind — so  for  more 
common  (at  least  in  this  age)  than 
any  ecstasies  of  the  saints— that 
longing,  not  to  live  for  ever,  but  to 
die  for  ever,  to  be  at  rest. 

But,  whether  this  be  so  or  not, 
whether  there'  are  *  instincts  *  or 
*  cravings  '  for  a  future  state  now  or 
not,  surely  it  is  a  complete  fallacy 
to  reason  from  them  to  the  existence 
of  a  future  state. 

Surely  the  *  presumption '  of  an 
immortality  *  grounded  '  merely  on 


'  unsatisfied  instincts,'  is  a  fallacy. 
It  is  another  thing  to  say  :  *  A  per- 
fect God,  whose  only  design  can  be 
to  lead  every  one  of  us  to  perfection, 
put  those  "  instincts  "  into  us.  He 
never  leaves  any  work  unfinished. 
He  is  invariable,  and  without  a 
shadow  of  turning.  Therefore  He 
will  enable  each  one  of  us  to  fulfil 
in  another  state  those  aspirations 
after  perfection  which  are  neces- 
sarily left  "  unsatisfied  "  in  this — 
because  this  world  is  not  perfect, 
and  cannot  be  made  perfect  till  all 
mankind  agree  to  make  it  so.' 

Says  Coleridge  (in  a  better  mood) : 
*We  must  earn  earth  before  we 
can  earn  heaven.'  Bather  lot  us 
say :  Mankind  must  make  heaven 
before  we  can  *go  to  heaven'  (as 
the  phrase  is),  in  this  world,  or  in 
any  other.  Is  God's  whole  scheme 
to  put  us  in  the  way  to  make 
heaven?  *We  have  to  earn  the 
earth  befpre  we  can  think  of  earn- 
ing heaven.'  Yes,  but  when  only  a 
few  are  hungering  and  thirsting 
after  righteousness,  they  cannot  he 
'filled.' 

Why,  then,  is  there  a  future  state  ? 

Becaiise  Ck>d  is. 

For  no  other  reason. 

And  let  us  drop  the  word,  ^a 
future  state.' 

What  *  future  state  ?' 

An  eternal  life  which,  beginning 
here,  shall  lead  each  and  every  one 
of  us  to  finite  perfection,  and  there- 
fore to  happiness. 

Because  there  is  a  God,  therefore 
there  is  this  eternal  life  for  each 
and  for  all  of  us. 

For  no  other  reason. 

And  let  us  also  drop  the  word,  '  a 
God.' 

What  God  P  that  is  the  question. 
And  no  one  answers  it.  It  is  only 
*  because  God  is ' — ^the  perfect  God 
— that  we  shall  have  eternal  life. 

It  is  said  of  the  French  soldier 
in  an  expeditionary  force,  that  he 
always  wants  to  know  where  he  is 
going,  what  he  is  doing,  why  he  is 
suffering.     Except  on  the  condition 


570 


A  '  Note  '  of  Interrogation. 


[ilay 


of  letting  him  know*  this,  you  will 
not  get  out  of  him  all  he  can  give.' 

And  if  any  can  justly  be  called 
an  expeditionary  force,  it  is  surely 
the  expedition  of  mankind  sent  by 
God  to  conquer  earth,  to  conquer 
perfection,  to  create  heaven ! 

And  how  can  man  give  his  best 
unless  he  knows,  unless  you  will 
try  to  find  out  for  yourselves  and 
for  him,  what  is  God*s  plan  for  him 
in  this  world  and  in  the  next  (as  it 
is  truly  called) — why  there  are  such 
sufferings  in  this  world — who  is 
this  God  who  has  put  him  here,  and 
why  He  has  put  him  here,  and  put 
him  here  to  suffer  so  much  ?  In 
short,  he  wants  to  know  why  he  is 
here,  where  he  is  going,  what  he  is 
doing,  why  he  is  suffering. 

Is  it  not  a  simple  impertinence  for 
preachers  and  schoolmasters,  liter- 
ally ex  cathedrdj  to  be  always  incul- 
cating and  laying  down  what  they 
call  the  commands  of  God,  and 
never  teUing  us  what  the  God  is 
who  commands,  often  indeed  repre- 
senting Him  as  worse  than  a  devil  ? 
'  Because  I  am  God,  and  not  man.* 
But  you  represent  Him  as  some- 
thing far  below  man,  worse  than 
the  worst  man,  the  worst  Eastern 
tyrant  that  ever  was  heard  of. 

*  Thou  shalt  love  the  Lord  thy 
God  with  all  thy  heart,  and  with  all 
thy  soul,  and  with  all  thy  mind,  and 
with  all  thy  strength.*  Ah,  from 
the  mouth  of  Him  who  said  those 
words,  they  are  indeed  'the  first 
and  greatest  commandment.'  He 
who  went  about  doing  good,  who 
called  all  of  us  who  are  weary  and 
heavy  laden  to  come  to  Him — who 
towards  His  cruel  torturers  and 
murderers  felt  nothing  but,  *  Father, 
forgive  them,  for  they  know  not 
what  they  do' — He  might  well  say, 
*  Thou  shalt  love  the  Lord  thy  God,' 
for  He  needed  not  to  explain  to  us 
His  character. 

But — and  what  a  descent  is  here ! 
— for  us  to  lay  it  down  as  a  com- 
marid  to  love  the  Lord  God  !  Alas  I 
poor  mankind  might  easily  answer : 


*  I  can't  love  because  I  am  ordered 
— least  of  all  can  I  love  One  who 
seems  only  to  make  me  miserable 
here  to  torture  me  hereafter. 
Show  me  that  He  is  good,  that  He 
is  lovable,  and  I  shall  love  Him 
without  being  told.' 

But  does  any  preacher  show  us 
this  ?  He  may  say  that  God  is 
good,  but  he  shows  Him  to  be  very 
bad.  He  may  say  that  God  is '  Lore/ 
but  he  shows  him  to  be  hate,  worse 
than  any  hate  of  man.  As  the  Per- 
sian  poet  says :  '  If  God  punishes 
me  for  doing  evil  by  doing  me  evil, 
how  is  He  better  than  I  ?  '  And  it  is 
hard  to  answer.  For  certainly  the 
worst  man  would  hardly  tortnre 
his  enemy,  if  he  could,  for  ever.  And 
unless  God  has  a  scheme  that  ereiy 
man  is  to  be  saved  for  ever,  it  is 
hard  to  say  in  what  He  is  not  worse 
than  man.  For  all  good  men  wonld 
save  others  if  they  could. 

A  poor  man,  dying  in  a  work- 
house, said  to  his  nurse  after  havice 
seen  his  clergyman  :  *  It  does  geem 
hard  to  have  suffered  so  much  here, 
only  to  go  to  everlasting  torments 
hereafter.'  Seldom  has  the  feeling, 
which  must  be  that  of  half  the 
world,  been  so  simply  expressed. 

How,  then,  is  it  possible  to  te&cl 
either  that  God  is  *  Love  '  or  that 
God  commands  any  duty— unless 
God  has  a  plan  for  bringing  each 
and  all  of  us  to  perfection  ?  Hoff 
can  we  work  at  all  if  there  be  not 
such  a  plan  ?  It  is  not  enough 
that  God  should  not  be  willing  tn 
punish  everlastingly — to  show  that 
He  is  good.  He  must  be  accom- 
plishing a  design,  *  invariable  and 
^vithout  a  shadow  of  turning,'  the 
design  to  save  every  one  of  us  ever- 
lastingly. There  must  be  no  giving 
the  go-by  to  searching  out,  as  the 
very  first  condition  of  religion, 
w^hether  there  be  such  a  plan. 

Sermons  sometimes  start  from  a 
knowledge  (or  «;(mZ(i-&e  knowledge) 
of  human  character.  But  none 
start  from  a  knowledge  of,  or  even 
an  enquiry  into,  God's  character. 


1873] 


A  *  Note '  of  IrUerrogatlon, 


And  jet,  one  would  think,  if  this 
is  really  His  world,  if  He  govenis 
bj  His  laws,  which  are  the  effluence 
of  His  character,  not  only  the  uni- 
verse, hnt  eveiy,  the  minutest,  cir- 
eamstance  in  it — ^it  mnst  he  of  para- 
mount importance  to  find  out  what 
His  character  is.  Else  how  do  we 
know  where  we  are  g^ing  p 

Indeed,  it  may  he  said  that  the 
greatest,  the  most  world-wide,  and 
the  most  fatal  mistakes,  extending 
throQgh  all  time,  which  have  been 
made  in  this  world,  have  arisen 
from  not  understanding  His  cha- 
racter. 

It  is  not  that  men  have  not  been 
absorbed,  throughout  the  history 
of  man,  in  religion.  Probably  no 
labject,  not  even  how  to  procure 
food,  has  absorbed  man  more.  But 
Bcarcely  any  study  has  received  less 
attention  than  that  of  the  character 
of  Qod.  Men  have  been  contont  to 
take  it  upon  authority,  upon  sym- 
pathy, antipathy,  blind  'intuition,' 
or  association — they  have  been 
content  to  give  this  study  not  even 
the  serious  enquiry  which  is  given 
to  the  anatomy  of  a  pigeon  or  the 
construction  of  a  bivalve  shell— 
they  have  even  written  their 
'passing  thonghts '  on  religion. 
What  wonder  S  there  is  no  subject 
in  the  world  on  which  man  has 
sack  crude,  such  '  passing'  thoughts 
as  religion?  And  this  the  most 
important,  the  most  surpassing,  the 
most  difficult  subject  of  all. 

How  would  it  be  possible  to  con- 
stract  any  other  science  without 
knowing  its  fundamental  law?  to 
oonstmct  the  physical  science  of  as- 
tronomy without  knowing  whether 
the  sun  or  the  earth  moved  round 
the  other?  to  construct  moral 
science  without  knowing  man  P 
'Know  thyself,'  said  the  Oreek 
wisdom  which  we  have  scarcely 
surpassed.  '  Know  God,'  has  indeed 
been  said — and  that  to  know  God 
is  eternal  life<— as  indeed  it  would 
be.  But  has  one  step  been  made  in 
knowing  Him  aince  that  time?  Have 

TOL.  VU. — Va,  XLI.    KBW  SEBIBS. 


not  indeed  the  most  awful  retrograde 
steps,  the  most  astonishing  mis- 
takes been  made,  upon  which  whole 
polities  have  been  founded,  from 
not  knowing  the  character  of  God  ? 

Take,  e.g.,  some  of  the  most  fa- 
miliar instances  of  mistakes  arising 
from  not  understanding  the  cha- 
racter of  God. 

That  God  regards  suffering  as 
good  in  itself,  that  He  pays  well 
those  who  inflict  it  on  themselves, 
is  the  basis  on  which  was  founded 
a  very  larse  polity  in  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church. 

That  God  has  so  let  go  man  as  to 
become  essentially  wicked,  for  which 
He  has  instituted  no  other  system 
of  help  except  letting  Another  pay 
the  penalty  for  man,  was  the  founda- 
tion of  another  theory  of  reh'gion 
sometimes  called  '  Evangelical.' 

That  this  barbarising  doctrine 
does  not  make  man  barbarous,  at 
least  not  very,  can  only  be  because 
men  are  so  much  better  than  their 
God. 

That  God  has  made  a  scheme  of 
salvation  and  damnation  by  which 
a  certain  number  of  His  creatures 
are  'saved '  everlastingly,  a  certain 
number  *  damned '  everlastingly,  is 
considered  by  all  the  orthodox  mil- 
lions of  the  Church  which  calls 
itself  'Christian,'  whether  Boman 
Catholic,  Greek  or  Protestant^  as 
the  fundamental  doctrine  or  one  of 
the  fundamental  doctrines  of  their 
faith. 

Then  the  (so-called)  'Liberal' 
steps  in  and  says,  '  No,  God  would 
not  be  so  ill-natured.'  But  if  you 
ask  the  '  Liberal '  you  will  find  uiat 
he  does  not  suppose  God  has  made 
any  otiier  plan,  any  plan  for  con- 
ducting each  and  idl  of  us  to  per- 
fection; he  simply  supposes  that 
God  has  no  plan  at  all;  or  that, 
if  He  has,  we  can't  find  it  out. 

In  that  case,  it  is  difficult  to  see 
how  his  God  is  better  than  the 
others'.  Lideed,  in  point  of  intellect. 
He  is  worse.  But  what  is.the  use  of 
working  on  at  all,  what  is  the  use 

B  B 


572 


A  '  Note '  of  InterrogatioH. 


[Ma, 


of  sermons  at  all,  if  we  do  not  begin 
at  the  beginning — ^if  we  do  not 
know  who  God  is  ?  Why  should  I 
be  told  to  serve  Him  if  I  do  not 
know  whom  it  is  I  serve?  To 
please  God,  I  am  justly  told,  is  the 
end  of  my  being ;  but  I  must  know 
what  God  is  like,  in  order  to  know 
what  is  pleasing  to  Him.  The  most 
frightful  crimes  which  this  world 
has  ever  seen  have  been  perpetrated 
'to  please  God.'  So  strange  and 
fatal  have  been  the  mistakes  as  to 
what  He  is  and  what  does  please 
Him.  Is  it  not,  therefore,  the  be- 
ginning of  all  knowledge  to  know 
Him  ?  the  very  first  step  in  theo- 
logy, in  education,  in  every  line  and 
moment  of  our  conduct,  to  find  out 
what  is  God's  character  ?  But  we 
do  not  even  make  it  the  last.  '  I 
am  Alpha  and  Omega,  the  begin- 
ning and  the  ending,'  the  first 
letter  and  the  last  and  every  in- 
termediate one  of  all  this  life- 
alphabet  of  man.  How  true  those 
words  are !  '  I  am  the  beginning 
and  the  end.'  And  how  lit&e  they 
are  attended  to !  E.g.  we  are  told 
that  Otod  looks  only  at  our  '  inten^ 
tions.'  It  would  seem  indeed  as  if 
we  thought  God  Himself  had  only 
intentions.  For,  as  to  creditii^ 
Him  with  a  plan  within  which  we 
have  to  work,  without  which  we 
can  do  nothing,  we  never  so  much 
as  believe  that  He  has  any. 

It  is  strange  how,  aprioriy  and  in 
direct  opposition  to  every  testi- 
mony, every  positive  experience 
since  the  world  began,  we  lay  down 
or  take  for  granted  that  God  has 
such  and  such  qualities. 

Take,  e.g.,  this  dictum,  that  God 
looks  only  at  our  intentions — a 
cloak,^by  the  way,  for  every  lazi- 
ness, every  unwisdom  of  man,  an 
excuse  for  not  taking  the  means  of 
success  which  we  must  take  for 
every  walk  of  life — for  not  cultivat- 
ing judgment,  obtaining  experience, 
watching  results,  as  we  do  in  eveir 
other  profession,  science,  and  busi- 
ness. 


And  yet  we  say,  and  say  truly, 
that  He  visits  the  sins  of  the  fathers 
upon  the  third  and  fourth  genera- 
tion ;  that  is,  so  far  from  *  looking 
only  at  the  intentions,'  the  race,  the 
place,  the  climate,  ihe  oonditionB 
(sanitary  or  otherwise),  the  educa- 
tion, the  moral  influences  and  as- 
sociations, all  that  goes  to  make  up 
that  vast  item  which  we  call  by  the 
little  word  '  circumstanoes,'  all  this 
tells  on  the  next  generation,  and  the 
next,  and  the  next,  and  makes  ^ 
world.  Mankind  is  to  create  man- 
kind. Mankind  has  to  create  the 
circumstances  which  make  man. 
kind.  Mankind  has  even  to  £nd 
out  &om  experience  what  is  virtue 
and  what  is  vice.  No  insect 
shows  him  this,  no  conscienoe.  All 
that  conscience  tells  him  is  to  do 
what  is  right,  and  not  to  do  whalis 
wrong.  But  what  is  the  right  and 
what  is  the  wrong  mankind  has  to 
find  out. 

Yet  we  see  that  inexorably  con- 
sequences are  visited  upon  the 
*  third  and  fourth  generation.*  Con- 
sequences of  what?  Of  ignorance. 
Why  ?  Because  this  is  the  veiy 
plan  of  Gtod  to  teach  man  tiutngh 
inexorable  consequences.  To  teach 
him  what?  That  sufferinn^  is  to 
be  the  inexorable,  the  intermin- 
able consequence  of  error.  Nd 
80 :  for  under  this  and  through 
this  all  is  the  river  deeply  flowinfr 
(the  imperishable,  never  int^Tupted 
Nile),  the  warp  upon  which  all  this 
suffering  is  the  woof»  the  *8tiQ 
small  voice ' — ^wbich  is  the  plan  of 
God  to  bring  each  and  all  of  us  to 
perfection  through  mankind  learn- 
ing to  create  mankind  by  experi- 
ence, learning  by  means  of  ihe 
invariable,  the  inexorable  nature 
of  these  consequences. 

It  is  said  that,  in  Japan,  eveiy 
one  in  whose  house  a  fire  originates, 
whether  accidentally  or  no^  is  be- 
headed without  f^peal ;  that  ia,  no 
one  looks  at  his  '  intentions.' 

Is  not  this  something  like  the 
government  of  God  ?    If  one  has 


1873] 


A  *•  Note '  of  Interrogation, 


573 


not  liad  the  wisdom  to  prevesit  the 
fire,  does  He  the  less  permit  the 
fire  to  bam  us  and  our  children  P 
Does  He  *  forgive'  ns  the  conse- 
quences ?  But  there  seems  in  al- 
most all  present  teaching  of  Ghris- 
tianiiyan  ineradicable  prepossession 
that  'forgiveness'  means  the  re- 
moral  of  fhtnze  eterDal  punishment, 
that  God  has  nothing  to  do  with 
laws  regulating  or  registering'  re- 
sults in  this  world,  but  thiS»  He 
keeps,  as  it  were,  a  rod  in  pickle  for 
ns  in  ^e  next ;  which  rod  in  pickle  is 
to  be  averted,  it  really  seems  to  be 
tanght,  by  a  certun  number  of  cere- 
monial observances. 

This  is  another  of  those  cu- 
rious practical  mistakes  extending 
through  centuries  from  misunder- 
fitanduig  the  character  of  Ck)d — 
the  believing  Him  to  be  pleased, 
to  be  best  worshipped,  mSk  cere- 
monial, not  moral,  service.  How 
conld  this  mistake  have  originated 
in  Christianity,  since  Christ  mav 
be  said  to  have  preached  beyond  all 
other  things  the  spirittial  service  of 
Qod,  the  serving  Him  by  serving 
man?  It  is  a  mistake  actually  more 
prevalent  now  in  Christianity  than 
it  was  in  some  other  religions,  such 
as  Buddhism. 

Mysticism  in  all  ages  and  in  all 
creeds-^as  in  Oriental  religions,  so 
in  Western  Christianity — seems  to 
have  been  a  reaction  against  thid. 

n. 

Bui^  as  often  happens,  there  has 
been  another  reaction  besides  Mys- 
ticism in  quite  another  direction, 
and  this  is  Positivism. 

By  PositivistB  it  is  thought  that, 
to  learn  the  laws  of  nibtnre  as  &r 
as  we  can,  without  troubling  our 
heads  about  Him  who  made  them. 


if  indeed  there  be  One  (about  whom, 
they  say,  we  can  know  nothing),  is 
the  only  course  for  man. 

Is  not  this  leaving  out  the  most 
inspiring  part  of  life  ? 

Suppose  Plato  had  said,  '  I  find 
certam  words,  a  certain  life,  on 
which  I  mean  to  base  my  own  ; 
but  I  do  not  care  as  to  whether 
these  are  the  words,  the  life,  of 
Socrates.  I  can  know  nothing 
really  about  him.  He  is  indifierent 
to  me.' 

The  whole  inspiration  of  Plato's 
life  seems  to  have  been  his  having 
known  Socrates.  And  shall  it  be 
less  of  an  inspiration  to  us  to  have 
known  God,  to  know  Qod  ? 

By  Positivists  it  is  said,  the  aspi- 
rations, the  'unsatisfied  instincts' 
of  man  point  not  to  the  develop- 
ment of  that  particular  man,  to 
'eternal  life'  for  hinij  as  the 
moralists  say,  but  to  the  develop- 
ment of  '  humanity.'  This  appears 
strictly  illogical.  If  one  human 
life  is  a  disappointing  fragment, 
humanity  means  a  mass  of  disap- 
pointing fragments — a  crowd  of 
unfinished  lives — an  accumulation 
of  worthless  abortions.  Is  it  worth 
while  for  me  to  work  either  for 
humanity  or  myself  if  this  be  so  ?  ^ 
Above  aU,  is  it  worth  while  for  me 
to  work  if  there  be  no  Qod,  or  if 
there  be  only  such  a  Qod  as  tina  ? 
Unless  I  am  a  fellow- worker  with 
Divine  Power,  who  is  working  up 
all  our  poor  little  pun  v  efibrts  into 
a  whole—a  whole  of  which  our 
efibrts  are  only  parts,  and  worth 
anything  only  in  as  much  as  they 
are  parts — shall  I  work  at  all  ? 

To  be  a  fellow-worker  with  Qod 
is  the  highest  inspiration  of  which 
we  can  conceive  man  capable.  But 
how  can  we  be  fellow- workers  with 
Qod  if  we  do  ^not  know  His  plan  ? 


'  A  law  18  only  a  register,  a  register  of  the  will  of  God^alw&ys  the  same. 

* '  Collective  Humanity ' — a  term  of  religion  much  used  by  the  Positiyist,  and,  indeed^ 
I7 the '  extremely  not  so'  too.  Angela  and  ministers  of  grace  defend  nsl — a  '  coUec- 
tioD '  of  abcfrtions-^a  *  collection'  of'  me^  s.  Is  this  vhat  I  am  to  rererence  ?  this  which 
I  am  to  work  for? 

B  R2 


574 


A  '  Note  *  of  InterrogaUon. 


[% 


The  world  is  Ood's,  not  thine :  let  Him 
Work  out  a  change,  if  change  must  be, 

says  the  Tempter,  in  the  ballad. 

The  Tempter  says  what  is  (though 
in  a  different  sense)  strictly  tme. 
It  M  God  (who-  made  the  world 
and  all  that  is  in  it)  whose  plans 
mnst  work  out  its  progress  and 
perfection.  And  we  can  only  be 
anything  or  do  anything  towards 
it  exactly  in  as  far  as  we  are 
fellow- workers  with  God ;  exactly 
in  as  far  as  we  study,  discover, 
and  work  in  accordance  with  Hia 
laws,  His  designs. 

The  Tempter  (in  the  ballad)  goes 
on: 

The  hand  that  planted  best  can  trim 
And  norse  the  old  nnfraitful  tree. 

Quite  true,  Tempter ;  but  not  true 
in  80  far  as  we  are  not  trees.  At 
least,  we  advance  beyond  being 
trees.  And  then  we  must  help  to 
*trim'  and  *  nurse'  not  only  our- 
selves, but  those  who  have  not  yet 
advanced  beyond  being  'trees.' 
And  at  present  their  name  is  Legion. 

The  world  is  God's,  not  thine. 

Even  the  Positivist  acknowledges 
Ihis  in  the  sense  that  there  are 
inexorable  laws  beyond  altogether, 
not  our  ken  but,  our  touch.  We 
cannot  move,  them  a  hair's  breadth 
to  the  right  or  the. left. 

The  world  is  God's,  not  ours. 
But  Gk>d  means  to  make  it  ours. 
And  how  can  He  make  it  ours, 
except  by  leading  us,  by  His  inva- 
riable laws,  to  know  how  to  govern 
^y  them  ?  It  is  law  which  makes 
us  kings.  His  kingdom  is  a  king- 
dom of  law.  Without  laws  there 
can  be  no  kingdom.  He  wants  to 
give  us  His  kingdom.  How  is  He 
to  do  this  ? 

m. 

Into  this  kingdom  we  scarcely 
«eem  up  to  this  time  to  have  effected 
the  smallest  entrance.  And  for 
two  reasons  : — 


(a)  That  we  have  but  the  vaguest 
and  most  general  acquaintance  with 
the  character  of  its  King,  restricted 
indeed  only  to  a  few  words,  to 
which  words  mankind  attach  the 
most  opposite  meanings,  (b)  That 
we  have  not  as  yet  even  bc^n  to 
enquire  into  any  method  for  asoer* 
taining  the  laws  of  the  kingdom- 
moral  philosophy,  as  I  believe  it  is 
usually  called. 

And  first: 

(a)  It  is  of  no  use  saying  ibat 
God  is  just,  unless  we  define  what 
justice  is.  In  all  Christian  times, 
people  have  said  that '  God  is  jnst' 
and  have  credited  Him  with  an  in- 
justice such  as  transcends  allliium 
injustice  that  it  is  possible  to  oon- 
oeive,  e.e.  that  He  oondenmsto 
'  everlastmg  fire '  for  not  being  bap- 
tised, little  babies  who  certainly  conid 
not  get  themselves  baptised.  Wbt 
is  the  most  horrible  and  wholesale 
infanticide  compared  with  this? 
Not  even  that  of  the  Frenchwonan 
farmer  of  babies  who  poured  Titriol 
instead  of  milk  down  the  babies' 
throats,  and  dipped  their  heads  is 
boiling  water.  For  she  certainlj 
did  not  mean  to  do  this  for  eter- 
nity. • 

But  would  Gt)d  be  the  more  jnsi, 
even  though  He  does  not  damn  the 
little  babies,  if  He  does  not  m> 
them — if  He  has  no  scheme  by 
which  the  little  babies,  who  were 
never  asked  whether  they  would 
come  into  this  world  or  not,  are  \a 
be  brought  to  perfect  happiness? 

Also,  there  is  eztraordinaiy  con- 
fusion  about  what  happiness  is. 
Whole  books  have  been  written  to 
prove  that  there  is  a  veiy  equal 
distribution  of  happiness  all  orer 
the  world  in  all  classes  and  oondi- 
tions  of  men.  *  Paupers  are  accns- 
tomed  to  pauperism,  rich  people 
are  accustomed  to  ennui,  saTiges 
to  savage-dom.  All  these  bare 
their  pleasures.'  This  is  the  argo- 
ment.  Do  people  who  argue  thns 
ever  ask  themselves  for  cme  moment 
what  happiness  is  ?     Or  do  thej 


1878] 


A  *  Note  '  of  Inierrogcdion, 


675 


really  call  the  excitement  of  gin, 
the  beastly  momentary  pleasure  of 
sensuality,  which  alone  diversify 
the  miserable  lives  of  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  London  poor,  happi- 
ness? Or  do  they  cfdl  the  dcwbd 
'  lock  of  carriages  in  Hyde  Park, 
with  dogs'  h^Mis  instead  of  chil- 
dren's out  of  window,  which  is 
the  break  to  the  ennui  of  the  rich, 
happiness  F 

As  well  might  they  write  to 
prove  that  every  man  in  London, 
taking  the  average,  has  io,ooo{.  a 
year,  as  that  every  man,  taking  the 
average,  has  happiness.^ 

What  a  poor  idea  of  happiness 
this  is ! 

Is  not  the  happiness  of  Ood,  so 
far  as  we  can  conceive  it,  the  only 
type  of  what  happiness  is  ?  And 
why  has  Qod  happiness  ?  Not  be- 
cause He  can  do  what  He  likes.^ 
But  because  what  He  likes  is  good. 

It  would  seem,  then,  as  if  we  had 
to  define  what  the  very  word  that 
we  are  most  in  the  habit  of  using, 
}iappine88  (in  moral  science),  means, 
before  we  can  go  a  step  farther  in 
determining  what  the  moral  king- 
dom is,  what  the  laws  of  the  king- 
dom of  God  (or  of  moral  science) 
are. 

Take  another  word  in  common 
use :  *  Love.'  It  is  of  no  use 
saying  that  Gk>d  is  Love,  unless  we 
define  what  love  will  do.  That 
*  God  is  Love '  has  been  said  for 
eighteen  centuries,  while  the  most 
hideous  cruelties  have  been  perpe- 
trated in  the  name  of  this  God  of 
^  Love,'  cruelties  such  as  the  most 
savage  hate  of  savage  life  had  never 
indented. 

iir  all  we  have  to  do  in  theology, 
all  we  have  to  say  in  moral  pm- 
loaophy,  only  (as  sometimes  said) 
by  way  of  illustration,  or  anec- 
dotes, of  a  few  great  principles,  such 
as  'God  is  Love,'  'God  is  just,' 
'  God  is  happy,'  &o,  &c,  ? 


Bather,  have  we  not  first  to  lay 
down  the  very  elementary  notions 
and  definitionB  of  what  these  few 
great  principles  are — ^then  to  extend 
the  application  of  these  principles 
over  tne  whole  of  the  moral  world  ? 
They  cover  the  whole  domain  of 
moral  philosophy — ^the  whole  field 
of  human  action,  since  all  human 
action  springs  from  the  great  princi- 
ples of  the  character  of  Grod.  There- 
fore  we  must  know  what  that  is. 

In  the  very  measure  of  the  pro- 
gress we  make  in  finding  out  the 
real  &cts  of  moral  science,  e.g. 
educational  science,  or  the  real 
£BMsts  of  physical  science,  e.g.  sani- 
tary science,  in  that  very  measure 
those  facts  show  the  perfect  God 
leading  man  on  to  perfection. 

Take  the  nev^spapers  of  the  day 
for  illustrations.  ( i )  Advertisement 
of  a  book:  ^ Fever  in  London^  Us 
Social  and  Sanitary  Lessons.^  Ex- 
actly as  we  find  out  the  real  facts, 
we  find  that  every  one  of  those  fisMsts 
has  attached  to  it  just  the  lesson 
which  will  lead  us  on  to  social  im- 
provement. Were  'contagion'  a 
fact,  what  would  be  its  lesson  ?  To 
isolate  and  to  fly  from  the  fever  and 
cholera  patient,  and  leave  him  to 
die ;  to  kill  the  cattle ;  instead  of 
improving  the  conditions  of  either. 
Tlus  is  the  strictly  logical '  lesson ' 
of  '  contagion.'  If  it  is  not  strictly 
followed,  it  is  only  because  men  are 
so  much  better  than  their  God. 
If  'contagion'  were  a  &ct — ^this 
being  the  lesson  which  it  teaches — 
can  we  escape  the  conclusion  that 
God  is  a  Spirit  of  Evil,  and  not  of 
Love? 

Now  take  the  real  fiicts  of 'in- 
fection.' What  is  their  lesson? 
Exactly  the  lesson  we  should  teach, 
if  we  wanted  to  stir  man  up  to 
social  improvement.  The  lesson  of 
'  infection '  is,  to  remove  the  con- 
ditions of  dirt,  of  over-crowding,  of 
foulness  of  every  kind  under  which 


*  The  great  Leckv  hae  actually  made  this  tranecendent  blunder  about  happiness. 
'  Im  not  the  usual  idea  of  happiness  *  to  be  able  to  do  as  one  likes '  ? 


576 


A  '  Ntde '  of  Interrogation. 


[May 


men  live.  And  even  were  not  so- 
called  '  infectionB '  disease  attached 
to  these  conditions  by  the  unchang- 
ing will  of  God,  it  would  still  be 
inseparable  from  social  improve- 
ment that  these  conditions  should 
be  removed.  Disease  is  Elijah's 
earthquake^  which  forces  us  to 
attend,  to  listen  to  the  '  still  small 
voice.'  May  we  not  therefore  sav 
that '  infection '  (facts  and  doctrine) 
shows  God  to  be  a  God  of  Love  ? 
And  this  is  but  one  instance. 

(2)  The  facte  of  what  is  more 
strictly  called  education,  though 
sanitary  &cts  are  one  of  the  most 
powerful  means  of  educating  man- 
kind, show,  if  possible,  stiU  more 
strongly  what  nere  has  been  im- 
perfectly expressed. 

Two  powerful  addresses  to  the 
Universities  of  St.  Andrew's  and 
Glasgow  take  up  the  subject  of  edu- 
cation in  its  true  light,  viz.  that  edu- 
cation is  to  teach  men  not  to  know, 
but  to  do ;  that  the  true  end  of  edu- 
cation is  production,  that  the  object 
of  education  is  not  ornamentation, 
but  production — (after  man  has 
leamt  to  produce,  then  let  him 
ornament  himself) — but  'produc- 
tion '  in  the  widest  sense  of  the  term. 
And,  to  teach  man  to  produce,  the 
educating  him  to  perfect  accuracy  of 
thought— and,  it  might  have  been 
added,  to  accurate  habits  of  obser- 
vation— and  to  perfectly  accurate 
habits  of  expression,  is  the  main,  the 
constant  way— what  a  grand  *  les- 
son '  this  is. 

But  to  hasten  on.  The  modem 
Positivists  have  told  us  till  we  are 
sick  and  tired  of  hearing  it:  the 
moral  world  as  the  physical  world 
is  entirely  governed  by  L&ws.  This 
is  an  undeniable  truth.  But  we 
have  never  gained  one  step  farther 
—they  have  not  told  us  what  one  of 
these  laws  is.^ 

Perhaps  the  only  one  we  know  is 


that  acts  of  the  moral  nature,  acts 
of  the  intellectual  nature,  become 
easier  by  habit,  i.e.  vicious  habits 
as  well  as  virtuous  ones  become 
more  powerful  by  repetition.  A 
man,  any  more  than  a  nation,  cannot 
will  himself  free  all  at  once — cannot 
will  himself  good  (in  any  one  sense) 
all  at  once. 

But,  otherwise,  this,  the  most 
practical  study  of  all,  the  study  of 
man,  since  man  we  have  always 
with  us — Qod  and  man  we  hare 
always  with  us — ^is  almost  entirely 
neglected  for  want  of  a  method  to 
begin  it. 

But  may  it  not  be  found  that— as 
mankindhas  in  the  last  thirty  years 
gone  at  a  pace  hitherto  unknown  in 
all  kinds  of  discoveries  in  physical 
science,  discoveries  in  chemistnr, 
discoveries  in  mechanical  foroea,  in 
light  and  electricity,  discoveries  by 
sea  and  discoveries  by  land— if 
mankind  would  but  set  to  work  on 
the  moral  laws  as  they  have  done 
on  the  physical  laws,  equal  disco- 
veries would  be  achieved  ? 

Could  we  not,  e.g.,  discover  hov 
to  redeem  man  ^m  paaperism, 
how  to  teach  every  man,  not  infinn 
or  incapable,  to  produce?  Scarcely 
a  single  step  has  been  made  in  this 
direction  in  England — amongus,  the 
most  practical  nation  of  the  earth. 
Could  we  not  discover  how  to  re- 
deem men  from  habitual  crime? 
Though  our  ears  are  dinned  bj 
Habitual  Criminals  Bills  and  the 
like,  crime  is  actually  increasing 
instead  of  diminishing,  it  is  some- 
times said. 

In  the  worst  years  of  the  woist 
Pope,  300  years  ago,  a  Boman  ban- 
dit refbsed  a  pardon  on  the  ground 
that  robbing  was  more  lucrative  and 
the  robber's  life  more  pleasant  and 
secure  than  the  honest  man's  in 
Rome.  What  is  tliis  but  the  et^ 
of  London  now  ? 


^  One  of  the  greatest  of  American  writers,  and  a  'Transcendentalist,'  has  writtsn  that 
the  disoovery  of  how  Lbw  rules  the  moral  woxld  is  like  setting  us  down  to  a  'feast' 
It  is  a  *  feast '  of  empty  dishes,  then  ! 


1873] 


A  *  Note  *  of  livterrogation. 


577 


Is  it  possible  to  believe  if,  instead 
of  calling  injustice  justice  in  Qod,and 
imitating  it,  mankind  were  to  lay 
tbeir  heads  together  in  order  to  find 
oat  what  are  fiie  ways  for  bringing 
man  to  perfection,  what  are  the  laws 
that  gorem  the  moral  world — ^is  it 
possible  to  believe  that  just  as  great 
strides  might  not  be  made  during 
the  next  tibiirtj  years  in  this  ahnost 
untrodden  field  as  have  been  made 
in  the  field  of  natural  science  P — 
that  mankind  might  not  be  re- 
deemed from  habitual  pauperism, 
from  habitual  crime,  and  that  the 
£tce  of  this  world  of  men  might 
not  be  transformed  on  its  way  to 
perfection  after  a  manner  that '  eye 
hath  not  seen  nor  ear  heard,  neither 
hath  it  entered  into  the  mind  of 
man  to  conceive '  ?  Could  man  have 
conceived  the  electric  telegraph 
half  a  century  ago,  or  even  travel- 
ling by  steam  ? 

(b)  But  secondly,  the  very  foun- 
dation of  moral  science  has  to  be 
laid,  the  method  by  which  we  have 
to  arrive  at  it. 

Bacon  and  Newton  laid  the 
foundation  for  physical  science  in 
England ;  that  is,  they  discovered 
the  method  by  which  all  enquiry 
into  physical  science  must  be  con- 
ducted in  order  to  be  successful. 

Has  not  this  now  to  be  done  for 
moral  science  ? 

As  Macaulay  says,  what  would 
Socrates  have  thought  of  us  had 
he  known  that,  since  he  was  here, 
we  have  measured  the  diameters 
and  distances  of  bodies  milUons  of 
millions  of  miles  off  ?  Tet  of  the 
nature,  the  metaphysics  of  man,  we 
know  hardly  more  than  he  did. 

Of  Gt)d  perhaps  we  know  less ; 
in  one  sense,  the  conception  of  a 
perfect  Grod  was  perhaps  clearer  in 
Plato's  mind  than  in  ours.  We  are 
not  speaking  here  of  practical,  real 
ChristiaDity. 


Who  is  to  be  the  founder,  who 
the  Bacon,  of  a  method  of  enquiry 
into  moral  science  ? 

But  is  it  wonderful  that  no  steps 
in  moral  science  are  made,  if  no  one 
has  ever  yet  discovered  or  even 
thought  of  discovering  a  method  of 
enquiry  ? 

Observation,  careful  observation, 
in  moral  science  is  almost  unknown. 

A  priori  reasoning  upon  *  facts  * 
which  are  not  fetcts,  begging  the 
question  upon  foregone  conclu- 
sions, is  all  the  art  or  method  we 
know. 

The  preacher,  the  legislator,  the 
statesmau,  the  poor  law  adminis- 
trator, the  criminal  law  adininistra- 
tor,  the  legal  world,  the  politiciaD, 
the  educator,  the  moral  philosopher, 
all  these  have  the  moral  nature  of 
man  for  their  subject,  their  field  of 
work.  Yet  the  moral  nature  of 
man  is  the  only  subject  thev  do  not 
know,  do  not  even  investigate,  do 
not  treat  of — ^the  only  field  they  do 
not  work  in ;  or,  if  they  do,  it  is 
only  bv  a  sort  of  rule  of  thumb. 

If,  tnen,  moral  science,  the  science 
of  the  social  and  political  im- 
provement of  man,  the  science 
of  educating  or  administering  the 
world  by  discovering  the  laws 
which  govern  man's  motives,  his 
moral  nature,  is  synonymous  with 
the  study  of  the  character  of  God, 
because  the  laws  of  the  moral  world 
are  the  expressions  and  solely 
the  expressions  of  the  character 
of  God,  shall  we  not  nndertake 
now,  with  all  our  minds,  and 
with  all  our  souls,  and  with  all 
our  hearts,  and  with  all  our  strength, 
this  study,  which  is  the  oldest,  the 
newest,  the  most  important,  the 
most  untouched,  ther  most  Christ- 
like, the  most  philosophical,  the 
most  practical,  the  most  human, 
the  most  divine,  of  all  the  work 
that  God  has  given  us  to  do  ? 


"^1^ 


676 


A  *  Note '  of  Inierrogatum. 


'^j 


men  live.  And  even  were  not  so- 
called  '  infections '  disease  attached 
to  these  conditions  by  the  unchang- 
ing vnll  of  God,  it  would  still  be 
inseparable  from  social  impiove- 
ment  that  these  conditions  should 
be  removed.  Disease  is  Elijah's 
earthquake^  which  forces  us  to 
attend,  to  listen  to  the  '  still  small 
voice.'  May  we  not  therefore  say 
that '  infidction '  (facts  and  doctrine) 
shows  God  to  be  a  God  of  Love 
And  this  is  but  one  instance. 

(2)  The  facts  of  what  is 
strictly  called  education,  ^'  • 
sanitary  facts  are  one  of  f  ;*** 
powerful  means  of  educa*  ^°^* 
kind,  show,  if  possible  dyellen 
strongly  what  here  >  f  ?*?  ^^^ 
perfectly  expressed,     yulinforma- 

Two  powerful  p  j>g»^  ^^IW- 
Universities  of  f  .^  ***«?  „^>?^* 
Glasgow  taken  M  r^  following 
cation  in  its  tr  ,.fi*?*ing  perhaps, 
cation  is  to  '  >«™&'  ^  *?.  **^® 
buttodo;  .^,{^}^  ?!f5*?'Ti?' 
cation  is '       Vi  be  robbed  by  the 

of  educp  >/*  »  "^^^^^  ^^  9^^"^^ 
but  p"  rif^^^  wolves  aud  bears 
learnt  ''^^^  about  in  flocks  don't 
oma-  f,p^^  ^  ®^^  ^  y^^'  ^^^' 
tior  /^w»  *^®^  y°^  ^™  certain  to 
Ar    .4ft  ^°^  behind,*      *  Ah,'  said 


Of     ^jeff  *^°  ^®*  ™®  persuade  you 

f     ^Jter  your  minds,  and  try  a  tour 

i^gh  some  of  our  plains,  where 

j^  speak  good  honest  Magyar.' 

r^e  did  not  follow  his   advice, 

-J  on  the  contrary  we  were  ex- 

itetaeij  glad  when  these    eternal 

plains,  which  were  fast  reviving  an 

infantile  idea  that  the  earth  was 

flat  and  that  you  would  tumble  off 

the  edge  somewhere  if  you  did  not 

take  care,  gave  place  to  the  first 

offshoots  of  the  Carpathians.     The 

hills  are    covered    with  dark    fir 


that  acts  of  thr 
of  the  intellf  - 
easier  by  h' V  f 
as  well  9'^r  ! 
more  pC; 
man,  p 

wiu'     ; 


dPB. 


.  glittet  »^^ 

ongOieBoiwnanfi, 

.  people  in  8^ 
and  great  sbsggF 


alise  some  vagae 


ideftB 


'  I  call  them  by  the  more  general  name  of  '  Rouman/  to  distinguish  Uiem  fron  tie 
Wallacks  of  WaUachia  proper ;  though  they  are  of  the  same  race,  and  an  ^\A 
Walacher  by  the  Germans.  They  call  themselves  'Romans'  pure  and  simple!  H^ 
language,  in  its  preference  for  u  rather  than  o,  resembles  more  the  Sicilian  diakcttliiD 
the  literaiy  Italian,  and  differs  from  all  the  other  Romance  speeehes  by  pones8iDg,lil« 
the  Scandinayian,  the  post-positive  article — e^.  Vhomme,  il  uomo,  el  homoreaifi^ibMi 
but  the  Rouman  equivalent  is  homula  Wio  iUe, 


dt  Don  Cossacks.    Does 
.    they  cover   their  heafls 

,      shaggy  hoods,  and  then  yo^ 
among  Esquimaux.    ^^  7^' 

iter  a  weary  journey,  we  ^^fj 
our  destination  in  the  middle  ot  tne     j 
mountains,  only  four  hours  late- 

Petros^ny  is  a  litde  ground-flooT 
village  nestling  among  the  gjg^*** 
downs  which,  by  courtesy,  I  "^^^ 
called  mountains.  Four  pa™»^ 
straight  lines  of  equal  length  i"^ 
give  a  correct  ground-plan  of  rts 
two  streets,  in  which  an  officii 
notice  about  muzzling  dogs  w  P 
np  in  three  languages— BouuiwbMj 
German,  and  Hungarian ;  but  th? 
inhabitants  are  apparently  to  a  fflin 
Eoumans,^  except  our  host,  wbo 
speaks  German.  To-day  it  is  rf^t 
so  they  have  for  the  most  part 
divested  themselves  of  their  sbaggf 
cloaks,  and  walk  about  in  ibe  ^^ 
glory  of  flowing  white  trousers  m 
tunic,  and  a  bi^ad  leathern  dBgge^ 
belt  round  their  waist  indented 
with  strange  spiral  decoi^te 
and  curiously  reminding  one  of  the 
bronze  belts  discovered  in  the  pi^- 
historic  cemetery  at  H&llstadt. 
Some  have  rugged  caps  of  shaggf 
skin,  others  three-cornered  batso^ 
wideawakes  of  straw  or  felt.  Tbe; 
have  moustaches  occasionally,  ba( 
no  beard,  black  eyes  and  long  luk 
tresses  to  match.  As  to  the  women, 
they  may  be  readily  distingoished 
from  the  men,  showing  mm  of 


18W] 


Over  the  Marches  of  Civilised  Europe, 


579 


their  legs  and  less  of  their  hair; 
they  wear  white  dresses  reaching 
nearly  down  to  the  knee  and  Turk- 
ish  waistcoats  elaborately  embroi- 
dered with  flowers. 

We  now  set  oS  on  foot  for  our 
mouutain  joamey  to  Hermannstadt, 
Transylvania's  capital.  There  is  no 
pass,  but  we  intended  to  strike 
light  across  the  Carpathians,  trust- 
ing as  best  we  could  to  a  compass 
and  an  Austrian  map.  Our  tirst 
day's  journey  was  over  mountains, 
a  little  too  like  downs,  but  with  here 
and  there  splendid  bits  of  rock  and 
precipice.  Habitations  grew  more 
and  more  primitive  till  they  sank 
into  small  wooden  huts,  and  the 
villages  dwindled  into  groups  of 
two  or  three  such  hovels  and  then 
disappeared  altogether.  Luckily 
about  dusk  we  came  upon  a  party 
of  Houman  peasants.  Not  a  word 
of  German  did  they  understand,  so 
I  tried  Latin:  *Dormire?'  'Dor- 
raire  ! ' — they  understood  at  once, 
but  pointed  far  away  towards  Pe- 
troseny.  That  wouldn't  do ;  so  we 
got  one  of  them  to  lead  us  to  his 
home  in  the  mountains.  We  found 
that  their  speech  resembled  Latin 
and  Italian  enough  for  us  to  com- 
prehend a  little  of  what  they  said, 
and  even  for  them  to  understand 
us  a  little.  One  of  them  showed 
OS  the  spot  where  he  had  killed  the 
wolf  whose  hair  formed-  his  head- 
gear. Darker  and  darker  it  grew, 
and  still  our  guide  led  us  on  along 
the  rough  mountain-side,  through 
woods  and  over  rocks,  till,  almost 
^worn  out  by  continual  stumbling, 
we  stopped  before  his  hut,  a  rude 
circnlar  wigwam  of  rough  spars, 
situated  on  a  small  level  spot  on  a 
steep  slope. 

There  was  no  room  for  us  inside 
ivlien  we  got  there,  but  the  inmates 
were  very  hospitable.  They  brought 
ns  out  hay  to  lie  on,  fresh  milk 
(lajpte  dulce)  to  drink,  water  (apa) 
to  cook  with,  and  made  us  a  roaring 
fire  (Jbcu),  Their  supper  was  a 
little  piece  of  black  bread  and  some 


toadstools,  which  thev  roasted  by 
the  simple  process  of  throwing  them 
on  their  backs  in  the  hot  embers, 
having  first  sprinkled  them  with 
some  crystals  of  mountain  salt.  We 
tasted  a  crumb  of  it  and  found  it 
excellent,  but  very  peppery. 

That  night  we  had  to  lie  out  on 
the  bare  mountain-side  in  a  pour- 
ing rain,  which  began  at  lo  p.m. 
and  continued  without  intermission 
for  fourteen  hours ;  and  next  morn- 
ing we  began  to  climb  the  largest 
mountain  we  had  yet  come  to,  called 
Tartareu.  The  ascent,  through  thick 
woods  of  fir  and  beech,  was  very 
laborious,  as  the  rain  had  made  th& 
groand  so  slippery  that  we  slid  back 
at  every  step.  The  lightning  ha» 
made  great  havoc  with  the  beautiful 
beech  and  fir  trees  of  the  higher  re- 
gions. Some  have  been  shivered  to 
pieces,  others  have  a  black  tell-tal& 
scar  at  top  and  bottom,  and  others, 
again,  have  been  chiselled  by  its 
coils  into  gigantic  cork-screws  of 
black.  The  view  from  the  summit 
was  extremely  beautiful — a  panora- 
ma of  dark  undulating  mountains 
on  every  side,  covered  with  dense  fir- 
forest,  and  fringed  with  white  clouds 
and  mist  just  lit  up  by  the  returning 
sunshine.    But  it  was  fearfully  wild. 

We  followed  the  mountain  ridge 
at  an  elevation  of  about  6,000  feet. 
Still  amidst  the  same  profoundly 
lonely  scenery,  in  a  silence  only 
broken  by  the  croak  of  a  raven  (the 
commonest  bird  in  these  wilds)  and 
an  occasional  woodpecker,  hammer- 
ing away  with  his  red  head.  Li  the 
lower  and  somewhat  less  desolate 
parts  were  also  crossbills,  magpies 
(some  of  them  of  a  brilliant  blue), 
pigeons,  and  many  kinds  of  tits  and 
wrens,  especially  the  little  golden- 
crest,  true  to  its  love  of  fir  trees. 

Hour  passed  on  hour,  but  in  vain 
we  gazed  down  into  vall^  after  valley 
for  any  sign  of  man.  Many  glade» 
yre  saw,  far  below,  well  adapted  for 
cultivation,  but  none  was  there,  and 
for  the  rest  the  mountains  were 
covered  with  endless,  trackless  fir 


580 


Over  the  Marches  of  Cimlised  Europe. 


[May 


forest,  the  trees  growing  to  an  in- 
credible height.  Yet  the  Carpa- 
thians derive  a  certain  peculiar 
beauty  from  their  sombre  garments 
— a  deep  heavenly  bine  hangs  over 
even  the  nearer  distance,  which  yon 
rarely  see  elsewhere.  The  fir  trees 
when  superannoated  are  clothed  in 
a  grey  charity-smt  of  lichen,  which 
hangs  from  the  top  to  the  bottom  of 
the  tree,  wreathing  and  festooning 
the  dead  wood  in  nnbroken  threads 
from  branch  to  branch.  This  is  the 
forest  primeval,  and  we  found  forcing 
our  way  through  it  a  work  of  extreme 
labour,  as  at  almost  every  step  we 
were  confronted  by  vast  natural 
barricades  of  fallen  trees,  and 
branches  torn  off  by  hurricanes,  for 
here  the  wind  acts  as  woodman,  and 
the  lightning  is  charcoal-burner. 
But  who  is  to  carry  off  the  fine 
timber  that  lies  on  the  ground  P 

While  engaged  in  this  difficult 
work  we  came  upon  the  track  of  a 
bear.  There  were  his  foot-prints, 
claws  and  all,  indented  in  the  soft 
elay,  and  a  magnificent  animal  he 
must  have  been,  to  judge  from  their 
«ize !  We  were  not  fortunate 
enough  to  meet  their  owner,  but 
Bruin's  tracks  were  a  decided  help 
to  us,  as  they  led  very  much  in  our 
•direction,  or  rather  what  we  thought 
was  our  direction.  But  we  soon  lost 
his  track  in  less  impressionable  soil. 
We  were,  however,  consoled  by  a 
deHcious  feast  of  fine  wild  straw- 
berries, and  raspberries  of  exquisite 
flavour  spread  all  around ;  and  we 
fancied  that  we  had  found  Bruin's 
dining-room. 

We  kept  on,  guiding  ourselves  as 
well  as  we  could  in  a  north-east  direc- 
tion, and  found,  towards  evening,  a 
shepherd's  track  leadingdown  into  a 
valley,  which,  though  converted  into 
a  stream  by  recent  rains,  we  fol- 
lowed in  hopes  of  getting  a  night's 
lodging.  It  was  lucky,  on  the 
whole,  that  we  had  some  such  clue, 
for  soon  a  thick  cloud  settled  over 
U8,  and  we  saw  nothing  till  a  dog, 
flying  at  ns,  revealed  a  Bouman 


shepherd  milking  his  sheep — snow- 
white,  as  all  the  sheep  are  here.  He 
led  us  to  his  casa^  and  told  us  we 
might  sleep  there.  .A  queer  primi- 
tive dwelling  it  was.  *  A  hut  of 
unhewn  wood,  guiltless  of  chimney 
or  window,  but  with  a  hole  at  each 
end  under  the  eaves  to  let  out  Ihe 
smoke ;  and  as  to  light  and  Tentila- 
tion,  the  architect  had  admirably 
provided  for  them  by  the  simple 
but  original  device  of  leaving  half 
an  inch  of  daylight  between  each  of 
the  rough  trunks  that  formed  its 
sides.  It  was  all  one  room,  with 
just  a  little  partition  shutting  off  a 
sanctuary  sacred  to  cheese  and  milk, 
and  with  a  wooden  dais  miming 
round  it,  raised  about  three  fe^ 
from  the  ground,  and  serving  as 
chairs  by  dky  and  beds  by  night — 
for  which  latter  purpose  it  was 
partitioned  into  berths  by  Utthe 
wooden  knife-edges,  by  reposing 
your  head  on  which  you  may  dream 
that  you  are  on  the  guillotine.  But 
I  anticipate.  A  few  stones  in  the 
middle  of  the  room  form  the  hearth, 
and  a  wooden  hook  swings  OTor  it 
from  the  blackened  beam  abore — 
the  good  old  Homeric  fiiXaBpor, 

In  fact,  the  scene  is  altogether 
of  epic  days;  in  such  a  home  as 
this  the  old  swine-herd  Eumsfos 
might  have  received  the  way- 
worn Odysseus;  outside  lie  dogs 
such  as  those  that  nearly  tore  the 
wanderer  in  pieces,  and  pigs,  too, 
such  as  the  old  herd  kept  for  his 
lord.  And  surely  those  forms  that 
stand  out  in  the  firelight  are  l»g- 
limbed  and  noble  and  simple  as 
ever  those  that  floated  before  the 
mind's  eye  of  the  blind  poet.  I 
have  never  seen  a  family  of  larger 
mould.  There  is  the  fisiiher,  onr 
host,  a  magmficent  man,  over  six 
feet  tall,  and  broad  and  big  in  pro- 
portion, there  are  his  mother  and 
comely  wife,  his  grown-up  son, 
8U0  evnUlie  pair%  and  two  twin 
daughters  about  twelre  yeafs  old, 
but  evidently  veiy  large  for  tbeir 
age,  with  great  black  lustrous  eyes 


1873] 


Over  the  Marches  of  Owiliaed  Europe. 


581 


and  black  cascade  of  hair,  cut  square 
over  their  foreheads.  There  is  a 
nataral  refinement  about  these 
people  which  we  notice  wherever 
we  come  across  them,  a  politeness 
which  prompts  them  even  in  the 
heart  of  the  mountains  to  touch 
their  hat  to  a  stranger,  a  delicacy 
which  in  spite  of  their  evident 
curiosity  holds  them  back  from 
prying  into  our  knapsacks  and 
chattels.  Of  course  we  must  share 
their  supper,  delicious  sheep*s  milk, 
curds  and  black  bread — they 
wouldn't  hear  of  our  eating  our 
own  food.  Then  we  were  shown 
our  bed,  one  of  the  wooden  com- 
partments above  mentioned,  four 
feet  long,  by  three  broad — one 
between  us  two.  No  dressing  or 
undressing  here ;  but  you  get  into 
bed  just  as  you  are,  and  if  you 
happen  to  have  a  great-coat,  put 
it  on.  They  gave  us  two  little 
bits  of  fleece  for  sheets,  and  so  we 
went  to  sleep  on  the  haid  boards. 

Taking  what  we  saw  yesterday 
and  to-day  among  these  Boumans 
of  the  mountains,  we  have  a  strange 
picture  of  primitive  life  presented 
to   us.     Cut  off  from  intercourse 
with  mankind  at  large  by  the  forest 
and  fiur-stretching  mountains,  these 
people  live  in  a  httle  world  of  their 
own.     They  have  neither  beer  nor 
wine ;  neither  tea  nor  coffee,  and 
their    diet    is    apparently    mainly 
vegetarian — curds  and  cheese,  and 
a  little  maize  cake  or  black  bread, 
eked  out  by  wild  fruit  and  fringus ; 
their  drink  is  waten*,  or  the  milk  of 
their  sheep.    They  spin  their  own 
clothes,  every  woman  has  her  distaff 
and  spindle,  and  the  men  mend 
their  own  rents.     A  piece  of  wood, 
a  broken  bit  of  pottery,  or  even  a 
green    walnut,    serves    them    for 
spindle  whorl.     Sheep,  wolves,  and 
bears  supply  them  with  cloaks  and 
hats.     Metal  is  almost  or  aitirely 
unknown.     Their  vessels  for  cook- 
ing and  drinking  are  of  rode  pottery, 
sometimes  Itobaiieally  painted,  and 
judging  by  their  shape  and  look 


might  have  been  dug  up  from  some 
prehistoric  barrow.  A  gourd  sup- 
plies them  with  a  bottle,  and  they 
make  cups  out  of  bark.  Wooden 
pegs  supplant  nails,  their  com  is 
ground  in  stone  handmills,  their 
Uttle  patches  of  maize  are  tilled  by 
spades,  forks,  and  even  ploxighs,  of 
wood  hardened  in  the  fire.  If  they 
had  stone  celts,  the  old-world 
picture  would  be  perfect. 

Our  host  insisted  on  guiding  us 
part  of  the  way  to  La  Sibie,  as  the 
Boumans  call  Hermannstadt.  We 
were  glad  of  any  help  as  we  had 
completely  lost  our  bearings,  and 
had  somehow  got  over  the  Walla- 
chian  frontier,  indeed  the  ten  hours* 
progress  we  had  made  yesterday 
was  anything  but  in  the  right  direc- 
tion. 

Afler  our  guide  left  us,  we  be- 
came once  more  enveloped  in 
clouds,  and  as  we  did  not  know 
where  we  were  when  that  event 
took  place,  we  were  afterwards 
still  more  at  sea.  A  compass  was 
only  a  veiy  slight  help,  as  going 
straight  ahead  was  impossible  in 
the  mountains.  Still  we  struggled 
on  as  best  we  could  through  voice- 
less forest  and  wilds,  till  about  four 
P.M.  we  came  upon  the  brink  of  a 
lovely  valley,  with  a  stream  at 
bottom,  to  which  we  made  our  way 
by  a  steep  descent,  and  finding  a 
projecting  rock,  resolved  to  pass 
the  night  under  its  shelter,  as  we 
had  already  had  nine  hours'  walk. 
So  we  lit  a  fire,  and  began  making 
ourselves  at  home. 

It  was  evening,  and  my  brother 
was  fishing  in  the  stream,  while  I 
was  out  of  his  sight  in  another 
direction  getting  firewood,  when  he 
detected  a  head  cautiously  peering 
at  him  fr*om  some  bushes  about  a 
hundred  yards  off;  he  went  on 
fishing  as  if  he  had  noticed  nothing, 
keeping,  however,  a  sharp  look-out 
the  while,  and  shortly  became 
aware  that  there  were  two  men 
with  guns,  creeping  stealthily  to- 
wards our  bivouac.    They  dodged 


Over  the  Marches  of  OwUued  Europe. 


[May 


cantioaslj  from  tree  to  tree,  and 
absolutely  crawled  along  the  ground 
where  the  cover  was  not  good.  He 
was  naturally  not  a  little  alarmed 
at  these  proceedings,  so  he  put 
up  his  line  in  a  nonchalant  way, 
and  returned  to  our  fire,  where 
I  luckily  came  up  directly  after- 
wards. We  held  a  council  of  war, 
and  all  that  those  communicative 
Hungarians  had  said  to  us  in  the 
train  recurred  to  our  mind.  In 
fact  it  had  become  too  evident 
that  we  had  been  run  to  earth. 
There  was,  however,  some  consola- 
tion in  this  view,  as  it  tended 
to  show  that  they  would  wait  for 
nightfidl. 

Still,  no  time  must  be  lost  in 
making  up  our  minds  what  to  do, 
and  they  were  soon  made  up  to  de- 
camp. Accordingly  we  put  some 
damp  wood  on  the  fire  to  make  it 
smoke  well,  and  look  as  if  we  in- 
tended passing  the  night  by  it,  then 
hastily  doing  up  our  knapsacks,  we 
commenced  our  retreat.  The  rocks 
rose  too  precipitously  behind  our 
intended  sleeping  plaee  to  allow  of 
our  escaping  in  that  direction,  and 
we  were,  so  to  speak,  in  a  kind  of 
trap.  Therefore  we  had  to  de- 
scend through  the  forest  towards 
the  dangerous  quarter,  and  pass 
near  to  where  by  our  calculations 
the  men  would  now  have  advanced, 
though  their  advance  over  such 
ground  must  necessarily  be  so  slow 
as  to  make  a  hundred  yards  equi- 
valent to  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in 
more  open  ground.  We  climbed  as 
silently  as  we  could  along  the  tree- 
covered  steep,  holding  our  revolv- 
ers, which  we  had  carefully  loaded, 
straight  before  us,  prepared  for  the 
worst.  However,  we  passed  safely. 
We  felt  we  had  got  a  start ;  the 
imminence  of  danger  took  away  all 
fatigue,  and  we  felt  fresher  than 
when  we  started  in  the  morning. 
We  hurried  on  nimbly,  quickly 
through  the  trees,  over  the  rocks, 
across  the  ridge,  down  another 
steep  gorge,  across  a  stream,  and  at 


last,  to  our  great  joy,  found  the  best 
path  we  had  seen  for  days.  It  was 
night,  but  we  still  kept  on;  and 
four  hours  after  beginning  our  re- 
treat, we  had  the  good  luck  to  hit 
on  the  remains  of  a  woodman's  old 
shed,  with  three  sides  and  part  of 
the  roof  still  standing.  Here  we 
crept  in,  lit  a  fire,  and  passed  a 
comfortable  night,  with  earth  for 
a  mattress  and  growing  fern  for  a 
pillow,  after  thirteen  hours'  walk- 
ing  and  climbing. 

Next  day  we  kept  along  the  same 
beautiful  valley,  which  was  worthy 
of  any  part  of  the  Alps.  Above 
us  on  either  side  towered  the  moun- 
tains several  thousand  feet^  below 
roared  a  river,  a  continual  sheet  of 
foam,  and  the  rocky  sides  of  its  deep 
g^rge  though  almost  precipitous 
were  covered  with  dense  fir  forest, 
whose  darkness  was  relieved  by 
bright  beeches  and  silvery  birches 
and  waving  mountain  ash,  scarlet 
with  berries,  while  at  every  turn, 
like  the  ruined  castles  of  giants, 
started  up  spires  and  towers  and 
pinnacles  of  rock.  There  are  two 
specialities  about  this  scenery :  the 
trees  are  so  immense  that  they 
must  be  seen  to  be  believed  in,  and 
the  rocks  are  all  ablaze  with  glitter- 
ing mica.  As  to  flowers,  this  valley 
isa  perfect  garden — aoottage  garden 
— ^you  wander  among  beds  of  sweet- 
Williams,  sometimes  the  pale  pink, 
sometimes  the  bright  crimson ;  you 
tread  under  foot  phlox  and  pinks 
and  sweet  peas.  You  fight  your 
way  through  thickets  of  wild  sim- 
flower!  Then  there  are  labiate 
spikes  of  brilliant  blue,  a  plant  like 
a  zinnia  with  a  crown  of  filame^  a 
large  bell-shaped  flower  growing 
like  Solomon's-seal,  bat  of  the 
colour  of  the  purest  lapis  lazuli, 
and  any  number  of  others  equidly 
beautiful,  but  above  all  a  blue 
geranium  with  leaves  in  form  and 
fragrance  like  the  sc^ited  plant  of 
our  greenhouses.  Had  we  hit  on  the 
Garden  of  Paradise  itself  ?  After 
a  long  walk,  mgns  of  habitation 


1878] 


Over  the  Hatches  of  OivUised  Ev/rqpe, 


583 


hegaoL  to  appear  once  more,  and  we 
passed  several  villages. 

In  dress,  house  and  utensils,  these 
Boumans  of  the  Carpathians  ezactlj 
resemhle  the  Croats.  The  villages 
here  might  be  taken  bodily  from 
Turkish  Croatia.  There  is  the  same 
palisaded  courtyard  into  which  the 
nouse  door  opens,  the  same  queer 
chevaux  defrise  over  its  gateway,  the 
same  system  of  wooden  roofing,  the 
«ame  granary  on  stilts,  a  gigantic 
wicker-work  basket  raised  aloft  on 
four  poles.  There  are  the  same 
mud  walls,  the  same  little  windows 
raised  high  above  the  ground.  The 
men  have  the  same  beardless  face 
and  long  tresses,  they  wear  the 
same  broad  belt  stuck  with  daggers 
or  pistols,  the  satcheL  slung  over 
their  back,  the  white  flowing  tunic 
:and  trousers,  and  the  sandal  shoes. 
Add  to  this  that  the  common  pitcher 
of  the  country  exactly  resembles 
the  '  stuUcKka^^  the  ordinary  crock 
of  Croatia,  Austrian  and  Turkish. 
These  facts  become  still  more  sug- 
gestive when  it  is  remembered  that 
the  Boumanian,  though  a  Latin 
language,  has  a  large  Slavonic 
element  in  it.  When  you  get  into 
the  more  open  country  of  Wallachia 
you  notice  an  infusion  of  baggy 
trousers,  loose  jackets,  and  of 
Eastern  architecture,  the  relics  of 
Turkish  rule  ;  but  here  in  the  bosom 
of  the  mountains  these  people  have 
preserved  their  old  national  costume 
imd  dwellings.  Here  you  see  the 
people  purely  as  Trajan  saw  them 
when  he  subdued  the  old  inhabitants 
of  Dacia  and  left  them  as  an  heir- 
loom the  Roman  name  and  language. 
Here  you  still  see  them  as  they  are 
depicted  on  the  column  and  coins 
of  their  conqueror.  *  The  Romans 
have  altered  thei|r  language,  but 
neither  they,  nor  Turk,  nor  Magyar 
could  alter  their  dwellings  or  cos- 
tume.    They  are  still  Slavonic. 

After  about  ten  hours'  walk  the 
Talley  opened,  and  we  emerged 
from  the  mountains  at  the  little 
village  of  Petersdorf,  German  in 


name,  but  apparently  populated  ex- 
clusively by  Roumans,  and  soon 
afterwards  we  arrived  at  the  old 
Saxon  town  of  Miihlenbach,  one  of 
the  Sieben-Burgen,  where  we  once 
more  got  civilised  quarters.  This 
is  a  thoroughly  German  town,  with 
a  large  market-place,  and  streets 
of  two-storeyed  nouses  with  high 
sloping  roofs.  In  the  centre  is  an 
old  Gothic  church,  with  a  spire  of 
variegated  tiles  like  St.  Stephen's, 
Vienna,  surrounded  by  a  circle  of 
high  walls,  for  defence  in  time  of 
war.  Remains  of  the  same  kind 
of  church-citadel  may  be  seen  at 
Hermannstadt.  Round  the  town 
again  is  another  circle  of  old  walls, 
and  beyond  these  is  the  Yorstadt, 
the  suburbs,  almost  entirely  inha- 
bited by  Roumans,  and  consisting 
of  miserable  hovels.  The  inhabit- 
ants of  the  town  proper  are  Saxons, 
who  speak  to  one  another  in  their 
own  dialect,  but  address  the  stranger 
in  literary  German,  which  even  the 
children  know  fluently.  Their 
houses  are  neat  and  cleanly,  and 
you  feel  at  once  that  you  are  among 
a  learned  people.  A  Saxon  came 
up  to  me  while  I  was  sketching, 
and  invited  me  into  his  house,  a 
tiny  little  cottage  with  three  rooms 
in  all,  but  filled  from  top  to  bottom 
with  collections  illustrating  the 
natural  history  of  the  country; 
there  were  cases  of  birds,  and  but- 
terflies, and  moths,  cabinets  of 
beetles,  boxes  of  land-shells,  and  a 
few  treasured  specimens  from  dis- 
tant seas,  all  collected,  set,  stuffed, 
named,  classified,  loved  by  him- 
self. He  was  very  poor,  and  the 
rest  of  his  furniture  consisted,  as 
far  as  I  remember,  of  some  rough 
chairs,  a  table,  a  bed,  and  a  few 
pots  and  pans  to  cook  his  dinner 
with.  This  was  a  characteristic 
picture. 

Next  day  we  had  a  delightful  sur- 
prise— ^it  was  nothing  less  than  the 
great  annual  market,  at  which 
some  30,000  peasants  attend  from 
the  country  and  mountains,  &t  and 


584 


Over  the  Marches  of  Omlised  Europe, 


[May 


-wide.  By  an  early  honr  the  large 
market-place,  the  streets,  and  every 
available  space  in  the  town  was 
filled  with  hastily  erected  booths, 
and  a  living  mass  of  peasants. 
What  a  surfeit  of  costumes  !  What 
brilliant  colours !  They  were  chiefly 
Botimans,  some  Saxon,with  a  sprink- 
ling of  Misigyars,  Zingari,  and  other 
representatives  of  Transylvania's 
fourteen  nationalities.  TheBouman 
men  wore  broad  black  wideawakes, 
which  here  supplant  the  ruder  caps 
of  the  mountams.  They  had  con- 
verted themselves  into  walking 
flower-pots  for  the  occasion,  with 
immense  nosegays  of  bright  dahlias 
stuck  into  their  hats.  Their  women 
wore  high  white  coifiures,  often 
half  of  lace,  and  above  this  a  fungoid 
straw  hat.  The  same  hat  was  worn 
by  the  Saxon  women,  who,  how- 
ever, were  to  be  distinguished  from 
the  Boumans  by  their  closed  vest. 
The  peasants  brought  all  their  little 
produce  and  manufactures — fruit, 
cheese,  cabbages,  gherkins,  honey- 
combs in  small  casks,  coarse  wool- 
len homespun  cloths,  queer  wooden 
pails  and  sieves.  They  went  away 
laden  with  every  variety  of  strange 
clothing,  archaic  belts,  hats  three 
feet  wide,  barbaric  jewellery,  medi- 
S3val  knives,  and  Bioman  pots,  bril- 
liant  scarlet  bands  to  put  round 
their  hats,  and  many  such  like 
things.  Brummagem  was,  of  course, 
a  little  represented  amongst  the 
wares  ;  but  by  far  the  greater  part 
were  marvellously  primitive.  Who 
shall  describe  the  crockery ! 

Meanwhile  a  storm  was  brewing. 
We  had  unfortunately  thought  pass- 
ports a  relic  of  barbarism,  and  not 
brought  any  with  us.  The  day 
before  we  had  been  asked  for  one 
by  a  sour-looking  man  at  an  inn, 
who  drew  a  very  long  &C6  on  find- 
ing we  had  none.  Still  we  thought 
that  the  incident  was  over.  As  I 
walked  through  the  market-place 
suspecting  nothing,  I  stopped  to 
look  at  some  notices  affixed  to  the 
Stadthaus,  when  suddenly  up  comes 


a  viUanous-looking  little  man,  dad 
in  brown  rags.  *  Would  the  Herr 
hke  to  walk  in  ?  '  I  followed  the 
Httle  seedy  man  upstairs  and  along 
a  gloomy  passage  into  a  small  stone 
room;  then  the  door  was  locked, 
and  he  left  me  to  my  reflections. 
Presently  I  was  ushered  into  aQ- 
other  room,  where  sat  an  elderly 
official  in  plain  clothes,  to  whom,  to 
my  horror  and  astonishment,  he 
began  pouring  forth  a  torrent  of 
accusation  and  invective.  Motion- 
ing the  little  wretch  away,  the  offi- 
cial asked  me  whether  it  was  true 
that  I  had  not  a  passport.  Such, 
I  had  to  admit,  was  trnfortnnatdj 
the  case.  How  had  we  got  there? 
'  By  Pesth  and  Vienna.'  'Pesthand 
Vienna!'  the  thing  was  absurd! 
no  human  being  could  go  to  Pesth 
or  Vienna  without  a  passport.  ^  Do 
you  know,'  he  said  at  last^  vritii  the 
air  of  some  one  unveiling  the  heaA 
of  a  Medusa,  '  do  yon  know  beforo 
whom  you  stand  ?  '  I  replied  that  I 
had  not  that  honour.  *  I  will  tall 
yon,  then.  I  am  the  Head  of  the 
Police.'  Here  he  threw  himself 
back  in  his  chair  to  watch  tiie  effects 
of  this  awful  annonno^nent^  and 
then  added, '  and  I  am  going  to  send 
you  both  back  to  Peeth  at  once.' 

Things  were  looking  serious,  when 
I  luckily  remembered  the  name  of 
a  Transylvanian  Mend,  a  judge  and 
member  of  the  Septemvizate,  whose 
address  I  had  with  me,  but  who 
lived  at  the  other  end  of  the  country. 
'DidheknowHerrvonP.?'  Itwas 
a  happy  thought!  it  seems  he  did 
know  him.  Yes,  the  address  was 
correct.  From  ihat  moment  Heir 
Nupkins  began  to  melt»  slowly,  but 
surely,  till  at  last  he  gft^e  me  his 
hand,  saying,  '  Gehen  Sie  in  Qottes 
Namen ! '   I  went. 

Outside,  I  began  looking  at  the 
notices  ag&ii^  when  up  comes  the 
littie  rufi^  who  had  decoyed  me 
in.  He  was  not  a  gendarme,  not 
even  an  official,  but  a  paid  official 
spy,  a  beggar  dressed  in  rags,  a 
modem  deMor,  Such,  I  was  assured. 


1873] 


Over  the  Marches  of  GiviUsed  Europe. 


58^ 


jfBS  the  regular  Tiunsylvanian  sys- 
tem, though  there  are  gendarmes  in 
plenty  as  well!     He  was  evidently 
extremely  annoyed  at  my  getting 
out,  and  throwing  on  me  a  fiendishly 
malicious  glance,   cried :    '  Be  off, 
you  can't  understand  that ! '     Here 
he  gave  me  a  push.     I  turned  to  a 
bystander,   saying,    *Who    is  this 
man  ?  '    Thereupon  the  little  man 
sprang  at  my  throat,  hissing,  '  I'll 
get  you  into  prison  after  all ! '     He 
missed  my  throat,  but  tore  off  my 
tie,  and  then,  clutching  hold  of  me, 
tried  to  drag  me  into  the  Stadthaus 
once  more.     Naturally  I  resisted, 
and  dragged  him  towards  the  middle 
ofthe  market-place  instead.  A  large 
crowd  collected,   and  horrified   at 
seeing  an  official  spy  dragged  about, 
advised  me  to  go  with  him  to  the 
Stadthaus.  As  they  were  evidently 
my  well-wishers,  I  thought  it  pru- 
dent to  comply,  only  resisting  enough 
to  ward  off  the  blows  which  the  little 
wretch  aimed  at  me  seeing  that  I 
yielded.     Once  more  I  entered  the 
gloomy  building,   and  was  pushed 
into  a  kind  of  condemned  cell  full  of 
peasant  prisoners,  while  the  little 
spy  went  to  the  head  of  the  police 
and  aoGused  me  of  assaulting  him  ! 
I  got  a  private  interview  with  the 
official,  and  told  him  that  if  he  did 
not  believe  me  he  had  better  call 
witneBses.      The  official  saw  that 
ihia  would  never  do,  so  he  told  me 
I   might  go    back  quietly  to  my 
hotel. 

This  was  the  last  straw  that 
broke  the  camel's  back.  *  Oo  back 
quietly  to  my  hotel !'  It  was  too 
much — ^the  British  lion  was  roused 
at  last.  I  told  him  that  EngHsh- 
men  would  never  consent  to  put  up 
with  such  treatment;  we  had  an 
Ambassador  at  Vienna,  and  if  he 
did  not  give  me  redress  then  and 
there  he  should  hear  more  of  it. 
This  brought  him  down.  He  would 
come  to  the  Herr's  hotel  with  some 


one  who  spoke  English,  and'arrange 
matters.  He  came  and  gave  mo 
my  choice,  of  formally  prosecuting 
the  little  spy  or  allowing  him  to 
have  the  honour  of  giving  the  little 
wretch  a  summary  imprisonment  of 
forty-eight  hours.  I  agreed  to  the  • 
forty-eight  hours. 

We  went  on  to  Hermannstadt  by 
EUwagen,  a  regular  stage-coach, 
with  three  compartments  and  six 
horses,  fof  railways  have  not  yet 
invaded  the  Transylvanian  capital. 
This  is  a  very  pleasing  town,  like 
Muhlenbach  thoroughly  German, 
with  a  large  Gothic  church  and 
variegated  spire  as  there.  These 
queer  chimneys,  these  pointed  roo&, 
these  warm-tinted  houses  —  how 
unlike  they  are  to  the  white  shut- 
tered, cadaverous  uniformity  of  w> 
many  Austrian  towns !  It  reminds 
one  a  good  deal  of  Nuremberg.* 
Here  may  be  seen  Saxon  boors, 
with  blue,  brass-buttoned  coats, 
top  boots,  and  black  wideawakes^ 
their  little  girls  with  true  German 
pigtails,  and  their  older  maidens 
with  broad  girdles,  and  long  satin 
streamers  from  their  hair,  with 
round  brooches  on  their  breast, 
which  might  have  been  exhumed 
from  some  old  English  btarow, 
going  to  church  in  hats  which  in 
front  resemble  the  chimney-pot  of 
civilised  conventionality  wi&out  its 
one  redeeming  feature — ^the  brim. 

And  truly  Hermannstadt  is  a 
place  for  old  memories.  There  is 
little  business  here,  no  life ;  a  melan- 
choly hangs  over  the  town.  To* 
EngHsh  eyes  at  least  it  is  sad  to 
find  every  third  person  you  meet  a 
soldier.  And  wny — though  there 
are  so  few  Magyars  here — should 
official  notices  be  stuck  up  so  osten- 
tatiously in  Hungarian  ?  The  sub- 
urbs here,  as  at  Muhlenbach,  are 
chiefly  Bouman. 

!Prom  here  we  proceed  by  EiU 
toagen,  through  a  barren  country. 


*  Wh«n  I  irzote  this  I  was  unaware  that  Hermannstadt  dedaoes  its  origin  from 
Herman,  a  citiaen  of  Nuremberg. 


586 


Over  the  Marches  of  CimUted  Europe. 


[May 


to  Kronstadt,  in  the  eastern  ex- 
tremity of  the  Carpathians.  Bnt 
how  is  it  that  yon  come  upon  vil- 
lages with  Saxon  names  and  hardly 
a  Saxon  inhabitant,  or  others  where 
they  have  entirely  died  out  ?  How 
is  it  that  yon  can  walk  about  the 
suburbs  of  the  '  Boyal  Cities '  and 
meet  none  but  Boumans?  Such 
are  the  questions  that  suggest  them- 
selves to  the  traveller  through  Sach- 
senland  ;  and  to  Englishmen,  who 
love  to  claim  a  closer  acquaintance- 
ship to  the  Saxons'  than  to  other 
German  tribes,  it  is  a  sad  enquiry. 
The  answer  is  somewhat  startling. 
These  stout  Saxons  of  the  Lower 
^Bhine,  who  in  the  twelfth  century, 
at  the  invitation  of  the  Hungarian 
Jdng,  colonised  this  part  of  Transyl- 
vania ;  who  have  thrown  on  Magyar 
and  Szekler  and  Bouman  the  light 
of  a  higher  civilisation  ;  who,  sur- 
rounded by  hostile  nations,  have 
retained  through  six  hundred  years 
of  constant  struggles  their  old  Teu- 
tonic nationality  and  municipal 
freedom;  who  have  survived  the 
cruel  ravages  of  the  Turks  and  the 
£erce  jealousy  of  the  haughtiest 
nation  in  the  world,  to  gain  more 
recent  victories  over  Austrian 
centralisation  ;  these  are  dying  out 
year  by  year  and  being  superseded 
hj  less  noble  races,  owing  to  nothing 
but  their  own  short-sighted  pru- 
dence. !  The  problem  they  have  set 
before  themselves  is,  '  How  can  we 
leave  most  property  to  each  of  our 
children  ?'  The  conclusion  they 
liave  arrived  at  is,  '  By  having  as 
few  children  as  possible  to  subdivide 
it  among.*  Q.E.D.  Corollary — a 
tacit  agreement  not  to  have  more 
than  two.  So  their  numbers  stag- 
nate while  the  thoughtless  races 
around  will  persist  in  multiplying 
in  the  ratio  of  nature — improvident 
Boumans  !  Thus  the  enterprise  of 
the  people  is  stamped  out ;  for  why 
should  the  children,  ready  provided 


for,  care  to  %ht  the  battle  of  life 
with  energy  ?  So  Hermannstadt  is 
palsied,  and  even  in  livelier  Kron- 
stadt  the  foreign  trade  is  abnost 
entirely  in  Bouman  hands.  So 
Moldavians  and  Wallachians,  Jassf 
and  Bucharest,  have  their  raUways, 
while  the  learned  Sieben-Burgers 
still  jolt  along  in  coaches. 

^ronstadt  is  as  finely  situated  as 
town  can  be.  In  one  direction, 
indeed,  you  get  glimpses  of  the  long 
plains  far  below,  stretching  away 
till  they  are  lost  in  purple  mist,  but 
the  town  itself  nestles  in  the  vexy 
lap  of  the  mountains,  enfolded  on 
every  side  by  their  dark  pine  woods 
and  naked  precipices.  It  is  a  kind  <^ 
outpost  of  German  civilisation  in 
the  East :  it  stands  at  the  junc- 
tion of  three  passes,  and  so  preserres 
a  certain  amount  of  trade,  and  its 
gay  shops  and  busy  street  present 
a  pleasant  contrast  to  quiet,  drcmsj 
Hermannstadt,  whose  real  trade 
seems  confined  to  a  few  bearskins. 
Nor  does  it  yield  to  the  other  town 
even  in  internal  picturesqueness. 
Here,  too,  are  ancient  walls,  and 
towers,  and  arches,  and  old  Gothic 
church,  and  beyond  the  limits  of 
the  'cify,'  far-reaching  subnrbB, 
with  little  cottages,  Saxon  and 
Bouman,  each  tipped  with  a  sQveiy 
knob  or  weathercock,  and  Greek 
churches  with  silvery  spires  and 
pinnacles,  and  flanng  frescoes, 
and  houses  of  Ghreek  clergy  with 
quaint  medieval  saints  painted  out- 
side them,  and  lesser  heights  all 
round,  capped  with  ruined  towers 
and  modem  forts.  What  strike 
one  especially  is  the  lai^  propor- 
tion of  Bouman  respectabilily.  One 
newspaper  at  least  is  published  in 
that  language,  and  a  great  deal  of  tiie 
trade  is  in  Bouman  hands.  Things 
have  changed  since  the  dajrs  whoi 
the  proud  Saxon  burghers  let  no 
one  but  themselves  live  within  their 
walls. 


■  Theee  PlaU-DeuUeh  Saxons  must  not  be  confounded  with  tbe  Hi^h  Qermtn  inhabitants 
of  modern  Saxony. 


1873] 


Over  the  Marches  of  (KvUieed  Evrope, 


587 


Everywhere  we  had  been  we 
were  told  that  to  cross  the  Boa- 
manian  frontier  without  a  passport 
was  impossible,  and  the  people  here 
were  open-mouthed  as  to  the  futility 
of  such  an  attempt.  When  we  said 
we  were  going  over  the  mountains, 
they  shrugged  their  shoulders. 
They  have  but  one  epithet  for  the 
mountains  and  their  inhabitants. 
That  epithet  is  SaoramerUische. 
But  we  were  encouraged  by  the 
&ct  that  we  had  already  strayed 
within  the  Wallachian  border 
without  any  particular  conse- 
quences, and  so  started  off  once 
more  to  fight  our  way  across  the 
Carpathians,  and  run  the  gauntlet 
as  best  we  might  amongst  forests 
and  rocks.  .  We  now  plunged  into 
an  amphitheatre  of  more  Alpine 
mountfuns  than  we  had  yet  en- 
countered. Our  first  progress  was 
along  a  good  road,  with  glimpses  of 
glorious  bits  of  pcHEkk  and  precipice, 
till  about  twenty  miles  south  of 
Kronstadt  we  passed  the  night  at 
the  little  village  of  Torzburg,  the 
last  Saxon  abode  we  were  to  see. 
Here  is  a  medisBval  castle,  perched 
on  the  top  of  an  isolated  peak  of 
precipitous  but  wooded  rock.  Surely 
never  was  building  so  finely  situ- 
ated! We  were  now  underneath 
Mount  Buschetch,  which  has  the 
credit  of  being  the  highest  point  of 
the  whole  Carpathians,  attaining  a 
height  of  9,528  feet.  Here  we 
tried  to  get  guides  over  the  moun- 
tain, who  might  also  show  us  how 
to  get  unobserved  into  Wallachia. 
They  all  hung  back ;  none  of  them 
would  take  ^e  risk;  there  were 
sentries,  they  said,  posted  all  about 
the  mountains.  So  we  had  to  start 
alone. 

But,  alone,  to  surmount  the  top- 
most precipices  of  Buschetch  was, 
we  thonght,  beyond  our  power ;  we 
iherefare  kept  along  tiie  forest- 
covered  heights  below  them,  to  dis- 
cover some  shoulder  of  the  moun- 
tain which  we  could  manage.  On 
we  clambered  from  one  roc%  gorge 

YOL.  VU. — NO.  ILL     NSW  SERIES. 


to  another— K>n  through  woods  of 
firs  and  beeches,  some  of  which  were 
so  copper-coloured  that  we  mistook 
one  at  some  distance  for  a  red  flag 
— ^through  open  glades,  brilliant 
with  large  wild  geraniums  of  red 
and  whitish  blue,  and  pinks,  and 
lilac  leafless  crocuses,  amongst 
which  flitted  butterflies  of  every 
hue,  commas  and  painted  ladies, 
walls,  and  clouded  yellows,  and 
giant  grasshoppers,  with  wings  of 
red,  black,  or  grey.  At  last  we 
began  the  ascent  of  the  great 
shoulder  which  we  must  surmount. 
The  beech  woods  already  lay  below 
us,  and  we  climbed  up  a  steep 
covered  with  firs  of  the  usual  im- 
mense  size,  up  rocky  watercourses, 
over  forest  bcurricades,  till  the  pines 
grew  smaller,  and  finally  ceased, 
and  nothine  but  heath  and  rock  re- 
mained, and  on  surmounting  a  small 
headland  we  found  ourselves  at 
the  summit  of  the  mountain  ridge 
which  forms  the  barrier  between 
Transylvania  and  Wallachia.  We 
were  at  a  height  of  between  seven 
and  eight  thousand  feet,  but  the 
higher  precipices  of  Buschetch,  to 
which  the  snow  can  scarcely  cling, 
still  towered  above  us.  The  view 
was  splendid,  embracinj?  the  whole 
of  the  highest  part  of  the  south 
Carpathians,  peak  after  peak  lit  up 
by  the  setting  sun,  till  they  faded 
away  in  the  purple  mists  of  evening ; 
while  far  away  in  one  direction  lay 
the  pass  for  which  we  were  to 
make,  and  in  the  other  the  long 
plains  of  Transylvania  exactly  like 
a  distant  sea.  And  nowhere  any 
sign  of  man. 

Not  knowing  where  the  most 
advanced  outposts  of  Boumanian 
sentries  might  be,  we  resolved  to 
take  every  precaution,  and  accord- 
ingly waited  till  it  was  nearly  dark 
before  we  descended  to  the  zone  of 
fir  forest  on  the  Wallachian  aide, 
cautiously  gliding  down  as  much 
imder  shelter  of  the  rocks  and 
stunted  herbage  as  possible  till  the 
cover  grew  larger.    By  the  time 

8  S 


588 


Over  <Ae  ifareJut  of  OimUted  Europe. 


[% 


we  got  onoe  more  among  tlie  high 
fir  trees,  it  was  quite  dark,  and  it 
was  so  steep  that  the  only  way  to 
.descend  was  by  digging  the  alpen- 
stock as  far  as  possible  into  the 
gronnd  and  letting  oneself  gra- 
dually down  with  its  support.  Bat 
at  last  we  came  to  a  place  too  steep 
even  for  this,  and  as  either  to  re- 
treat or  advance  in  the  dark  was 
now  impossible,  thought  ourselves 
lucky  in  discovering  a  small  hol- 
low, out  of  which  some  giant  of  the 
forest  had  been  uprooted  by  the 
gale,  and  just  large  enough  to  pr^ 
vent  us  rolling  down.  Here  we 
lit  a  fire  and  lay  down  to  pass  the 
night  once  more, '  sub  Jove  frigido/ 
what  a  strange  scene  it  was*-the 
great  trunks,  lurid  in  the  fire- 
light, standing  out  against  the 
darkness,  the  silence  that  might 
almost  be  felt,  and  above  all 
the  mai-vellously  brilliant  stars 
peeping  down  through  the  dark  fir 
branches  overhead,  with  such  lustre 
that  it  really  seemed  that  one  must 
be  a  bit  nearer  heaven. 

Next  morning  we  descended  to 
a  rocky  stream,  along  whose  gorge 
we  had  literally  to  fight  our  way, 
ihrough  the  almost  impervious 
thickets,  and  sometimes  found  it 
best  to  take  to  the  water,  so  that 
our  progress  was  very  slow  till  we 
came  to  more  open  glades  and  bits 
of  mountain  pasture.  At  last,  on 
.surmountmg  a  height,  we  beheld 
the  Wallachian  high  road,  for 
which  wo  were  making,  lying  be- 
low us.  And  there  too  was  a 
sight  which  can  never  be  forgotten ! 
Almost  straight  before  me,  ite  great 
shadow  thrown  against  the  green 
meadow-land  at  the  base  of  the  cliff, 
was  one  of  the  brown  vultures  of 
these  mountains  circling  about  in 
mid-air,  which,  as  I  gazed,  rose 
towering  overhead,  and  floated 
about  the  sky  apparently  without 
a  motion  of  its  wing^,  upmxds,  ever 
upwards,  till  it  dwindled  to  a  speck 
and  finally  vanished  from  sight  in 
the  vast  azure.    Later  on  we  saw 


several  more.  We  now  got  into 
the  pass,  a  long  way  from  ^e  sum- 
mit, where  is  the  frontier  station, 
and  therefore  safe  from  sentnes, 
though  we  came  upon  some  Boo- 
manian  soldiers  in  riieepskin  ckab 
and  caps,  and  a  wilder  set  of  mi 
I  never  wish  to  see,  with  arms  is 
their  hands. 

Farther  down  the  pMB  we  came 
to  a  miserable  little  hut,  calling  it- 
self an  inn,  where  they  showed  os 
a  wooden  dresser  to  lie  down  on. 
The  furniture  of  our  hotel  consisted 
of  the  said  dresser,  two  very  pre- 
Baphaelite  pictures  of  saints,  a  pair 
of  benches,  a  big  dog,  a  caldron, 
some  fowls,  and  a  fir  branch  vitli 
which  the  whole  place  was  swepc 
out  at  5  A.M.  precisely. 

We  got  a  lift  in  a  hay-cart  from 
this  place  to  Kimpina,  where  tbe 
pass  opens  into  the  great  plain  of 
Wallachia:  the  mountains  vere 
only  exaggerated  downs,  overwhoEd 
tops  frowned  the  fine  southern  pre- 
cipices of  Buschetoh  :  they  were  at 
first  covered  with  pine  forest  re- 
lieved with  fieiy  copper  beeches, 
but  farther  on  the  country  became 
more  barren;  the  hills  becanu 
smaller,  and  even  woods  disap- 
peared. The  cottages  here  presoit 
a  new  feature,  for  the  wooden  n)of 
projects  and  a  wooden  ookmnade 
runs  all  along  the  front,  with  often 
a  porch  in  the  middle  which  stands 
forward  from  the  rest  of  the  veran. 
dah,  and  possessing  a  sli^tlT 
pointed  gable,  looks  a  little  liioB 
the  front  of  a  Greek  temple  is 
miniature,  with  the  slight  diferenos 
that  the  marble  columns  are  sap 
planted  by  small  posts  of  wood  and 

that  the  space  occupied  by  the 
frieze  is  filled  instead  by  wattk 
and  daub.  At  any  rate  the  driving 
here  is  classical,  not  to  say  Olp- 
pian,  for  there  are  nurely  le^ 
than  three  hones  or  oxen  driv® 
•abreast,  sometimes  as  many  as  £^- 
Apollo  himself  might  have  conde- 
scended to  tB^e  the  reins  of  t^m 
of  these  waggons;  bnt  considering 


1878] 


Over  tJie  McMrches  of  GwUieed  Europe, 


589 


that  the  road  picked  out  all  the 
precipices  it  conld  find  to  ran  by ; 
oonsidermg  that  the  horses  had  a 
&oetioii8  trick  of  practising  the  ont- 
fdde  edge,  and  keeping  as  near  the 
blink  as  possible;  considering, 
moreoyer,  that  the  road  was,  to  say 
the  least,  joltj,  and  that  haj  is 
a  springy  body,  the  top  of  our 
vehicle  was  a  trifle  too  romantic. 

Eimpina  is  a  small  Wallaohian 
town  with  a  fair  inn,  the  remains 
of  old  walls,  and  a  Greek  church 
with  a  silvery  excrescence  a  little 
like  a  tin  saucepan  which  has  lost 
its  handle.  We  are  now  in  a  land 
of  plum  woods  and  petroleum  wells ; 
indeed,  we  have  heard  that  in  some 
parts  you  have  only  to  put  a  light  to 
the  gicnnd  to  ignite  it.  Great  cau- 
tion must  be  used  not  to  drop 
lighted  fiosees  and  set  the  earth  on 
fire;  and  it  is  probably  for  this  rea- 
Gon  that  the  natives  only  use  flint  and 
steel  or  little  horseshoes  of  magnetic 
iron  for  the  purposes  of  ignition. 

Here  we  got  the  return  hxe  of  a 
carriage  to  Floesti,  a  large  town  on 
the  Boumanian  railroad,  and  started 
before  it  was  Hght,  accompanied  by 
a  Wallack  gen&eman  and  his  dog, 
who  ran  behind.  The  sun  had  just 
risen,  revealing  a  vast  treeless  plain, 
bounded  on  one  side  by  the  low 
sonthem  offshoots  of  the  Carpa- 
tibians,  on  the  other  by  only  the 
Ibear  horizon.  Suddenly  the « dog 
behind  stopped,  and  began  howling. 
What  had  he  fonndi  We  cot  out 
and  looked.  And  there  by  the  side 
of  the  post  road,  in  the  ftdl  sight  of 
anyone  who  happened  to  look  that 
way— there  in  the  bright  morning 
snnshine — ^lay  the  corpse  of  a  mur- 
ilered  man;  his  hands  clenched 
^ght  at  his  side,  his  throat  cut  £rom 
nu*  to  ear.  It  was  our  conviction, 
uid  that  of  our  Wallachian  fellow- 
^veller,  that  it  was  a  case  of  mur- 
ier  and  not  suicide;  indeed,  it 
Kerns  that  this  method  is  not  uncom- 
non  among  the  assassins  of  these 
»rt8.  Judging  firom  his  clothing 
t  was  a  poor  man,  and  the  features 


were  of  Zingar  cast.  But  the 
strange,  the  horrible  part  was,  that 
he  should  have  been  allowed  to  lie 
on  the  high  road  of  the  country, 
passed  every  day  by  the  post,  for 
evidently  over  a  week;  that  he 
should  be  left  with  no  one  to  buiy 
him;  lefb  for  women  and  children 
to  gaze  on,  till  some  wolf  shall  be  his 
se^n,  or  some  vulture  his  tomb ! 

At  the  next  Wallack  village  our 
companion  mentioned  what  we  had 
seen.  The  x>eople  grinned  and 
shrugged  their  shoulders.  There  are, 
it  seems,  no  police  in  these  country 
districts,  but  soldiers  accompany  the 
post,  as  it  was  recently  robbed  on 
this  road  by  twelve  armed  men. 

We  passed  a  gypsy  village  of 
miserable  mud  hovels,  so  smaU  that 
apparently  their  sole  object  is  to 
protect  a  fire.  The  men  may  be 
distinguished  from  the  Wallacks  by 
their  olive-brown  skin,  their  dirtier 
costume,  and  the  brown  coat  which 
they  generally  wear  over  the  white 
tunic.  The  women  cover  the  lus- 
trous black  plaits  of  their  hair  with 
a  light  kerchief ;  round  their  neck  is  a 
necklace  of  coral  beads;  fortherest, 
a  white  dress  and  dark  apron  before 
and  behind ;  the  costume  of  the  Wal- 
lack women  is  the  same,  but  the 
apron  and  kerchief  are  of  bright 
colours.  There  is  a  large  gypsy  po- 
pulation in  Wallachia,  and  here,  as 
also  in  Transylvania  and  Bulgaria, 
they  are  looked  on  as  the  danger- 
ous classes.  And  well  they  may 
be,  poor  people.  The  Boumanian 
Zingars  were,  till  within  the  last 
few  years,  in  a  state  of  slavery,  and 
they  still  have  to  pay  a  capitation 
tax  for  their  liberation ;  poverty  and 
degradation  have  set  their  stamp 
upon  them,  but  in  their  feces  hand- 
someness is  strangely  mingled  with 
ferocity,  and  most  are  gracefully 
limbed. 

Floesti  is  a  vast  village  with  a 
nucleus  of  civilised  houses  and  good 
shops,  a  large  market-place,  and  &ir 
hotels.  Mort  of  the  mud  hovels  have 
wooden  porches  and  porticoes,  and 

8  8  2 


590 


Over  the  Marches  of  CiviUied  Europe. 


[% 


some  even  of  the  better  houses  of 
over  one  storey  have  these  verandahs 
all  the  vrsj  np.  Many  of  these  by 
their  peculiar  arches  betray  their 
Turkish  parentage.  The  respectable 
part  of  the  town  presents  a  strange 
veneering  of  civilisation.  Imagine  a 
French  provincial  town  with  elegant 
iron  balconies  and  railings  to  every 
storey,  but  overdone  at  every  point 
with  most  pretentions  paint  and 
stnccOy  and  built  of  such  execrable 
bricks  that  paint  and  stucco  alike 
peel  off  them  as  if  they  were  re- 
covering from  some  horrible  erup- 
tion! Antiquity  there  is  none — 
how  could  there  be  P  Each  of  these 
eggshell  houses  must  die  a  natural 
death  every  two  or  three  years. 
They  are  uterally  ruinous  before 
they  are  finished  building. 

Eveiywhere  may  be  seen  the  signs 
of  Orientalism;  not  only  many  of 
the  houses,  but  a  large  proportion 
of  the  wares,  as,  for  instance,  the 
cutlery  and  jewellery,  are  of  Turkish 
shapes,  and  even  the  white  tunic 
and  trousers  are  here  to  a  great 
extent  superseded  by  '  bags '  of 
brown  or  indigo,  blue  or  crimson 
scarves,  and  gold  embroidered 
jackets.  Of  course  the  costume  of 
the  respectables  is  European  and 
funereal  enough. 

We  went  on  by  rail  to  Bucharest, 
through  a  thinly  populated  countiy, 
a  vast  plain  wim  maize  and  pas- 
ture, beech  forests,  and  unreclaimed 
land.  The  train  was  crowded  with 
passengers — a  hopeful  sign. 

Bucharest  is  Ploesti  on  a  larger 
scale;  here,  as  there,  the  greater 
part  of  the  town  is  far-reaching 
suburbs,  with  mud  hovels  and  mud- 
dier roads — one  of  them  has  the 
appropriate  name  Strada  Odorei; 
but  the  central  portion  presents  the 
same  caricature  of  a  French  town, 
and  the  same  state  of  'premature 
and  perpetual  decay.'  There  are, 
however,  some  fine  stone  buildings, 
as  the  Palace  and  University ;  there 
are  theatres,  a  museum,  a  fisur 
garden,  good  shops,  and  even  tram- 


ways in  course  of  canstnictioiL 
A  general  air  of  wealth  u  &bc« 
this  part  of  the  town;  it u appal- 
lingly civilised ;  everywhere  the  o(» 
tume  of  coamopolitan  conventioD- 
ality;  in  the  i^ops,  Paris  mda, 
London  hats,  Vienna  gloves,  Eoim 
shawls. 

The  cabs  here  are  most  elegan 
carriages,  with  two  horses,  and  to 
walk  is  considered  disrepntable; 
everybody  rides  who  can  possibly 
affoi^  it,  and  many  who  can'i 

Everything  here  is  veiy  dear,  for 
all  the  weal&  of  the  country  col- 
lects in  the  capital,  and  the  lidi 
landholders  t^ke  up  their  abode 
here.  The  cause  of  this  abundance 
of  money  is  the  vast  exportatioo  of 
grain,  especially  of  maize,  firom '  the 
ffranary  of  Europe.'  The  markeb 
here  show  signs  of  a  wanner  cli- 
mate; there  are  peaches,  figs,ai:d 
lemons  in  abundance,  and  magni- 
ficent grapes.  The  vin  ordkme  d% 
jpcuys  is  something  to  remember,  i£ 
would  compete  with  the  best  French 
wines,  and  considering  the  facih* 
ties  for  exportation  afforded  by  tb 
Danube,  it  is  marvellons  tbt  it 
should  not  be  known  in  England. 

Who  would  have  thonght  W 
prehistoric  archamlogy  had  peIl^ 
trated  to  this  region  ?  SuchhoweTer 
is  the  case.  The  last  number  of  tbd 
Trorn^etta  Carpalihr^  one  of  the  ta 
newspapers  published  here,  had  its 
outer  sheet  covered  with  feir  illus- 
trations of  Neolithic  implement? 
found  in  Boumania.  I  called  on  the 
chief  editor,  who  has  a  finecollecckxi 
of  stone  celts,  hammer  he«ds,  arrow 
heads,  and  espedaUy  a  lance  bead 
of  exquisite  workmanship ;  he  ba» 
some  bone  sockets,  potterji  ^ 
burnt  cereals  &om  a  lake  in  W- 
lachia  and  resembling  those  disco- 
vered in  the  Swiss  Idce-dwellings- 
He  is  well  acquainted  witii  tb& 
works  of  Sir  John  Lubbock.  Ther& 
were  also  some  bronae-age  anti- 
quities, a  large  collection  of  Bomaa 
coins,  inscriptions,  bas-reliefs,  ww 
pottery ;  but,  especially  interestii^* 


1873] 


Over  the  Marches  of  OwiUeed  Europe. 


591 


a  series  of  the  pre-Boman  coins  of 
Dacia,  which  are  imitated  from  the 
Greek  coins  of  Rhodes,  and  also, 
like  the  pre^Roman  coinage  of 
Britain,  from  those  of  Ma^on. 
What  makes  the  parallel  with  the 
ancient  British  coins  still  more 
gtriking  is  that  the  Dacian  mongers 
like  the  British  tried  to  reprodnce 
the  head  of  Apollo,  and  in  both 
cases  the  attempt  has  been  attended 
with  like  results.  In  Dacia  as  in 
Britain  poor  Apollo's  face  was 
gradnallj  modified  awaj,  till  only 
the  wreath  remained !  Ornament 
both  with  Dacian  and  Briton  was 
the  highest  approach  to  art  of 
which  thej  were  capable.  Amongst 
ihe  Roman  pottery  found  here,  two 
forms,  a  kind  of  patera  and  a  water- 
pot,  are  still  to  be  seen  for  sale  by 
the  hnndred  in  the  markets  of 
Bucharest. 

*  Dacia,'  *  Trajan,'  'Roman,'  those 
are  the  three  words  you  meet  at 
every  turn,  they  are  the  three  ideas 
uppermost  in  the  mind  of  your  true 
liomnan.  Trajan's  effigy  supplies  the 
place  of  the  'kine*s  head,'  there  is 
the '  Roman '  cafi  and  the  '  Dacia ' 
h6tel.  They^  and  they  alone,  are  the 
tnie  Romans;  they  just  tolerate 
members  of  the  Latin  race  as 
weaker  brethren,  but  all  else  are 
outer  barbarians.  Gentiles,  Cim- 
merians. Those  w^ho  know  the 
country  will  tell  you  that  this  is  the 
real  feeling  which  underlies  their 
treatment  of  the  Jews.  My  own 
observations  corroborate  this.  For 
example,  I  had  a  conversation  with 
another  of  the  editors  of  the 
frompetia.  I  purposely  avoided 
introducing  the  subject  of  the  Jews, 
as  it  is  at  present  rather  a  tender 
point,  owing  to  the  recent  inter- 
position of  the  guaranteeing  powers, 
and  the  threat  of  the  Turkish  Suze- 
'T^.  Qtt*  8*  excuse  s^ accuse.  He  began 
almost  immediately  a  long  excul- 
patory tirade  against  the  Jews. 
'Ah,  sir,  it's  not  their  religion,  it's 
the  men!  You  should  go  into 
Moldavia  if  you  want  to  see  what 


the  men  really  are.'  And  I  hear 
that  if  the  Jews  were  expelled  to- 
morrow, the  next  agitation  would 
be  to  get  rid  of  the  Greeks,  and 
then  the  Germans,  and  so  on  till  no 
foreigners  were  left  to  infect  the 
pure  Boman  breed !  There  are 
about  a  quarter  of  a  million  Jews  in 
Boumania,  and  a  large  proportion 
of  them  are  very  poorly  off.  There 
are  a  large  number  in  Bucharest, 
but  I  saw  only  one  Jewish  heading 
over  a  shop:  this  struck  me  as  a 
wonderful  piece  of  boldness.  I 
looked — it  was  a  porh  butcher* s  ! ' 

Nevertheless,  as  may  be  gathered 
from  their  physiognomy,  the  popu- 
lation of  Bucharest  is  of  very  mixed 
blood.  This  is  greatly  owing  to 
the  Tanariotes  of  the  Greek  quarter 
of  Constantinople,  to  whom  the 
government  of  the  country  was 
entrusted  by  the  Turks.  The  Court 
jeweller,  who  had  bought  the  post 
of  Hospodar,  naturally  made  the 
speculation  pay,  and  made  not  only 
his  own  fortune  but  that  of  his 
relatives  who  settled  in  the  capital, 
and  lived  on  the  fat  of  the  land. 
Their  rule  is  over,  but  their  descen- 
dants form  a  large  ingredient  in  the 
upper  classes  here.  Besides  this 
there  is  a  considerable  colony  of 
Germans  and  some  Italians. 

But  there  is  one  nation  which  the 
Boumans  really  believe  in,  that  is 
the  French.  Not  only  do  they  imi- 
tate their  town  architecture,  but 
they  send  their  children  into  France 
to  be  educated ;  they  read  French 
literature,  they  ape  French  dress 
and  manners,  and  anyone  with  the 
slightest  pretensions  to  respect- 
abUity  can  speak  French  fluently 
— a  great  boon  to  foreigners.  Even 
the  headings  of  the  shops  in  Bu- 
charest are  as  often  French  as  Bou- 
man,  and  they  use  French  gold 
money.  They  delight  to  call  their 
capital  ^  petit  Paris,*  and  indeed 
some  of  the  streets  would  deserve 
the  title  if  they  were  built  of  better 
brick,  but  these  people  will  begin  at 
the  wrong  end — ^they  have  the  orna- 


592 


Over  the  Marches  of  Oivilised  Europe. 


[M.y 


ment,  the  luxury,  the  polish,  but 
not  the  solid  fonndations  of  civilisa- 
tion ;  in  this  respect  thej  present  a 
marked  contrast  to  the  Servians. 
Of  conrse  all  this  has  its  bright 
side,  they  are  brought  into  the  cur- 
rent of  European  thought  by  French 
literature,  they  have  already  given 
up  the  Cyrillian  alphabet  for  the 
Latin,  and  ivill  no  doubt  soon  lose 
many  of  their  insularities.  Not 
only  here,  but  at  Ploesti  and  Giur- 
gevo,  spacious  national  schools  are 
to  be  seen,  and  at  Bucharest  one 
of  the  few  stone  buildings  is  a 
University.  And  the  taste  dis- 
played in  the  arrangement  of  their 
shops  and  the  decoration  of  their 
houses  might  well  be  imitated  in 
England. 

A  great  effort  has  been  made  of 
late  years  towards  the  unification 
of  the  Roumanian  dialects,  and  the 
establishment  of  a  literary  standard. 
A  congress  was  accordingly  as- 
sembled at  Bucharest  to  which  came 
deputations  from  every  branch  of 
the  race.  The  &ct  is,  that  with  a 
few  breaks  here  and  there,  a  band 
of  Latin-speaking  people  might  be 
traced  from  the  Adnatic  to  the 
Black  Sea.  In  Servia  there  is  a 
large  Bouman  population,  about 
250,000  or  nearly  a  fifth  of  the 
whole  population,  and  when  there 
we  saw  some  of  these  proud  descen- 
dants of  Augpistus — for  that  I  be- 
lieve is  part  of  their  creed ! — ^re- 
sembling beasts  rather  than  men : 
Sloths,  for  example,  with  legs, 
body,  arms,  and  head,  swathed  in 
shaggy  skin.  Remembering  that 
in  Transylvania  they  form  five- 
eighths  of  the  population,  that  they 
have  a  Banat  in  Eastern  Hungary, 
that  they  occupy  Bessarabia  and 
the  Buckowina,  and  have  an  in- 
dependent nucleus  amounting  to 
some  five  millions  in  Moldavia 
and  Wallaohia  round  which  io  clus- 
ter, it  becomes  evident  that  such  an 
experiment  as  a  free  plebiscite  in 
these  regions  would  result  in  a  tole- 
rably compact  Bouman  State,  ex- 


tending from  the  Dniester  ahnostto 
the  Theiss,  and  from  the  Northern 
Carpathians  to  the  Danube,  exclosire 
of  the  numerous  islands  of  Eouman 
population  which  are  scattered  rigk 
through  Hungary  into  Moravia,  Si- 
lesia, and  GaUda,  which  stretch  &li 
along  the  military  frontier  into  Cro> 
atia  and  even  Camiola,  which  pene- 
trate beyond  Servia  and  Bnlgam 
to  the  farthest  limits  of  Turkej>iii. 
Europe  and  Greece,  and  form  about 
Mount  Pindus  an  isolatedpopuktion, 
often  livingin  lofty  houses,  estimBtod 
at  about  half  a  million.  So  wide- 
spread, even  in  Eastern  Europe,  m 
the  representatives  of  ancient  Borne. 

The  great  difficulty  the  congress 
had  to  contend  with  was  the  rinliy 
between  Wallachia  and  Moldam; 
but  matters  were  smoothed  over, 
and  before  parting  it  was  dedded 
that  a  grammar  and  lexicon  should 
be  drawn  up,  which  are  now  nearlj 
complete.  This  congress  was  not 
renewed  owing  to  the  jealousy  of  the 
Austro-Hungarian  Gt>vemmentL  In- 
deed the  Magyars  have  their  eyes 
on  Boumania;  there  is  a  certain 
proportion  of  Hungarians  espedallj 
about  Bomanin,  Moldavia,  althoogii 
it  seems  they  have  in  many  cases 
lost  their  original  language  and 
speak  the  Moldavian  dialect.  To 
collect  information  about  these  the 
Hungarian  Government  has  sent 
two  or  three  commissions.  What 
will  be  the  next  step  ?  An  nnea^ 
feeling  prevails  here,  but  there  is 
probably  more  real  reason  to  fear 
the  designs  of  Russia. 

From  Bucharest  we  took  the  lail 
for  Giurgevo  on  the  Danube,  thence 
to  cross  to  Bustchnk  in  Bolgana- 
What  progress  this  oountiy  b&^ 
made  in  the  last  few  years!  A 
stranger  who  travelled  on  the  sazne 
route  seventeen  years  ago  told  me 
that  then  he  had  to  follow  a  winding 
track,  or  absolutely  forco  hw  ^y 
through  a  prairie  of  grass  saddle- 
high,  where  now  is  a  good  high  road 
in  addition  to  the  railway ;  that  then 
the  streams  that  are  now  spanned 


1878] 


Over  the  Mcurchea  of  OwHited  Europe, 


593 


by  fine  iron  bridges  were  crossed 
by  miserable  cbains  of  boats  covered 
with  unhewn  firs,  impracticable  after 
rainy  weather ;  that  then  scarcely  a 
house  of  cmmbling  brick  relieved 
the  mnd  hovels  of  Baoharest,  and 
oxen  waded  np  to  their  bellies  in 
mire  where  now  are  tramways  and 
macadamised  roads. 

Gim^vo  is  in  its  general  features 
so  like  Floesti  or  Bucharest  that  it 
needs  no  separate  description.  The 
English  Consul  at  Bucharest  had 
told  ns  that  Englishmen  had  the 
free  right  of  ingress  and  egress  in 
Tionmania  without  passports.  Not 
so  thonght  the  official  at  Giurgevo ; 
we  mnst  go  back  to  Bucharest. 
Luckily  we  found  a  man  of  position 
in  the  town  who  knew  the  prefect, 
spoke  French,  and  was  obliging 
enough  to  accompany  us  to  the 
prefecture,  when  the  matter  was 
arranged  in  a  minute. 

Rustchuk  is  more  completely  a 
congregation  of  hovels  than  even 
a  Boumanian  town;,  there  are  by 
the  port,  a  few  European  houses, 
snch  as  hotels  and  consulates,  and 
a  few  shops,  with  at  least  glazed 
windows,  but  for  the  rest,  it  is 
composed  of  mud,  or  unbumt  bricks, 
eked  out  by  sticks,  then  roofig  of 
Roman  tiles,  projecting  eaves, 
wooden  verandahs ;  average  height 
of  houses  about  eight  feet — one  door 
I  noticed  was  not  four  feet  high, 
and  theHelegraph  wires  sail  con- 
temptuously over  the  low  housetops 
from  one  post  to  another.  The 
shops  are  open  to  the  air,  and  con- 
tain, besides  the  Turkish,  a  decided 
proportion  of  English  goods.  But 
the  bulk  are  purely  Oriental. 
There  was  the  hat  market,  with 
fezses  and  Bulgarian  caps;  the  boot 
market,  with  sandal-shoes;  one 
street  was  devoted  to  second-hand 
objects,  from  old  clothes  to  coffee- 
pots; there  were  toy-shops,  with 
the  rudest  wooden  playthings, 
Tnanufactories  of  rough  glass  brace- 
lets and  rings,  others  for  pottery, 
and  a  peculiar  black  earthenware 


inlaid  with  metal.  At  the  street 
comers  mi|^ht  be  seen  money* 
changers,  with  little  tables  such  as 
they  may  have  had  in  Scriptural 
times  :  nearly  all  had  a  little  lot  of 
coins  found  in  the  neighbourhood, 
chiefly  Macedonian  and  Roman  im- 
perial. Then  there  were  bakers, 
with  rolls  the  size  of  large  beads 
strung  on  threads  into  little  neck- 
laces, and  confectioners  with  '  Turk- 
ish dielight '  and  other  sweetmeats. 
As  to  fruit,  the  low  hills  that  sur- 
round the  town  supply  the  market 
to  overflowing  with  peaches,  pears, 
plums,  figs,  grapes  larger  than  we 
met  with  anywhere  else,  as  big  as 
the  largest  gooseberries:  the  best 
wines,  however,  come  from  Wal- 
lachia. 

Most  of  the  inhabitants  are  Turks. 
Men  in  turbans  or  fezzes,  em- 
broidered jackets,  and  pink  shirts, 
crimson  scarves  round  the  waist, 
and  Zouave-like  continuations  of 
blue  or  brown;  looking  from  .behind 
rather  like  trussed  fowls.  Pigtailed 
girls  in  embroidered  bags,  long- 
haired boys,  women  who  wear  dull 
dresses  of  black,  brown,  or  green, 
and  give  their  beauty,  except  the 
eyes,  decent  interment  in  a  white 
winding-sheet.  It  is  in  the  cafes 
that  tl^  Turks  are  to  be  seen  in 
their  element ;  there  they  sit  cross- 
legged  on  the  wooden  dais  that 
runs  round  the  room,  sipping  cofiee 
and  smoking  hookahs  by  the  hour 
together,  wi&out  uttering  a  syllable. 
They  have  honest,  open  counte- 
nances, which  do  not  belie  their 
character,  and  there  is  a  great  deal 
of  good-nature  about  them.  They 
are,  in  fact,  more  like  Englishmen 
than  any  foreigners  we  met.  One, 
a  very  amiable  soldier,  insisted  on 
showing  me  about  the  town.  There 
are  a  few  civilised  Europeans, 
English  employed  on  the  Yama 
Railway,  and  of  late  years  quite  a 
colony  of  Germans.  There  are 
some  Roumanians,  Ghreeks  with 
their  own  XenodocJieiaf  and  a  de- 
cided   ingredient  of    negroes  and 


594 


Over  the  Marches  of  Oivilued  Europe. 


[M»y 


Arabs.  One  quarter  is  cbieflj  in- 
habited  by  gypsies,  who  have  the 
usual  character ;  no  one  thinks  of 
walking  there  without  a  revolver 
or  80. 

The  Bulgarians  live  mostly  in 
their  own  quarter  outside  the  anti- 
quated fortifications  that  surround 
the  town.  They  hate  the  Turks, 
and  won't  mix  with  them;  they 
have  their  own  cafes  and  wine- 
houses,  and  their  own  costume,  less 
brilliant  and  Oriental  than  the 
Turks'.  They  still  cling  to  the 
CyTillian  character,  but  one  of  their 
books  which  I  saw,  a  kind  of  na- 
tional— or  Russian  ? — magazine, 
was  well  printed,  and  beautifully 
illustrated.  They  have,  too,  pictures 
of  a  decidedly  national  character. 
The  subject  of  one  print,  I  remem- 
ber, was  some  Bulgarian  insurgents 
swearing  to  die  rather  than  sur- 
render to  the  Moslem.  It  was,  how- 
ever, less  artistic  than  patriotic,  and 
probably  less  patriotic  than  Russian. 

Prom  Rustchuk  we  went  by 
steamer  up  the  broad  Danube 
stream,  on  one  side  the  low  Walla- 
ohian  plains,  on  the  other  the  alter- 
nating plains  and  barren  hills  of  Bul- 
garia, only  relieved  here  and  there 
by  patches  of  stunted  shrubs.  Hour 
after  hour  would  pass  without  see- 
ing a  habitation,  much  less  a  village. 
Then  we  came  to  an  island  com- 
pletely covered  with  pelicans,  to 
another  clothed  with  willows,  wldch 
ako  sometimes  line  the  shore.  Now 
and  then  we  stopped  at  a  town :  if 
on  the  Bulgarian  side,  gay  costumes, 
minarets.  Oriental  tmns  of  mules ; 
if  on  the  Wallachian,  European 
dresses  and  buildings.  We  passed 
Oftlafat,  whose  earthworks  were  so 
bravely  and  successfully  defended 
by  the  Turks  against  the  Rus- 
sians in  the  Crimean  war;  Tumu 
Severin,  Severus'  tower,  which 
still  shows  Roman  remains ;  Or- 
sova,  where  the  Hungarian  bank 
commences,  and  where,  among  the 
trees,  you  catch  a  glimpse  of  achapel, 
raised  over  the  spot  where  Kossuth 


hid  the  Hungarian  crown;  next 
the  'Iron  Gates,'  tikie  foaming  eddies, 
the   dark   rocks   around,   between 
which  the  steamer  literally  dodges, 
and  then  reached  the  grandest  partof 
the  whole  Danube,  where  the  stceaoif 
now  so  narrow  i^t  you  conld  al- 
most throw  a  stone  from  shore  to     I 
shore,  now  a  rolling  flood  a  nuk    ] 
wide,  cleaves  the  Balkan  from  the 
Carpathians.     To   our  left,  tilted 
upwards  by  volcanic  action,  therocb 
rise  escarpment  on  escarpment,  like 
thebastions  of  somegiganticfortress; 
but  the   spires   and   pinnacles  on 
the  right  suggest  a  dreamy  image 
of  a  Gothic  cathedral :  and  there, 
high  above,  is  a  line  of  fleecy  clonds 
which   float    along    the    topmost 
heights,  andeveiy  now  and  then,  like 
sheep  amongst  briars,  catch  against 
the  mountain  side,  and  leave  some 
of   their    snowy    locks    entangled 
among  the  dark  fir  trees.    Faitiker 
on  may    be    seen    the    traces  of 
Trajan's  road,  a  ma^^nificent  work 
running  along  the  rocky  steep  a 
little  above  the  river.    Then  we 
pass    the    ruins    of    a    Byxantiiie 
castle ;  now  a  legendary  rock  starts 
up  in  mid-stream,  and  at  last  the 
mountains  become  lower,  the  rirer- 
pass  opens,  and  we  arrive  at  Bazias, 
where  the  steamer  meets  the  rail- 
way to  Vienna. 

Here  in  the  Servian  Bao&t  of 
Hungary  we  were  detained  a  day 
amongst  a  very  mixed  popnladon 
of  Magyar  officials,  Suabians, 
Servian  and  Bouman  peasants  in 
conical  sheepskin  caps.  Some  of 
these  are  real  Troglodytes  ;  all  yon 
can  see  of  their  dwellings  is  a 
thatched  roof  and  square  hole, 
which  leads  down  to  a  subteirar 
nean  room,  in  whose  floor  is  an- 
other square  hole  leading  down  to 
another  still  more  undergronod 
chamber. 

What  a  contrast  to  Buchaieat! 
this  is  the  first  impression  on  land- 
ing at  Belgrade:  it  becomes  still 
stronger  as  we  see  more  of  the 
town   and    its    inhabitants.     The 


18?3] 


Over  the  Marches  of  CivUised  Europe. 


595 


Bonmans  take  the  French  as  their 
mode],  the  Seryians  the  Germans  ; 
here  German  is  as  regularly  known 
as  French  atBacharest.  There  is  none 
of  that  pretentiousness  so  offensive 
to    the   eye     in    the    Roumanian 
d^ital ;  the  houses  resemble  those 
of  a  modem  German  town,  and  are 
built  of  proper  bricks.     Certainly 
Belgrade     is     far     poorer     than 
Bucharest ;  there    are  here  abso- 
lutely  no  millionaires,  and  wealth  is 
more  equally  divided.     Among  the 
Servians  proper  there  seems  to  be 
no    proletariat  class.     In   the  old 
Turkish  quarter  of  the  town  along 
the  bank  of  the  Danube  there  are 
indeed  miserable  hovels  and  every 
sign  of  poverty,  but  then  the  in- 
habitantia  are  mostly    Turks    and 
gypsies,    whereas  in  the  Servian 
part  of  the  town  few  houses  sink 
below  a  certain  poor  but  respect- 
able mean.    The  Boumans  imitate 
French  elegance,  but  not  French 
egalUe ;  their  snobbishness  is  truly 
English.      Not  so    the    Servians. 
People  here  don't  try  to  seem  to  be 
what  they  are  not.     The  houses,  it 
is  true,  are  not  largenor  ornamental, 
but  then  they  are  neat  and  solid, 
and  most,    even  of   the    smallest 
streets,  have  rows  of  trees,  which 
make  them  prettier  and  pleasanter 
than     the    gim- crack      rows     of 
Bucharest.      They  are   poor,   but 
why  should  they  try  and  look  rich  ? 
Many  an  English  merchant  has  a 
larger  dwelling  than  the  Palace  ; 
many  a  London  suburban  villa  a 
larger  garden ;  but  Servia  is  neither 
rich  nor  large — ^why  should  it  have 
a  Tnileriesr     The  women  of  the 
wealthiest  class,  by  manners  and 
education     ladies,   who    are    well 
enough  off  to  possess  a  carriage^  go 
aboat  in  the  national  costume,  and 
don't  mind  walking.     Here  there 
is  no  great  gulf  fixed  between  rich 
and  poor. 

However  plain  their  houses  are, 
in  their  costumes  these  people  dis- 
play eztraordinaiy  taste.  And  thev 
are  as   gay  as  tney  are  gpraceful. 


Nowhere  between  the  Black  Sea 
and  the  Adriatic  are  the  colours  so 
brilliant — they  literally  take  you  by 
storm!  With  the  Turks  it  is  the 
men  that  wear  the  bright  clothes, 
but  here  it  is  the  women;  among 
the  men,  even  those  who  dress 
most  like  the  Turks,  the  colours 
are  dull,  as  among  the  Bulgarians 
— besides  they  always  have  some 
attempt  at  petticoats.  Their  typical 
costume  is  an  embroidered  jacket 
over  a  light  white  flowing  tunic,  as 
among  the  Boumans  and  Groats, 
and  similar  trousers  tucked  below 
the  knee  into  embroidered  stock- 
ings, the  whole  surmounted  by  a 
red  fez.  Here  is  one  of  the  market 
women.  What  is  apparently  a 
comb  rises  majestically  at  the  back 
of  the  head,  and  the  bright  scarlet 
drapery  that  partly  confines  her 
hair  is  drawn  over  this,  and  thence 
radiates  in  gpraceful  falls  down  the 
back ;  she  wears  a  low  sleeveless 
body  richly  embroidered  and  half 
open  at  the  front,  below  which  is  a 
light  tunic  of  white,  whose  loose 
sleeves  are  contracted  just  below 
the  elbow  and  then  expand  again, 
falling  about  the  arm  in  gauzy  un- 
dulations ;  round  the  waist  a  rich 
sash  ;  and  before  and  behind,  over 
the  rest  of  the  white  dress,  two 
elaborate  aprons,  worked  in  dia- 
mond patterns  with  every  colour  of 
the  rainbow ;  and  at  each  side  a  kind 
of  *  Dolly  Varden,*  equally  brilliant. 
She  is  selling  cabbages.  Other 
costumes  show  variations,  but  this 
is  the  prettiest  type ;  amongst  the 
colours  scarlet  prevails.  There  is  a 
lady  marketing ;  behind  her  head, 
but  a  little  elevated,  is  a  red  fez, 
which,  however,  only  shows  its 
tasseled  top,  as  it  is  encircled  by 
the  plaits  of  her  hair,  kept  in  their 
place  by  long  pins  with  large  amber 
heads  and  small  pendants  ;  she  has 
a  velvet  jacket  of  rich  purple  (some 
have  black),  with  expanding  sleeves, 
trimmed  round  the  neck  by  a  broad 
band  of  fine  brown  fur,  elsewhere 
by    exquisite    silver    embroidery. 


596 


Over  the  Mareheg  of  Owilited  Etirope. 


[Ma, 


PoTming  an  X  across  her  bosom 
are  two  transyersai  bands,  which 
may  be  also  noticed  on  the  peasant 
women,  and  as  it  is  one  of  the  fea- 
tm'es  that  strike  the  stranger  among 
the  Wendish  population  of  Camiola, 
is  probably  a  tmly  Slavonic  charac- 
teristic ;  and  round  her  waist  is  a 
richly-embroidered  sash  of  glisten- 
ing satin,  whose  ends  hang  down 
graoeMly  above  the  bright  bine 
fountain  of  her  skirt. 

The  Servians,  especially  their 
women,  are  pre-eminent  among  the 
surrounding  races  for  the  beauty  and 
refinementofthefeatures.  Theirhair 
is  black,  though  not  polished  jet  like 
that  of  the  gypsies ;  their  eyebrows 
elevated  and  angular,  which  often 
gives  the  upper  part  of  the  face 
just  a  dash  of  the  homed  owl ;  their 
nose  is  delicately  chiselled  and 
generally  just  a  little  retrouMS — 

Tip-tilted  as  the  petal  of  a  flower. 

The  side  ridge  of  the  forehead  bone 
is  very  marked,  and  throws  a  soft 
shadow  over  the  temples,  but  the 
cheek-bone  is  often  a  little  too  pro- 
minent. The  children  especudly 
have  large  black  lustrous  eyes, 
reminding  one  of  a  dormouse's,  but 
in  a  fine,  milk-white  setting,  which, 
however,  sometimes  has  the  effect  of 
giving  the  men  a  glaring  and  rather 
ferocious  expression.  Of  course, 
these  are  only  the  general  outlines 
of  a  typical  Servian  face ;  but  they 
are  certainly  a  refreshing  contrast 
to  the  depressed  eyebrows,  the  dimi- 
nutive snub  nose,  the  low  tadal 
angle,  and  repulsive  mixture  of  fra- 
gility and  degradation  which  charac- 


terise the  countenance  of  so  many 
of  their  neighbours  in  Sclavonia,  and 
also  to  the  coarser,  plumper  features, 
and  rounder,  lower  brows  of  the 
average  Bonman. 

As  to  the  dependence  of  Servia  on 
Turkey,  it  is  looked  on  here  as  cer- 
tain to  come  shortly  to  an  end,  nor 
is  any  attempt  made  to  conceal  this 
feeling.     A  picture,  for  instance,  was 
especially  prepared  to  do  honour  to 
young  Prince  Milan's  coming  of  age. 
Photogn^hs  of  this  picture  are  sold 
everywhere  about  the  town,  the  sub- 
ject being  as  follows.     The  Prince 
is  surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  figures 
emblematic  of  the  victory  of  Serm 
and  Ghristianily,  and  at  the  side  of 
this  brilliant  group  is  a  moeqne, 
from  whose  minaret  the  red  flag  of 
the  Turks  is  being  hurled  by  a  flash 
of  lightning,  while  out  of  the  win- 
dow   serpents,    typifying  Turkish 
rule,   dart  writhing  away.    As  to 
this  red  flag,  the  Servians  are  hj 
treaty  obliged  to  have  it  float  beside 
their  own  on  the  fortress,  but  they 
have  a  very  large  national  one,  and 
a  very  small  rag  for  Turkey.    In 
the  Turkish  quiuter  and  elsewhere 
the  mosques  are  shunned  and  are 
falling  to  ruins,  and  the   minarets 
decapitated.     Servia  has  organised 
too  fine  an  army  to  fear  the  Turk 
any  longer:  fear  comes  from  the 
North  now,  for  the  jealousy  of  the 
Austro-Hungarian    Government  is 
shown  perpetually.     And  there  is 
another  Power  in  the  North  besides 
Austria.     *  I  try  to  keep  up  their 
spirits,'  were  the  ominous  words  of 
our  representative  at  Belgrade. 

AE. 


1873] 


S97 


PEESENT  ASPECTS  OP  THE  LAJBOUR  QUESTION. 
Bt  an  Artisan. 


ONCE  upon  a  time,  the  working 
bees  in  a  certain  hive,  feeling 
or  fancying  themselves  aggrieved, 
stmck  work.  They  complained 
that,  while  upon  them  devolved  all 
the  hardest  labour  of  the  hive,  only 
a  small  portion  of  the  honey  fell  to 
their  share ;  that  their  lives  were 
consumed  in  exhausting  toil,  in  the 
prosecution  of  which  they  were  ex- 
posed  to  attacks  from  birds,  and 
various  other  evils,  through  which 
their  span  of  life  was  seriously 
shortened.  There  being  that  year 
an  abundance  of  flowers  and  an 
unusual  demand  for  honey,  the 
general  community  felt  compelled 
to  listen  to  them,  and  thus  the 
workers  secured  not  only  a  slight 
addition  to  their  usual  share  of  the 
conunon  property,  but,  what  they 
valued  more,  a  curtailment  of  their 
hotLTB  of  labour.  But  now  arose  a 
clamour  among  the  drones,  who  be- 
gan to  And  tb^t  each  concession  to 
the  workers  involved  a  diminution 
of  some  luxury  to  themselves,  and 
certain  of  them  fiercely  denounced 
the  new  movement,  declaring  that, 
if  persisted  in,  it  must  end  in  the 
utter  ruin  of  the  hive. 

All  similes  break  down  some- 
where :  we  confess  we  should  not 
care  to  apply  this  one  very  rigidly 
to  the  case  before  us.  Many  of 
those  who  are  alarmed  at  the  pre- 
sent aspect  of  the  labour  question, 
are  not  drones  in  any  sense  or  de- 
gree. Moreover,  bees  have  rather  a 
sxanmBTj  method  of  dealing  with 
droneism,  scarcely  applicable  in  hu- 
man affairs ;  but  that  there  is  a  large 
amount  of  droneism  in  this  human 
hive,  and  that  this  is  accountable 
for  very  much  of  our  present  high 
prices,  it  will  not  be  difficult  to 
show,  and  the  parable  will  roughly 
indicate  the  views  and  feelings 
of  not  a  few  of  the  working  class 


upon  the  present .  situation.  As 
the  picture  presented  to  the  public 
has  been  painted  almost  entirely  by 
one  side,  it  may  not  be  amiss  to  have 
a  sketch  from  the  other.  Let  us  con- 
sider first  some  of  the  circumstances 
antecedent  to  the  question  before 
us. 

During  the  last  half-century, 
owing  to  free  trade  and  mechanical 
improvements,  the  production  and 
commerce  of  this  countiy  have  pro* 
gressed  at  a  rate  unparalleled  in 
human  experience.  Since  1852,  we 
are  told,  realised  property  has  ad- 
vanced 200  per  cent.,  namely  from 
2,000  to  6,000  millions  ;  but  beyond 
an  advantage  through  cheapness  of 
manufactured  articles,  the  working 
class  has  been  scarcely  at  all  bene- 
fited. The  wealth  has  come  like  a 
snowdrift,  thick  in  some  places  and 
none  in  others.  Large  incomes 
have  increased  and  midtiplied,  but 
the  manual  workers,  eleven  millions 
in  number,  have  only  derived  in- 
comes averaging  eleven  shillings 
and  twopence  per  week,  while  Mr* 
Brassey  shows  that,  notwithstanding 
the  prodigious  expansion  of  manu- 
facturing industry,  artisans'  wages 
have  been  for  years  at  a  standstill, 
and  this  while  some  of  the  neces- 
saries of  life  have  doubled  in  price. 
This  anomaly  in  the  distribution  of 
wealth,  sufficient,  if  it  were  possible, 
to  shake  the  faith  of  an  economist 
in  the  *  natural  law,'  has  been  depre- 
cated by  good  men  of  all  classes* 
Mr.  Mill  declares  that  even  Com- 
munism would  be  &r  more 
tolerable  than  a  perpetuity  of 
the  present  reign  of  injustice. 
When,  therefore,  some  few  months 
ago,  the  general  prosperity  and  ex- 
ceptional demand  £br  labour  seemed 
to  warrant  a  claim  by  the  manual 
workers  for  better  terms,  one 
would    have    thought    that    such 


598 


Present  Atpeets  of  the  Labour  Question. 


[May 


a  claim  woald  have  been  well 
received.  And  for  a  time  snch 
was  the  case  ;  bnt  now,  when 
with  the  advance  of  wages  there 
comes  to  be  a  coincident  sudvance  in 
the  price  of  certain  commodities, 
many  are  beginning  to  think  that 
the  artisans  are  pnshing matters  too 
far,  and  shake  their  heads  dubiously, 
apprehending  all  manner  of  evil  to 
the  State. 

It  perhaps  would  not  be  easy  nor 
is  it  necessary  to  defend  every  step 
taken  during  the  agitation  scarcely 
yet  subsided ;  but  in  spite  of  the 
efforts  made  to  fasten  the  onus  of 
the  advance  in  prices  upon  the 
working  class,  the  fact  is  oozing  out 
tiiat  a  very  small  proportion  of  it 
goes  to  replenish  their  pockets.  For 
example  ;  before  the  upward  move- 
ment in  the  price  of  coals  began, 
colliers  were  paid  from  two  to  three 
shillings  per  ton  ;  coals  then  went 
up  ten  per  cent.,  and  about  the  same 
time  we  heard  of  the  colliers  de- 
manding and  gaining  a  rise  of  ten 
per  cent. ;  and  with  the  general 
public  this  seemed  to  balance  things, 
few  considering  the  difference  be- 
tween ten  per  cent,  on  2S«.,  the 
price  then  of  a  ton  of  coal,  and 
28.  6d,y  the  wage  of  the  miner. 
Supposing,  now,  that  the  advances 
made  to  the  men  have  amounted 
altogether  to  50  per  cent.,  it  is  clear 
that  this,  viz.  19.  ^d.  per  ton,  is  a 
mere  fraction  of  the  sum  exacted 
from  the  public.  The  iron  trade 
presents,  or  at  least  last  year  pre- 
sented, a  similar  phenomenon,  and 
many  other  trades  might  be  ad- 
duced. 

What,  then,  becomes  of  the  vast 
amount  of  money  with  which  the 
community  is  being  taxed  just  now 
in  the  shape  of  enhanced  prices? 
We  answer,  it  is  absorbed  by  tiiat 
vast  army  which  in  one  capacity  or 
another  intervenes  between  the  con- 
sumer and  the  actual  producer.  It 
is  another  illustration  of  the  neces- 
siiy  of  bringing  these  as  near  as 
possible  together,  without  the  inter- 


vention of  a  costly  intermediate 
machinery.  It  is  estimated  that 
the  extra  profits  now  falling  to  the 
coal  owners  will  amount  to  forty- 
four  millions  in  a  year,  and  mer- 
chants and  speculators  will  probably 
reap  a  still  larger  amount.  Mr. 
Gourley,  M.P.,  stated  not  long  ago 
that  he  knew  one  ironmaster  who 
had  cleared  over  a  quarter  of  a 
million  within  two  years.  For  getting 
out  a  ton  of  coal,  a  collier,  at  the 
immense  wages  he  is  said  to  he 
securing  now,  receives  3s.  2d,\  allow 
as  much  for  other  expenses ;  it  costs 
Ss,  to  carry  it  to  London,  and  Ikere 
the  householder  must  pay  50*. 
Carlyle  has  long  taught  that  louses 
faire  and  universal  competition 
result  in  *  lies,  shoddy  and  sham/ 
John  Bull  may,  perhaps,  be  touched 
in  a  more  sensitive  part  if  he  fisds 
that  they  are  economically  wastefol 
and  expensive.  This  case  of  the 
price  of  coal  presents  the  evil  of 
middlemanism  in  a  rather  extreme 
form,  otherwise  it  is  not  at  all 
exceptional.  In  some  articles  profits 
of  two  or  three  hundred  per  cent. 
are  realised  in  the  ordinary  way  of 
trade ;  and  that  the  commission  of  a 
single  agent  should  exceed  the  whole 
amount  paid  for  labour,  is  a  veij 
common  affiiir. 

It  is  a  pregnant  fact  that  while 
to  labour,  labourof  brain  and  muscle, 
we  owe  all  the  greatness  of  which 
we  boast,  from  this  intermediate 
profit  region  has  sprung  nearly  all 
the  sham,  adulteration,  knavery 
and  panics  which  afflict  the  social 
state.  What  if  these  labour  strag- 
gles should  at  last  compel  socie^ 
to  move  somewhat  out  of  tiiis 
huckstering  groove,  and  seek  out  a 
more  rations^  and  honest  commer- 
cial system — would  that  be  a  result 
to  be  deplored  ? 

But  then  we  are  told,  if  we  are 
not  taxing  the  community  directly, 
we  are  the  cause  of  it,  becanse  we 
have  demanded  shorter  hours  of 
labour.  No  doubt  there  is  a  limit 
beyond  which  such  demands  must 


1873] 


Present  Aspects  of  the  Labour  Question, 


599 


not  go»  and  no  doubt  also  the  coal 
trade  is  now  in  a  Yerj  abnormal 
state ;  bnt  passing  this  for  a  mo- 
ment, we  observe  that  the  assump- 
tion that  a  lessening  of  time  one- 
tenth  involves  a  similar  lesseuing 
of  production,  is  shown  by  Mr. 
Brassey's  book  to  be  altogether 
fallacious.  Notwithstanding  all  the 
Taticinations  made  on  this  subject, 
we  question  whether  the  whole 
production  of  this  coimtry  is  not 
now  as  great,  or  greater  than  ever. 
Messrs.  Bansome*s  testimony,  that 
their  production  has  not  diminished 
by  the  adoption  of  the  nine  hours' 
movement,  might,  we  are  sure,  be 
very  widely  corroborated.  Emer- 
son says,  *  The  Englishman  works 
twice  as  many  hours  in  the  course 
of  a  year  as  any  other  European.' 
This  is  exaggeration;  but  Taine 
shows  that  we  are  far  more  effective 
as  workmen  than  other  nations. 
When  we  remember  the  effervescent 
character  of  most  continental  na- 
tions; the  number  of  saints'  days 
and  holidays,  amounting  in  Bussia 
to  over  a  hundred  a  year,  most  of 
them  days  of  entire  or  partial  sus- 
pension of  business ;  one  cannot  see 
why  a  slight  limitation  of  our  hours 
of  labour  should  be  economically 
impossible,  unless  it  be  that  English 
industry  is  saddled  with  a  relatively 
greater  load  of  non-production. 

And  now,  turning  to  the  coal  ques- 
tion. Few,  I  dare  say,  will  contend 
that  ten  hours  a  day,  or  even  nine, 
is  not  too  much  for  human  beings 
to  be  doubled  up  underneath  the 
earth  in  a  stifling  atmosphere,  oft- 
times,  too,  in  slush  and  water ;  nor 
was  it  unreasonable  that  when  they 
saw  an  opportunity  to  remedy  this 
state  of  thmgs,  they  should  do  so. 
Whether  they  have  hit  the  exact 
mean  in  this  respect,  taken  the 
precise  stride  which  the  whole  of 
the  circumstances  justified,  is  an- 
other matter.  We  think  that,  con- 
sidering the  inexorable  require- 
ments of  socieiy,  not  a  few  are 
abusing     their     opportunity,    and 


limiting  their  labour  more  than  is 
consistent  with  the  general  weaL 
By  thus  injuriously  limiting  supply,, 
they  are  merely  playing  the  game 
of  the  mine  owners  and  speculators, 
and  filling  their  coffers  far  more 
expeditiously  than  they  could  have- 
done  it  themselves,  and  are  like^ 
wise  making  a  scourge  for  them^ 
selves;  for  sooner  or  later  there- 
must  be  a  reaction  from  a  state 
of  things  so  exceptional  and  un- 
natural as  the  present.  However,, 
considering  the  untoward  influences: 
of  a  miner's  life,  philosophic  mode- 
ration is  scarcely  to  be  expected  in 
all  cases,  and  they  are  certainly  not 
more  blameable  than  those  who,  with 
full  knowledge  of  the  calamitous 
effects,  have  nevertheless  conspired 
to  force  up  prices,  and  coolly  pocket* 
ed  all  that  they  could  thus  filch  from 
societv.  But  even  if  the  miner  is: 
the  chief  delinquent  in  the  matter,, 
he  is  more  sinned  against  than 
sinning.  The  community  has  gone 
on  its  way,  and  left  him,  from  in* 
fancy  upwards,  to  go  on  his  way  in 
drudgery  and  ignorance ;  well  con- 
tent if  he  only  turned  out  to  be 
a  good  coal-diggine  animal.  A 
nation  which  has  mus  sown  the- 
wind  may  expect  to  reap  the  whirl- 
wind. Broughtup  under  the  miner'a 
daily  influences,  you,  reader,  would 
possibly  have  been  just  an  average 
miner.  A  certain  degree  of  leisure- 
is  essential  to  moral  and  intellectual 
development.  As  in  past  geologicaT 
periods  certain  forms  of  life  built 
up  some  of  the  strata  which  go  to- 
form  the  habitable  globe,  so  the 
manual-workers  are  now,  halT 
blindly,  half  consciously,  fighting 
out  the  conditions  indispensable  for 
a  higher  phase  of  humanity. 

Perhaps  the  most  painful  feature- 
brought  out  in  these  industrial  con- 
flicts, is  the  utter  want  of  confidenoe- 
and  sympathy  which  seems  to  pre^ 
vail  in  mdustrial  relations.  The- 
feudal  system,  in  its  da^,  secured  a- 
certain  slumberous,  social  tranquik 
lity ,  but  iJiat  system  has  now  passed 


600 


Presefd  Aspects  of  the  Labour  Question, 


[May 


away;  and,  inasmuch  as  it  pur- 
chased tranquillity  by  the  obscura- 
tion or  obliteration  of  the  great 
mass  of  the  people,  it  is  not  to  be 
lamented.  Nerertheless,  there  were 
admirable  features  about  it.  The 
relation  of  master  and  servant,  for 
instance,  involved  on  the  part  of 
the  master  not  only  self-interest,  but 
also  duty  and  responsibility.  But 
with  the  growth  of  the  commercial 
spirit  this  relation  was  sapped  and 
subverted.  From  the  proposition 
that  a  man's  labour  is  merely  an 
object  of  barter,  it  followed  as  a 
natural  coroUary  that  when  the  la- 
bour was  no  longer  wanted  the 
labourer  might  '  be  sent  adrift. 
And  when  men  found  that,  after 
helping  to  build  up  a  fortune  for 
another  in  the  summer,  they  were 
left  to  shift  for  themselves  in  the 
winter,  the  affection  and  veneration 
which  were  the  foimdation  of  the 
feudal  relationship  couldnot  possibly 
exist*  And  now  appears  a  wide  feel- 
ing of  distrust,  as  though  each  were 
afraid  of  being  over-reached  by  the 
other.  Take  the  case  of  the  South 
Wales  strike.  The  colliers  seeing 
the  repeated  advances  in  the  price  of 
coal  asked  for  an  advance  of  ten  per 
cent.;  this  was  refused,  and  the 
notice  was  withdrawn.  The  mas- 
ters then  demanded  a  reduction  of 
ten  per  cent.,  alleging  as  a  reason 
the  lower  price  of  iron.  The  men 
ask.  How  can  this  be  when  the 
Welsh  ironmasters  have  all  along 
paid  the  ironworkers  five  shillings 
per  ton  less  than  is  paid  in  Staf- 
fordshire?— and  point  also  to  the 
fact  that,  four  years  ago,  the  price 
of  iron  was  three  pounds  less  than 
it  is  now,  and  ask  what  must  have 
been  the  profit  last  year  with  the 
price  more  than  doubled?  The 
masters  offer  to  show  the  books ;  the 
men  ask  for  arbitration ;  the  masters 
refuse,  and  so  the  sad  strife  went 
on.  Evidently  the  tie  which  bound 
men  together  when  Boaz,  entering 
the  field,  accosted  his  reapers  with, 
*  The  Lord  be  with  you,'  and  they 


replied,  *  The  Lord  bless  thee,'  ib 
nearly  severed.  The  cash  n&nu,  as 
Carlyle  calls  it,  is  scaredy  likely  to 
supply  what  is  wanting,  and  we 
shall  have  to  search  elsewhere  for 
a  new  firatemal  bond. 

It  is  to  this  disruption  of  the 
feudal  relationship,  and  the  en- 
croaching tendencies  of  the  com- 
mercial spirit,  that  iarades-unionism 
owes  its  existence  and  justifica- 
tion. Trades-unions  have  played 
a  prominent  part  in  the  recent 
movements,  and  in  the  opinion  of 
many  are  the  mainspring  of  all  onr 
industrial  disorders.  But  we  woold 
ask,  Without  some  such  organisft- 
tions  as  these,  what  secnrily  is 
there  agunst  the  permanent  de- 
pression of  the  manual  worker? 
We  are  told  that  a  man's  labour  is 
as  much  an  object  of  barter  as  a 
piece  of  cheese ;  but,  admittmg  tiiis, 
it  may  be  urged  that,  owing  to  bis 
pressing  necessities  and  inferior 
social  status,  the  labourer  is  not  in 
a  position,  single-handed,  to  obtain 
equitable  terms.  And  owing  to  tiie 
general  redundancy  of  labourers  in 
ihose  occupations  where  there  is  no 
mutual  understanding  or  organisa- 
tion, the  terms  made  by  the  least 
scrupulous  employers  with  the  most 
helpless  and  wretched  of  the  la- 
bourers become  in  time  the  terms  of 
all  in  the  trade.  We  may  illustrate 
this.  Take  some  single  article, 
say  a  box  of  superior  matches,  its 
cost  a  halfpenny.  Now  here  is 
an  example  of  cheapness  over  wliicli 
free-traders  rejoice,  and  ordinary 
people  wonder  how  they  are  made 
for  the  money.  Let  us  see  Aoir 
they  are  made  for  the  monej. 
Many  will  remember  the  stoiy  of  a 
clergjrman  in  London  who,  visiting 
some  of  those  wretched  abodes 
which  lie  so  near  to  the  offices  of 
the  millionaire,  the  ends  of  the  worid 
in  contact,  took  a  little  girl  upon 
his  knee  who,  ever  sinoe  in&n<7) 
had  been  engaged  in  helping  to  "win 
the  fiimily  bread  by  malong  match- 
boxes at  2^.  the  gross,  finding  her 


1873] 


Tresmd  Aspects  of  tl^e  Ltibawr  Question, 


601 


own  paste;  and  who  had  *  never 
seen  a  tree,  nor  a  field,  nor  a  blade 
of  grass  in  aH  her  life.'  This  can 
scarcely  be  said  to  be  a  result  of 
foreign  competition,  since  we  export 
abont  loo  million  boxes  a  year; 
nor  is  it  the  wish  of  the  British 
pablio  that  any  of  their  fellow-crea- 
tores  should  be  half  starved  bodily 
and  quite  starved  mentally  that  they 
may  have  two  or  three  boxes  of 
matches  for  a  penny.  No,  the  fault 
is  inherent  in  the  system.  Here 
are  the  matchmaker  and  his  pro- 
duction ;  there  the  purchaser ;  but 
between  them  stand  a  row  of  per- 
sons, manufacturer,  merchant,  retail 
trader,  each  seeking  to  do  the  best 
he  can  for  himself,  and  yet  woo  the 
purchaser  by  offering  a  cheaper  ar- 
ticle than  his  neighbour,  and  who  in 
this  case  divide  among  them  profits 
considerably  exceeding  the  whole 
charge  for  material  and  wages. 
Thus  there  is  through  competition 
a  constant  downward  pressure  in 
the  direction  of  material  and  wages, 
and  if  there  is  no  combination 
among  the  workers  they  become 
ilie  sport  of  eyery  fluctuation,  the 
prey  of  every  unscrupulous  specu- 
lator. 

One  great  object,  then,  of  trades- 
nziions  is,  to  present  a  firm  and 
nnited'front  against  this  inevitable 
aggression ;  for  there  is  no  natural 
limit  to  this  downward  tendency  of 
wages,   sare    one,   which    is    ar- 
rived    at    when     the    remunera- 
tion   will    no   longer    suffice    to 
keep  the    human   machine   going 
on.      Thus    Bicardo    says,    *That 
which  is  sufficient  to  place  the  work- 
man  in  a  condition  to  exist  and  to 
propagate  his  species  is  the  true 
natural  measure  of  the  natural  rate 
of  wages.'    And  the  more  intelligent 
of  the  workers  fail  to  see  why  they 
should  be  thus  utterly  sacrificed  for 
the  benefit  of  the  rest  of  the  com- 
nmmty ;  as  is  very  much  the  case 
in  occupations  where  there  is  no 
c^ombination  ;   in  fact,  agricultural 
labourers  may  be  considered  as  hay- 


ing been  from  time  immemorial 
pressed  down  to  about  the  limit 
spoken  of  by  Bicardo.  And  when, 
with  all  our  increase  of  wealth, 
their  condition,  according  to  the 
best  authorities,  had  become  not 
better,  but  actually  worse  than  it 
was  four  centuries  ago,  that  surely 
was  some  justification  for  their 
combining  to  enforce  better  terms 
from  society. 

That  trades-unions  should  some- 
times lead  to  strikes  is  no  doubt 
to  be  deplored.  In  the  abstract 
all  war  is  to  be  deprecated ;  but 
eyen  war,  under  certain  circum- 
stances, is  a  sacred  duty.  Fighting 
at  least  indicates  vitality.  Better 
that  men  should  fight  than  that 
they  should  sufier  themselves  to 
be  crushed  beneath  the  inexorable 
wheels  of  competition,  or  be  sunk 
in  the  torpid  resignation  which  sees 
no  hope,  and  is  scarcely  conscious 
of  an  evil.  Of  course  one  would 
not  care  to  defend  everything  done 
by  the  unions.  They  are  but  the 
rude  machinery  of  an  imperfect 
civilisation;  still  they  embody, 
though-  in  the  rough,  the  srand 
idea  of  federation,  in  opposition  to 
the  selfish  individualism  which  is 
so  much  lauded  now-a-days.  And 
when  purged  of  some  grossness  and 
errors,  we  haye  fiskith  that  they  will 
yet  prove  a  great  lever  in  the 
cause  of  human  advancement.  Al- 
ready  there  are  indications  that 
they  will  partly  initiate,  and  partiy 
compel,  the  adoption  of  the  co- 
operative principle,  which,  after 
aU,  presents  the  only  way  of 
escape  from  our  difficulties.  What 
is  the  natural  law  which  is 
said  to  regulate  these  matters 
so  beneficently,  if  left  to  itself 
by  this  administrative  nihilism, 
as  Professor  Huxley  calls  it, 
what  is  it  in  practiced  operation 
but,  to  a  large  extent,  a  yulgar 
scramble,  in  which  not  only  the 
weak  get  out-distanced  by  the 
strong — ^this  we  could  put  up  with, 
for  it  certainly  is  not  for  the  well- 


602 


Pretent  Atpeett  of  the  Lahour  Question. 


[M»y 


being  of  humanity  that  imbecility 
fihonld  be  propped  np  and  perpe- 
tuated— but  in  whicb  likewise  the 
modest  and  disinterested  get  driven 
to  the  wall  by  the  rough-and-ready 
and  unscrupulous  P  What,  too,  are 
we  to  think  of  a  natural  law,  which 
seems  to  tend  chiefly  to  substitute 
an  uncultured  commercial  for  a 
cultured  feudal  aristocracy,  under 
which  the  poor  are  oecoming 
poorer  and  the  rich  richer,  which 
apportions  to  the  gambling  specu- 
lator untold  wealth,  and  to  the 
tiller  of  the  soil  ten  shillings  a  week 
with  the  union  for  his  old  age  ? 
Arbitration  is,  no  doubt,  valuable 
until  we  can  find  something  better. 
It  cannot,  however,  be  always  ap- 
plied. But,  even  if  it  could  be, 
how  can  an  order  of  things  be  said 
to  be  natural  which  is  so  perpe- 
tually liable  .to  break  down,  and 
needs  such  continual  patching  up  P 
Then  there  is  education,  which  we 
all  believe  in.  But  is  it  not  a 
significant  fact  that  both  here  and 
elsewhere,  with  growing  education 
there  appears  a  growing  dissatisfoiC- 
tion  with  what  Mr.  Mill  calls  mere 
wages  servitude,  and  a  growing 
distrust  also,  to  use  a  mild  term, 
of  the  pietist  doctrine  that  hu- 
man allocation  is  altogether  a  pro- 
vidential work,  and  that  therefore 
the  whole  duty  of  a  working  man 
is  to  attend  regfularly  at  church,  to 
live  very  mean,  build  his  own  cot- 
tage, save  his  own  soul,  and  be 
content  with  the  position  in  which, 
according  to  the  theory,  it  has 
pleased  God  to  call  him  P 

Then  again,  according  to  others, 
the)  salvation  of  the  working  class 
depends  upon  their  taking  to  heart 
the  Malthusian  doctrine.  Now  it 
is  undoubtedly  true  that^  so  long 
as  there  are  twelve  men  always 
waiting  to  take  the  work  of  ten, 
wages  will  be  low;  but,  as  Mr. 
Greg  shows,  these  population  theo- 
ries influence  least  those  to  whom 
they  are  intended  to  apply  most, 
so  that  they  only  tend  to  bring 


about  a  selection  of  the  least  fitted. 
Whatever  the  value  of  these  pru- 
dential counsels,  men  must  hefird 
elevated,  lifted  above  the  anmuJ 
before  they  can  manifest  philosophi- 
cal discretion.  The  same  objection 
applies  to  the  '  self-help  '  teaching^ 
of  successful  men  of  business.  It 
fails  to  reach  those  who  stand  most 
in  need  of  help  of  some  kind.  Lord 
Elcho,  for  instance,  talking  to  the 
miners  the  other  day  from,  this 
text,  reminded  them  how  it  had  i 
raised  this  and  the  other  miner  to 
be  a  capitalist  or  an  engineer.  AS 
very  well  so  far.  But  he  forgot 
to  tell  them  that  it  left  the  mass 
just  as  they  were.  We  cannot  aQ 
be  civil  engineers  or  middlemen; 
and  the  defect  of  this  kind  of  teach- 
ing is,  that  it  merely  serves  to  lift 
one  here  and  there,  a  little  more 
enterprising  or  self-absorbed  tbaa 
his  fellows,  into  the  ranks  of  the 
middle  class.  What  is  wanted  is, 
that  the  mass  of  manual  workers 
should  be  raised,  and  this  we  think 
can  only  be  brought  about  by  asso- 
ciation. 

A  distinguished  champion  of  the 
working  dass,  Mr.  Frederic  Har- 
rison, lately  declared  co-operation 
to  be  but  a  'bastard  form  of 
Socialism.'  Possibly  the  extreme 
democratic  conception  of  this  prin- 
ciple may  not  be  calculated  to  pro- 
duce anythingbetter  than '  bastards.' 
Inequality  and  diversity  of poweraud 
capacity  are  irreversible  ordin&tions 
of  nature.  Just  as  a  multiplicity 
of  mediocre  daubers  could  never 
fill  the  place  of  one  Bnbens,  so 
leaders  among  men  there  always 
must  be,  caplains  of  indusizy  as  of 
art  and  scienoe.  But  co-operation 
in  the  sense  of  harmonious  action 
for  the  common  good,  in  opposition 
to  individual  gp^eed  and  sel^seeking. 
we  must  have,  or  we  may  despair  of 
earth  ever  seeing  its  miUenninm. 
Indeed  the  problem  howtorecandle 
the  interests  of  capital  and  labour 
has  already  been  solved  hr  this 
method;  solved  too  in  those  depart- 


1873] 


Present  Aspects  of  the  Ldbowr  Question, 


ments  where  the  difficulty  lately  has 
seemed  to  he  greatest.  Some  years 
ago  the  strikes  anddiscord  atMessrs. 
firigg*8  collieries  in  Yorkshire  were 
80  cbxinic  that  they  contemplated 
withdrawing  from  the  business. 
One  of  them,  however,  suggested 
tiyiog  first  the  co-partnership  prin- 
ciple, and  the  result  has  been  to 
them  abundantly  satisfactory,  re- 
garded merely  as  a  commercial 
speculation.  The  philanthropic  ex- 
periment of  Mr.  Gnrdon,  in  Suffolk, 
of  giving  to  the  labourers  a  direct 
interest  in  the  fiEurm  they  cultivated 
has  been  still  more  satisfactory.  The 
wonder  is,  that  with  such  examples 
so  little  has  been  attempted  in  this 
direction.  But  alas  !  the  discipline 
of  money-getting  seldom  engenders 
ft  disposition  to  do  [anything  very 
noble  for  humanity.  Mammon  is 
about  the  only  god  recognised  as 
presidiiig  over  business  relations, 
and  he  is  the  least  heroic  of  all  the 
gods.  I  am  aware  that  any  hint 
about  heroism  in  the  higher  towards 
the  lower,  will  expose  one  to  the 
taunt  of  hankering  after  paternal 
aid;  but  we  submit  that  although  the 
most  advanced  and  prescient  among 
08  camiot  tell  what  precise  form  fu- 
ture civilisation  should  assume,  yet 
there  is  ever  a  vanguard  and  a 
rearguard  in  human  progress.  That 
the  strong  should  help  the  weak, 
the  enlightened  instruct  the  igno- 
rant, is  something  loftier  than  doing 
what  we  will  with  our  own,  and 
leaving  ignorance  and  depravity  to  . 
maxims  of  self-help.  It  is  better 
even  than  doing  as  Mr.  Galton 
lately  proposed  in  his  despair, 
namely  getting  together  a  guild  of 
the  choicest  people,  and  if  neces- 
6aiy  escaping  away  to  some  other 
land,  leaving  the  residuum  to 
their  own  devices.  The  real  evil 
now  is  that  the  arietoa  given  us 
by  competition  is  not  always  the 
genuine  aristoa — ^that  not  nobility 
of  sool,  nor  intellectual  breadth,  nor 
even  always  native  skill,  none  of 
these   nec^sarily,    but   power    to 

VOL.  Vn. — NO.  XLI.     NEW  SEBISS. 


603 


money  is  what  secures  the 
title  to  leadership  and  pre-eminence. 
This  state  of  things,  fruitful  c^ 
immorality,  will  also  be  fruitful  of 
discord  so  long  as  it  shall  continue. 
To  co-operation,  then,  we  look  fbr 
help  from  our  present  difficulties. 
It  is  not  a  mere  working  man's 
question,  but  one  in  which  the 
interests  of  morality  and  civilisation 
are  deeply  involved. 

But  this,  we  fear,  as  a  general 
practice,  is  yet  a  good  way  off.  It 
cannot  be  denied  that  the  bulk  of  « 
the  working  classes  are  far  from  ^ 
possessing,  in  sufficient  measure, 
the  co-operative  virtues  and  intel- 
ligence. Unfortunately  too  the 
general  spirit  of  the  age  is  adverse 
to  their  development.  And  with- 
out suitable  character  co-operation 
cannot  prevail,  for  there  are  no 
short  cuts  to  human  felicity.  A 
new  social  regime,  happily  for  us, 
willnever,  like  aParis  Commune,  be 
'proclaimed'  in  this  country,  and 
meanwhile  something  may  perhaps 
be  done  to  improve  the  existing 
arrangement. 

It  may  be,  as  Mr.  Herbert 
Spencer  intimates,  that  this  money- 
grubbing  age  is  but  the  larva 
gorging  itself  with  the  matenala 
tiiat  are  to  form  the  ftiture  Psyche^ 
and  that  if  we  will  only  wait 
patiently,  a  million  years  or  so,  alL 
our  sociaJ  evils  will  be  eliminated 
by  natural  selection,  that  is  if  the- 
sun  does  not  grow  cold  mean- 
while. But  we  can  hardly  afford* 
to  wait  so  placidly:  man,  every 
man,  needs  .somethings  of  a  souT 
nowy  if  only  to  keep  the  body 
going.  If  then  we,  the  working 
class,  are  still  charged  with  im- 
perilling the  stability  of  society 
for  our  own  short-sighted  advan- 
tage, we  ask  Who  has  cared  to 
present  before  us  either  by  precept 
or  example  right  views  of  duty 
and  society?  What  agency  is 
there  to  teach  anything  higher 
than  the  sordid  maxims  current 
in  the  world  P     The  Church,  with 

TT 


604 


Present  Aspects  of  the  Labour  Question, 


[Maj 


itg  branches  ramifying  to  every 
town  and  hamlet,  seems  to  offer 
such  an  organisation  admir- 
ably fitted  for  the  purpose. 
Bat,  alas!  what  do  we  findP 
A  ministration  of  miracles,  mys- 
ticism, and  sacerdotalism !  Anyone 
afflicted  at  the  dense  ignorance  and 
grossness  everywhere  abounding, 
could  weep  over  such  perversion 
of  a  potent  machinery.  Gentlemen 
who  meet  in  Convocation,  or  as- 
semble in  large  halls  with  a  *  work- 
ing man  '  upon  the  platform, 
know  that  there  are  many  in  Eng- 
land besides  yourselves  who  see  a 
splendid  potentiality  in  the  Esta- 
blishment, but  know  also  that  it  is 
not  to  be  saved  from  the  hands  of 
the  spoiler  by  identifying  it  £or 
ever  with  exploded  dogmas. 

We  contend,  then,  for  the  infusion 
of  a  moral  element  into  business  re> 
lations  and  into  business  science 
and  philosophy.  Tigers,  croco- 
diles, and  such  things  may  get 
on  without  it,  but  man  cannot 
live  by  bread  alone,  nor  yet  by 
maxims  which  tell  him  to  look  only 
after  his  own  bread.  Take  this  coal 
question.  Some  of  the  workmen,  we 
sxe  told,  find  that  by  idling  part  of 
their  time  the  value  of  their  labour 
is  increased ;  the  masters  also  aim 
io  keep  a  limited  supply,  knowing 
that  their  profits  will  be  doubled. 
Kow,  both  workman  and  employer 
who  do  thus,  knowing  that  they  are 
victimising  the  community,  are 
alike  immoral;  but  what  say  the 
organs  of  public  opinion?  \Why, 
that  botli  are  to  some  extent  ab- 
solved since  they  are  only  follow- 
ing a  universal  rule  and  practice. 
Could  there  be  a  more  painful  illus- 


tration of  moral  degeneracy  ?  It 
is  surely  a  low  view  to  say  that 
this  is  natural  or  the  working  of  a 
natural  law.  Nature,  in  the  broad 
sense,  comprehends  not  only  the 
actual  but  &e  potential ;  and  if  it  is 
right  to  do  unto  others  as  we  would 
that  they  should  do  ante  us,  tLen 
surely  we  ought  to  «ideavour  to 
make  that  natural  instead  of  apolo- 
gising for  the  opposite,  and  sayisg 
it  is  useless  to  expect  men  to  go 
contrary  to  nature,  meaning  therebj 
the  lowest  type  of  nature.  I  know 
that  this  will  be  set  down  as  vision- 
ary, and  I  know  also  that  if  Jesns 
Christ  were  to  come  now  and  preadt 
another  Sermon  on  the  Mount  it 
would  be  called  by  the  same  zuune. 
But  morality  after  all  is  as  essential 
in  the  order  of  nature  as  gravitatioD. 
Virtue  and  culture  are  not  aod- 
dental  embellishments,  but  neces- 
sities of  the  higher  nature  in  man, 
and  there  can  be  neither  complete 
harmony  nor  safety  so  long  as  in 
human  affairs  they  are  ixealed  as 
curious  exotics,  which  ihe  few  may 
cultivate  with  unrewarded  toil,  bat 
the  many  are  persuaded  that  it  will 
never  pay  to  trouble  about.  Eng- 
land i^unds  in  wealth,  after  a 
fashion,  and  knowledge  we  hope  is 
coming,  but  something  more  is  still 
needed,  for  'Knowledge  is  power  and 
wealth  is  power,  and  haraessed,  as 
in  Plato's  fable,  to  the  chaiiot 
of  the  soul,  and  guided  by  wisdom, 
they  may  bear  it  through  the 
circle  of  the  stars ;  but  left  to  their 
own  guidance  or  reined  by  a  fool's 
hand,  the  wild  horses  may  bring 
the  poor  fool  to  Phaeton's  end  and 
set  tiie  world  on  fir©.'^ 


>  Short  Studies. 


^<^?, 


1873] 


605 


VIENNA. 


AMONG  tbe  masj  considerations 
wIugIl  have  inyested  the  Ex- 
position JQst  now  opening  at  Vienna 
with  peculiar  interest,  ^maj  be 
reckoned  a  general  feeling  that  it> 
represents,  to  some  extent,  a  more 
liberal  apd  humane  policy  on  the 
part  of  Austria.  It  is  felt  to  be 
not  so  much  a  financial  scheme  as 
a  festivitj,  held  in  celebration  of 
the  passing  away  of  the  old  rule  by 
pitting  one  ethnical  element  against 
another,  and  the  inauguration  of  a 
method  which  shall  pay  greater  re- 
spect to  the  sentiment  of  provincial 
patriotism,  while  cultivating  a  fi:eer 
and  friendlier  intercourse  between 
the  diverse  sections  of  the  country 
— an  effort  after  fraternity  based 
upon  the  recognition  of  reciprocal 
interests.  Since  the  withdrawal  of 
Austria  from  Italy  there  has  been 
a  notable  alteration,  in  the  tone  of 
political  critics  towards  her ;  we 
hare  heard  far  less  of  *  the  crimes 
of  ihe  HapsburgSy'  and  known 
mucli  more  sympathetic  expressions 
of  hope  £or  a  future  begun  in  con- 
flicts with  the  clergy,  and  continued 
in  apparently  honest,  and  partially 
SQCceasSal,  efforts  to  include  the 
seventeen  .provinces  within  the  na- 
tional franchises.  We  may  expect 
the  Buccessof  theExposition-— which 
there  is  every  reason  to  anticipate — 
to  be  followed  by  an  increase  of 
popularity  toAustria.  We  shall  have 
defences  and  eulogies  of  her  govern- 
ment and  social  usages,  with  per- 
liaps  too  little,  discrimination  in 
them.  It  is  to  be  hoped,  however, 
that  some  visitors  from  other  coun- 
tries will  avail  themselves  of  the 
opportunity  to  study  the  curious 
&iid  instructive  conditions  of  life 
by  whicb  they  will  find  them- 
selves surrounded  in  the  beautiful 
capital,  a  city  which,  considering 
its  importance  and  antiquity,  has 
l>een  less  xmfolded  to  the  knowledge 
o£  EngUsh  readex^s  than  any  other 


in  Europe.  The  guide  books— of 
which  Murray's  is  by  for  the  best 
— give  but  little  of  the  curious  lore 
and  notable  associations  of  the  place 
concerning  which  we  propose  to 
ofier  a  few  rambling  notes. 

That  Austria  is  a  *  fortuitous  con- 
course of  atoms'  is  a  fact  which 
presses  itself  upon  the  observant 
visitor  to  its  capital  at  every  step. 
The  element  of  chance  which  meets 
the  student  of  Austrian  history  at 
its  legendary  origin,  attends  him  as 
he  visits  its  art-galleries,  its  Court, 
its  institutions,  and  is  not  forgotten 
as  he  passes  through  the  public 
gardens,  whose  sections  ai'e  named 
after  the  various  regions  of  the 
globe,  or  witnesses  the  masquerade 
6f  races  and  costumes  thronging  its 
streets. 

The  legend  of  the  reigning  House 
is  a  story  of  happy  accidents.  A 
young  .Swiss  Count,  poor  and  ob- 
scure, while  riding  in  the  chase, 
comes  to  a  river,  where  he  finds 
a  priest  on  foot,  anxious  to  cross 
the  stream,  but  unable  t6  do  so. 
Having  addressed  the  pious  man 
kindly,  he  learns  that  he  is  hasten- 
ing to  administer  the  sacrament  to 
a  dying  parishioner,  and  thereon 
freely  offers  his  horse,  on  which 
the  priest  passes  over  the  river,  and 
hastens  to  the  death-bed.  Next  day 
the  horse  is  returned,  with  expres- 
sions of  gratitude,  but  the  Count 
declines  to  receive  it.  *  God  forbid,' 
he  exclaims,  *that  I  should  again 
ride  a  horse  which  has  carried  my 
Saviour !'  Whereon  he  returns  the 
animal  as  a  gifb  to  the  priest  and 
the  Church.  In  course  of  time 
the  priest  becomes  chaplain  and 
confidential  adviser  to  the  Prince 
Elector  of  Mentz;  he  remem- 
bers the  pious  Count,  and  per- 
suades his  patron  to  name  him  to 
the  Assembly  of  Electors  of  the 
Empire.  Enquiry  having  shown 
that  ihe  Count  is  as  brave  as  he  is 

T  T   2 


606 


Vienna,  [Maj 


pious,  he  is  clioBe&  to  be  the 
monarch,  and  appears  in  history  as 
Bndolph,  Count  of  Hapsborg — a 
word  which  we  may  translate  in 
connection  with  the  good  hap  which 
has  ffenerally  attended  the  faxmly. 
This  Kndolph  has  charming  daugh- 
ters, they  marry  five  powerful 
Princes,  and  the  marrying-on,  so 
to  speidc,  of  nations  l>ecomes  the 
structural  p;rowth  of  Austrian  do- 
minion. The  beauty  of  Austrian 
Archduchesses  has  been  a  political 
element  in  the  shaping  of  Europe. 
Napoleon,  having  conquered  the 
country,  is  satisfied  to  be  paid  with 
the  hand  of  one  of  the  pretty  Prin- 
cesses, instead  of  with  milliards,  the 
horrors  of  Austerlitz  ending  in  a 
friendship  between  Austria  and 
France  which  even  Solferino  was 
not  able  to  destroy.  There  is, 
perhaps,  no  more  attractive  Queen 
in  Europe  than  she  who  has  knit 
together  the  thrones  of  Austria  and 
Belgium. 

Notwithstanding  the  bloody  wars 
of  races  which  have  arisen  out  of 
the  heterogeneous  character  of  the 
Austrian  Empire,  of  which  Vienna 
has  generally  been  the  centre,  its 
people  are  proud  of  their  cosmo- 
politan character.  They  admire 
the  many-hued  costumes  parading 
their  streets,  and  respect  each  how-  . 
ever  otUre.  The  chants  of  Greek 
and  Jew,  Catholic  and  Armenian, 
mingling  in  the  morning  air  of 
Sunday,  are  reflected  in  the  wide 
toleration  which  has  availed  to  give 
even  the  seventy  Unitarian  churches 
of  Transylvania  full  leave  to  grow 
to  their  strength.  Even  the  Spanish 
Jews,  who  in  earlier  times  were 
forced  to  find  among  the  followers 
of  Mahomet  a  protection  denied 
them  by  those  of  Christ,  are 
now  welcomed  to  the  city  to  which 
they  have  brought  so  much  of  the 
wealth  of  the  East.  The  Viennese 
gentleman  loves  to  set  before  his 
guest  a  dozen  varieties  of  inter- 
national wines,  and  to  legale  him 
with  oysters  and  crabs  from  the 


Adriatic,  and  little  lobsters  from 
some  far-away  sea  laid  upon  the 
fig-leaves  in  which  they  wem 
packed  ;  with  "Bohemian  eels^ 
Styrian  chamois,  sturgeon  from  the 
Elbe,  and  pheasants  from  sear 
Prague,  of  the  same  sort  tbt 
Napoleon  I.  thought  so  dehcioiu  as 
to  have  five  hundred  of  them  sent 
to  the  Tuileries  annually.  He 
does  not  complain  that  Vienna  has 
so  few  luxuries  not  borrowed,  vhile 
making  much  of  the  boneless  big- 
headed  Kopen  fish,  and  the  JIuc/i€h, 
a  scaleless  trout,  which  Austrian 
Jews,  who  will  eat  nothing  scalj, 
buy  up  at  large  prices. 

The  Fine  Arts  Department  in  the 
Exposition  will  be  extremely  good^ 
for  the  living  artists  of  Europe 
have  long  regarded  Austria  u  a 
region  which  has  not  suffidentir 
recognised  the  claims  of  modem 
art.  Of  the  regular  galleries  ihere 
are  two,  both  of  which  merit  more 
attention  than  they  commonly  get 
The  Lichtenstein  can  hardlj  be 
called  a  great  one,  and  it  must  be 
admitted  that  amongst  its  fifteeD 
hondred  paintings  one  can  find  bat 
few  that  represent  the  bestvoi^- 
manship  of  the  great  masters.  One 
must  note,  however,  the  portrait  of 
Perugino  by  Raphael,  and  that  of 
Wallenstein  by  Vandyke,  the  hitter 
one  of  the  finest  paintings  of  th& 
kind  in  existence.  Ouido's  CA^n^r 
Domenichino's  Sibyl^  and  Bobens' 
six  pictures  representing  the  histoir 
of  Dedus,  are  very  fine  indeed. 
But  the  rooms  devoted  to  en- 
gravings are  more  important  than 
those  assigned  to  paintings,  and 
there  are  few  spots  where  a  lover 
of  old  portraits  and  representations 
of  ancient  costume  and  life-soeoes 
wiU  find  so  much  to  interest  him  ^ 
here.  There  are  minor  private  col- 
lections to  be  thrown  open  to  visitors 
during  the  Exposition  which  haT& 
each  gems  that  should  be  seen— 
those  of  Count  Czomin,  Count 
Schonbom,  and  others.  The  ktter 
has  a  wonderful  picture  by  Ban- 


1873] 


Vienna, 


607 


brandt  —  wonderful  if  not  very 
pleasing— the  blinding  of  Samson 
hy  the  Philistines.  In  the  Ester- 
haxj  collection  readers  of  Mrs. 
Jameson  will  be  glad  to  see  the 
remarkable  picture  of  the  Concep- 
tion (Tavarone,  1590),  in  which 
the  Virgin  is  represented  as  a  dark- 
liaired  Spanish  girl  only  nine  or 
ten  years  of  age. 

But  it  is  in  the  Belvidere  Gkil- 
lery  that  the  lover  of  art  will  find 
the  fullest  reward  if  he  can  be 
patient  enough  to  grope  his  way 
throngh  the  heterogeneous  accumu- 
lation of  splendours,  a  task  not 
«asy  even  with  an  excellent  cata- 
logae  for  his  guide.  The  Belvidere 
is  one  of  the  most  valuable  col- 
lections  of  pictures  in  the  world, 
4ind  it  is  the  very  worst  arranged  ; 
in  fact  it  is  hardly  arranged  at  all, 
the  various  schools  and  different 
ages  of  art  having  to  be  picked  out 
here  and  there  from  most  incon- 
graons  quarters.  The  Belvidere 
Oallery  was  not  made  to  order,  like 
those  of  Dresden  and  Munich: 
it  grew  as  Austria  grew,  and 
its  treasures  bear  trace  of  the 
ancient  history  and  pohtical  con- 
stitution of  the  counti-y  (if  it  can 
be  said  to  have  a  constitution). 
And  this  fact  represents  the  pecu- 
Har  value  of  it  as  compared  with 
the  majority  of  other  European 
galleries.  It  may  not  have  so  many 
great  masterpieces,  but  the  historical 
development  of  art  in  nearly  every 
country  is  represented  here,  making 
it  an  invaluable  collection  for  the 
art-scholar  or  the  critic.  We  are 
borne  back  to  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury, when  a  German  school  of  art 
was  just  burgeoning  out,  the  main 
f>tem  of  it  being  in  Bohemia. 
There  it  was  under  the  patronage 
of  Carl  IV.,  who,  much  wiser  than 
many  later  patrons  of  artists,  pre- 
ferr^  to  give  them  good  institu- 
tions and  special  advantages  rather 
than  foster  their  love  for  the  luxury 
of  his  palaces.  So  here  we  have 
the  old  Bohemian  collection,  show- 


ing strokes  well  worthy  any  artist's 
study  for  their  blended  strength  and 
sweetness.  Theodoric  of  Prague, 
Nicholaus  Wurmser,  Thomas  of 
Mntina,  and  others  had  founded  a 
school  different  from  all  others,  but 
it  perished  amid  the  convulsions  of 
the  age,  leaving  the  disjecta  membra 
here.  It  is  to  be  feared,  if  every 
picture  in  the  Belvidere  could  tell 
its  history,  and  should  do  so  honest- 
ly, the  relations  would  hardly  re- 
dound to  any  reputation  the  Haps- 
burgs  may  have  for  possessing  an 
intuitive  perception  of  the  differ- 
ence between  meum  and  tuvm.  We 
are  told,  however,  by  the  Teutonic 
authorities,  that  the  Gallerfr  is  '  the 
result  of  a  profuse  liberality,  the 
creation  of  powerful  sovereigns,  who 
enjoyed  unlimited  access  to  all  those 
channels  which  poured  forth  their 
rich  stream  of  the  most  precious 
treasures  of  art  for  the  gratification 
of  those  who  thirsted  for  them.'  It 
is  to  be  hoped,  therefore,  that  the 
various  countries  parted  with  the 
treasures  pleasantly.  Be  this  as  it 
may,  the  rule  among  empires  in 
such  matters  is  just  that  which  is 
said  to  have  originally  rendered  so- 
ciety possible  in  California — respect 
for  such  maxims  as  status  quo,  uti 
possidetis,  let  bygones  be  bygones ; 
above  all,  a  remembrance  that  all 
palaces  are  glass-houses,  and  stone- 
throwing  strictly  prohibited. 

The  two  points  in  which  to  the 
art-student  the  Belvidere  presents 
the  greatest  attractions  are  in  the 
specimens  of  Albrecht  Diirer,  and  a 
collection  of  Flemish  and  Italian 
art  made  by  Teniers.  Maximilian  I. 
was  the  personal  friend  of  Albrecht 
Diirer.  It  was  while  that  Emperor 
resided  at  Prague  that  he  learned  to 
love  literature  and  art,  and  above  all 
to  esteem  Diirer.  Most  of  the  Diirer 
pictures  at  Vienna  were  brought 
there  by  him.  Teniers  was  the 
friend  of  the  Archduke  Leopold 
Wilhelm,  who  was  Governor  Gene- 
ral of  the  Netherlands,  and  whose 
enthusiasm  for  the  fine  arts  proved 


608 


Vienna. 


[May 


much  more  beneficial  for 'Vienna 
than  for  the  Dutch.  This  Archduke 
employed  David  Teniers  to  go  about 
and  make  a  collection,  particularly 
of  Flemish  pictures,  for  him.  Teniers 
repaired  to  Brussels,  and  it  really 
was  the  collection  there  made  that 
forms  the  basis  of  the  Belvidere 
Gallery:  For  it  must  be  remem- 
bered that  the  numerous  Httle  ool- 
lections  which  Austrian  emperors, 
archdukes,  and  noblemen  have  been 
making  for  five  hundred  years  or 
more  had  no  reference  whatever  to  a 
public  gallery.  Each  was  meant  to 
decorate  a  palace  or  private  man- 
sion. When  Teniers  brought  the 
collection  he  had  made  (1657)  there 
was  no  room  for  it  in  the  Imperial 
palace,  so  the  pictures  were  hung  in 
a  neighbouring  building  called  the 
Stallburg.  It  seems  to  have  become 
thus  slightly  detached  from  the 
person  of  io3ralty;  and  though  a 
hundred  years  ago  the  pictures  were 
transferred  to  a  palace  again,  that 
building  has  ever  since  been  the  pa- 
lace of  the  people.  The  princes  for 
whom  the  Belvidere  was  built  live, 
as  art  enables  them,  on  its  walls, 
there  frescoed  by  Van  der  Hooke, 
Solimena,  Auerbach.  The  emperors 
and  archdukes  have  discovered  long 
ago  that  an  individual  cannot  mono- 
polise great  treasures  in  this  world 
without  losing  the  most  real  enjoy- 
ment of  them,  and  so  rill  after  nil 
has  come  in  from  generation  to 
generation  as  tributaries  to  swell 
the  singular  collection. 

None  need  to  be  informed  that 
Vienna  is  the  metropolis  of  music. 
The  visitor  there  finds  himself  float- 
ing about,  as  it  were,  in  an  ethereal 
musical  sea.  Even  the  brass  bands 
perform  good  music.  The  only  iiif- 
ficulty  on  this  musical  score  is,  in- 
deed, that  the  varieties  of  harmony  in 
Vienna  are  likely  to  form  in  the  less 
sophisticated  ear  a  medley  something 
like  the  ancient '  Quodlibet '  (which 
still  may  be  hea^  occasionally), 
in  which  the  persons  of  a  company 
sing  each  a  difieront  ballad  simul- 


taneously to'  one' thiame-^-a  tioleBm 
hymn  jostling  a  bacchrtnalian  ditty. 
The  opera  is  the  most  peif^t  intiie 
world,  the  symphonies  peipfect,  uid 
the  sacred  music  also  ;  and  none  of 
them  can  surpass  the  majesty  with 
whioh  the  military  band  sends  abnad 
through  the  air  OoU  erhaUe  KaUm 
Franz,  (jenerations  of  culture  liare 
gone  to  build  up  the  musical  taste 
and  the  fine  ear  which  of  old  made 
this  city  the  Mecca  of  musicians. 

Mozart  found  it  up-hiil  work  at 
Vienna.  The  people  looked  upon 
his  thin,  pale  face,  and  his  light, 
boyish  hair,  with  increduliiy.  They 
could  hardly  imagine  that  the  lictk 
man  was  more  than  an  ambitions 
youth .  It  was  j  ust  eighty-five  years 
ago  that  he  was  trying  to  acoom- 
plish  something  there,  but  had  mote 
reputation  for  his  game  of  billiards 
than  for  music.  At  the  time  the 
two  great  librettists  of  Vienna  were 
Metastasio  and  the  Abb^  do  Ponte 
— a  man  who  passed  twenty  weaiy 
years  as  an  Italian  teacher  in  New 
York,  where  be  died  in  destitatioE! 
This  A\M  de  Ponte  wrote  the 
drama  of  Bon  J^uin^  after  oonsnltft- 
tion  with  Mozart,  who  belieTed  that 
the  traditions  of  the  wild  uobleiDan 
formed  a  g^od  theme  for  an  op»a 
The  composer  did  his  part  in  less 
time  than  any  opera  was  ever 
written  in.  He  wrote  day  and 
night,  his  wife  keeping  his  wiU 
awake  by  bringing  in  punch,  hii 
favourite  drink,  and  so  got  it  ready 
for  a  grand  occasion  in  Pragoe. 
Prague  was  delighted.  After  being 
thrioe  performed,  it  was  wafted  to 
Vienna  on  Bohemian  raptares.  At 
Vienna  it  fell  dead.  The  Emperor 
Joseph  sent  for  Mozart,  and  said, 
*  Mozart,  your  music  would  do  TCiy 
well,  but  there  are  too  many  notes 
in  it.'  *  There  are  just  as  many  a« 
there  ought  to  be,'  replied  Moart, 
deeply  offended.  This  fine  piece  of 
Imperial  criticism  may  have  got 
wind,  for  everybody  was  in  ite  haht 
of  saying  there  was  eertaiidy  merit 
inthep^,  *but»'Ao.    Beiiigin» 


1878] 


VtemHU 


609 


oompany  one  dmy  where  the  new 
opera  was  the  sabjeot  of  dispute, 
Haydn,  in  reply  to  a  demand  for 
his  opinion,  said,  'All  I  know  is 
that  Mozart  is  o^iainly  the  greatest 
oompoaer  now  in  existence. '  Haydn 
sufifered  from  the  cavils  of  the  critics, 
but  his  genins  met  with  recognition 
from  Mozart.  A  composer  of  some 
merit,  but  of  a  jealoas  disposition, 
was  expatiating  on  the  defects  of 
Haydn,  when  Mozart  broke  oat 
with  the  abrupt  reply,  *  Sir,  if  you 
and  I  were  melted  down  together, 
we  oould.  not  make  one  Haydn !' 
Mozart  gracefully  dedicated  his 
qnatuors  to  Haydn.  Frederick 
the  Great  offered  Mozart  a  situa- 
tion at  Berlin,  with  a  salary  of  five 
,  thousand  florins,  in  place  of  the 
miaerable  sum  of  eight  hundred 
(8oZ.)  which  he  was  getting  at 
Vienna.  While  he  was  hesitating 
Joseph  n.  called  on  him  and  said, 
^  Mozart,  you  are  going  to  leave  me/ 
*No,  never  will  I  leave  your  ma- 
jesty,' said  the  tender-hearted  com- 
poser, with  emotion.  Beethoven 
had  a  better  experience,  for  Vienna 
recognised  his  genius  from  the 
start.  When  he  brought  out  his 
Fifth  Symphony  there  before  a  vast 
audience,  the  crowd  rose,  shouting 
their  plaudits.  Beethoven,  who  had 
conducted  the  piece,  did  not  accept 
their  appl&use.  A  member  of  the 
orchestra  took  him  gently  by  the 
shoulders  and  turned  his  fftce,  that 
he  might  see  the  enthusiastic  au- 
dience. The  audience  then  remem- 
bered that  the  artist  who  had  been 
so  charming  them  was  stone-deaf. 
Beethoven,  when  he  beheld  the 
scene,  burst  into  tears. 

With  all  the  social  conservatism 
in  Vienna,  and  the  hardness  of  the 
aristooraoy — the  noblemen  being 
more  like  kings  than  even  the 
Junkers  of  Prussia  before  Bismarck 
compelled  them  to  commit  hari- 
kari— one  cannot  help  being  stnibk 
by  the  degree  of  freedom  allowed 
in  that  city.  It  is  said,  indeed,  not 
to   be  found  in  other  cities  under 


Aostriaa  rule;  poor  Prague  espep 
Gsally  being  under  such  surveillance 
that  many  of  the  best  plays  are 
prohibited  to  its  public  theatres.  In 
Vienna,  Hen*  Etienne^an  old  revolu- 
tionist of  1848,  who  edits  the  2^60 
FresSf  informed  me  that  he  was  able 
to  print  as  much  radicalism  as  he 
pleased  in  his  paper  without  inter- 
ference from  the  police.  I  remem« 
ber  on  one  occasion,  while  visiting 
the  celebrated  crypt  in  which  the 
remains  of  the  emperors  are  pre- 
served in  fine  coffins  loaded  with 
wreaths,  our  pariy  patued  for  some 
time  at  that  of  the  late  Prince 
Maximilian,  who  was  shot  in 
Mexico.  It  was  inscribed  by  the 
Emperor  '  To  our  dear  brother,  who 
was  shot  by  Mexican  barbarians.' 
Two  Germans  present  commented 
upon  the  inscription  in  their  own 
language  and  very  audibly  to  the 
company  present,  one  declaring  that 
the  Mexicans  had  served  '  our  dei^ 
brother '  just  right ;  the  other  ex- 
pressing the  belief  that  the  Emperor 
had  helped  to  send  his  brother 
away  thn)\igh  jealousy  of  his  greater 
attainments  and  popularity,  and  fear 
of  his  tendency  to  radicalism,  and 
that  he  (the  Emperor)  was  by  np 
means  sorry  when  he  heard  of  the 
Prince's  tragical  end.  Such  free  talk 
as  this  one  continually  hears  in  the 
oaf  68,  The  freedom  accorded  to  reli- 
gious heresy  is  equally  great.  One 
hears  continually  loud  theological 
discussions  going  on  in  public  rooms, 
where  Greeks,  Armenians,  and  Oa- 
tholios  assemble.  There  is  very  apt 
to  be  present  also  a  Unitarian, 
whose  arguments  sometimes  make 
one  fimcy  himself  in  the  atmo- 
sphere of  Boston.  In  Transylvania 
there  are  near  two  himdred  Uni- 
tarian congregations,  with  a  very 
systematic  organisation,  and  spme 
aJlege  that  this  form  of  belief  is 
spreading  to  Vienna  and  other  parts 
of  Ausiaria.  In  the  public  libraries 
one  sees  shelves  high  up  inscribed 
^Verbotene  Bucher,'  and  on  them 
heretical  theology  is  curiously  min- 


608 


beneficial  for 'Vienna    teneonsly   to' oil# 


mncfa  more 
than 
em]^ 

and  make  a  collection,  partii 
ofFlemishpictnres,  forhim.  Teniers 
repaired  to  Brussels,  and  it  really 
was  the  collection  there  made  that 
forms  the  basis  of  the  Belvidere 
Gallery:     For  it  must  be  rememi 
bered  that  the  nnmerons  Httle  ool-     f 
lections  which  Austrian  emperors, 
archdukes,  and  noblemen  have  beer  , 
making  for  five  hundred  years  '  ; ' . 
more  had  no  reference  whatever  '■  j  J I 


<i 


public  gallery.  Bach  was  mea 
decorate  a  palace  or  private  .f 
sion.  When  Teniers  brou.  } 
collection  he  had  made  (i6  * '  '^' 
was  no  room  for  it  in  th  '  so  in 
palace,  so  the  pictures  v '  j^eror  is 
a  neighbouring  buildi*  Mide  the 
Stallburg.  It  seems  '^h&re  are 
thus  slightly  detp  >^  families,  ten 
person  of  royalt'  .«^^®se  being  the 
hundred  years  a  .^J^wartzenbergs, 
transferred  to  >f£sterhazyB.  They 
building  has  /^fig^^^y  and  have 
lace  of  the '<^'  They  are  by  birth- 
whom  the  /^ts  of  the  Golden  Fleece, 
as  art  e-  /j^^  symbol  may  be  seen 
there  fj  ^^i^rdceB   of  their  houses. 


Fienno.  / 

jgfggi  hi 

them  c^h///  I-enteitgw^- 

:'  ;      refinement  and  CTt 

// 1%  of  mirth  Wvi^^S; 
'■»        The  children  ;^ftW  m« 

said  to  be  terribly  over. 


Ff 


jr 
^ms  are . 


Solime  ^^iizies  are  immense.  Though 
and  a  jf^rh&zjs*  fortune  has  been 


>fCfhB>zj^*  fortune  has 
ago     /^^  W  on®  or  two  spend- 
'  pol*  -^^ ^  ^^  ^  ^®  larger  than  the 
^;   ^e  of  the  Kings  of  Bavaria, 
r    ^Q^^^^S)  and  Sazpny  put  toge- 
-     L    How  formidable  is  the  power 
^^iiese  &milies,  was  shown  by  an 
^j^dent    that  occurred    in    1805. 
paring  the   war  with    l^apoleon, 
/rince  Appony  was  entrusted,  with 
^e  Austrian  forces  on  the  Danube. 
After  the  capture  of  the  Austrian 
army    at    Ulm,    this    Prince  was 
ordered  to  destroy  a  wooden  bridge 
near  Vienna;    he    disobeyed    the 
order,  and  Napoleon's  pursuit,  faci- 
litated by  this  bridge,  resulted  in 
the    disaster    at    Austerlitz.      All 
Burope    expected    Prince  Appony 
would  be  shot;   but  he  was  only 
temporarily    banished,    not    from 
Austria,    but    from    the    Imperial 


owked,  as  it  is  thought  ^^^J^ 
learn  all  languages  in  8°^'**P^^L 
empire.  In  many  of  the  p^f**** 
there  are  rooms  fitted  for  pny** 
theatricals,  and  there  iB  no  ena  to 
the  masquerades,  iMeaux  vm^ts, 
and  balls.  The  favourite  dance  a 
still  the  old  *  chain-dance,'  npm 
which  more  modem  terpsichoreaa 
gems  have  been  threaded ;  in  i^  ^^ 
company  winds  Hke  a  serpent  froro 
room  to  room,  through  corridoraBd 
hall,  until  at  last  the  Binuoos  iom 
breaks  up  into  waltzes,  whict  pMS 
from  one  species  to  another,  ending 
in  the  giddy  whirl  of  the  German, 
Considering  that  Vienna  success- 
fully claims  the  honour  of  havinj 
established  the  first  Um?ersity  on 
the  Continent  (1333,  sajs  Bonier- 
wek),  one  is  surprised  io  find  *^ 
few  literary  characters  in  higli  so- 
ciety in  Vienna.  The  posaession  of 
a  fine  University  did  not  present 
Hartmann  Schopper,  the  most  scho- 
larly editor  of  the  Beinecke  M 
from  having  to  sleep  Diogenes- 
fashion  .in  a  barrel  in  the  streets  rf 
Vienna,  just  .three  hundred  yean 
ago,  untilJosias  Hafnagelgarehiia 
shelter;  and  the  flourishing  condi- 
tion of  the  same  institution  tee 
does  not  avail  now  .to  render  theritf 
the  great  literary  centre  that  itoDgiit 
to  be.  It  IB  to  be  feared  thatfef 
things  thrive  in  Austria  in  wliicli 
the  Court  is  not  interested ;  and  as 
its  earlier  despotism  acted  as  m 
extinguisher  on  the  fine  gemasof 


187S] 


Vienna, 


611 


Bohemia,  it6  indifference  has  pre* 
Tented  the  intellect  of  Austria  from 
lighting  np  at  all.    It  is  probable 
that    such    a  poet  as   Gbillparzer 
TTOuld  have  found   a  welcome    at 
Ck>urt  in  any  other  capital,  but  at 
Vienna    he    was     hardly    known 
except  by  the  lower  classes.     He 
held  some  petty  office  bringing  him 
an  amount  equal  to  25o.th8Jers ;  and 
when  some  of  his  friends  petitioned 
the  Emperor  (1828)  for  his  promo- 
tion to  a  place  that  would  bring  600 
thalers,the  monarch  exclaimed, '  Let 
me  alone  with  your  GriUparzers ;  he 
would  mako  verses  instead  of  re- 
ports.'  )Afber  his  journey  to  Italy, 
and  when  he  had  grown  out  of  the 
phase  of  his  genius  which  produced 
Schichsalstuck     (an     imitation     of 
Werner)  to  that  which  could  thrill 
andieoces  with  the  subtle  passion 
of  Medea^'  he^was  taken  up  by  the 
Imperial  Burg  Theatre  as  its  poet,  at 
a  salary  equal  to*  1,000  thalers.  But 
that  sort  of  occupation  which  quick- 
ened the  genius  of  Schiller  depressed 
that  of  Grillparzer,*  and  I  suppose 
there  have  been  few  men  of  equal 
power  who  have  left  so  little  monu- 
ment of  it.     Moritz  Hartmann,  too 
—  who,   though    a    Bohemian   by 
birth,  passed  much  of  his. life,  at 
Yienna —  had    a    good  ideal    of 
genius   which  came   to  >  little  and 
reached  its  climax  in  Chalice  and 
Sivard.    Somehow  but  few  men  of 
genius  are  bom  among  the  aristo- 
cracy,   or    no    doubt    they    would 
make  much  of  him,  as  they  did  of 
Von  Hammer,  the  Orientalist.    The 
Germans  have  their  own  theoiy  of 
this  matter,  and  say  that  when  the 
Anstrian  Government  by  its  despo- 
tisnoi    and    espionage  stopped    the 
German    immigration     that    was 
coming  to  it  along  the  Danube,  it 
committed  intellectual  suicide.    It 
Tvas     an    ancient     impolicy,    and 
it    enabled    the     imported    Faber 
of     Soabia    to    earn    at    Vienna 
the    title  of  'Mallet  of  Heretics' 
by     stamping    the    first  germs  of 
Protestantism  in  the  time  of  Lu- 


ther. Since  then  the  only  genius 
in  Austria,  i.e.  the  German,  has 
dwelt  in  poor  attics,  industriously 
pursuing  useless  knowledge.  In 
one  house  Maelzel  devoted  royal 
powers  to  the  fashioning  of  an 
automaton  trumpeter,  and  in  an- 
other Faber  worked  twenty-five 
years  to  produce  his  talking- 
machine.  However,  we  will  not 
forget  that  Michaelis  is  proving 
almost  I  as  terrible  a  'Mallet.'  to 
Bishops  as  Johann  Faber,  Bishop  of 
Vienna,  was  to  Lutherans  in  the 
dawn  of  the  Reformation.  Were 
the  Old  Catholic  scholar  to  make 
an  appeal  straight  to  the  reason 
and  conscience  of  the  people,  there 
would  be,  I  am  persuaded,  far  more 
hope  for  the  new  movement  in 
Vienna  than  at  Munich;  but  the 
effort  to  convince  the  priests  is 
hopeless.  The  ignorance  of  the 
rural  Austrian  priest  is  quite  un- 
fathomable. Berthold  Auerbach 
relates  that  he  once  walked  a  little 
with  one  of  these  priests  during  the 
revolutionary  excitement  in  '48. 
f  We  walked  some  distance,'  says 
Auerbach,  'and  the  conversation 
turning  on  religious  subjects,  the 
priest  said,  "  Ay,  the  liberty  men 
would  lord  it  over  the  great  GK)d, 
but  the  great  God  is  far  too  great 
for  them.  All  the  mischief  comes 
from  philosophical  religion."  I  asked 
what  he  meant,  and  he  replied, 
"  Philosophical  religion  comes  from 
BoTuneau  inFrance ;  his  friends  once 
said  to  him,  '  We  have  no  drums 
now-a-days^'  to  which  he  answered, 
'  Skin  men,  and  make  drums  of  their 
hides.'  Now  that's  philosophical 
religion,  and  it  all  comes  frt)m 
Bousseau,  who  died  a/nno  $."  '  All 
Auerbach's  objections  were  vain; 
the  priest  resolutely  maintained 
that  he  had  himself  read  in  a  book 
in  a  convent  that  this  was  called 
philosophical  religion. 

In  what  I  have  just  written  I 
have  not  meant  to  disparage  the 
Hteraiy  gifts  of  Austria  to  the 
world.      Nay,     I    am    persuaded 


612 


Ftemto. 


(Tfa, 


ihat  it  18  mnoh  i^icnv'ihroagb 
the  ignoTanoe  of  the  world  generally 
that  the  fine  specimens  of  Austrian 
genina  are  not  more  widely  known 
than  through  any  lack  of  such 
specimens.  Thus  in  the  English 
Beeton's  Biographical  Dictionary, 
one  finds  mention  of  QrynsBus,  an 
old  and  dull  editor  of  Greek  books 
in  Vienna,  who  ha^  attained  the 
honour  because  he  visited  England ; 
but  AnafitasiuB  Chriin,  who  might 
well  occupy  this  particular  place,  is 
not  mentioned ;  nor  in  any  English 
authorities  will  one  find  any  trace  of 
the  existence  of  him,  or  of  Ladislaus 
P3rrker,  Nicolaus  Lenan,  or  even 
Von  Hammer  Purgstal.  If  English- 
men are  not  £imiliar  with  what 
Griin  has  done,  I  advise  them  to 
forthwith  look  into  the  charming 
translations  of  various  verses  of  his 
by  theRev.  C.T.  Brooks,  of  Newport, 
in  America.  Griin  was  not  indeed 
bom  in  Vienna,  but  in  the  Austrian 
Duchy  of  Camiola,  but  he  won  his 
fame  by  his  Spaziergdnge  eines 
Wiener  Poeten,  It  is  significant, 
however,  that  this  work  was  pub- 
lished at  Hamburg,  and  his 
Oedichte  at  Loipeig.  Lenan  too  is 
full  of  mystical  depth  and  purity. 
One  must  not  forget  that  one  of  the 
leading  contributions  to  mytho- 
logical science  in  this  age  has  just 
come  from  Vienna,  namely,  Boskofi^s 
History  of  the  DevU,  But  at  the 
same  time  it  is  impossible  not  to  see 
his  learned  work-as  a  solitary  column 
in  an  arid  theological  desert.  Baron 
Von  Prokesch*Osten,  a  Styrian,  is 
certainly  a  man  who  has  shown 
fine  powers  as  a  numismatist  and 
a  thinker ;  and  if  a  mathematical 
professorship  in  Austria  had  been 
able  to  compete  with  the  temptation 
of  a  position  of  private  secretary  to 
Prince  Schwarzenberg,  he  might 
have  built  up  a  nobler  fame  than 
that  of  a  reaotumaiT'  diplomatist, 
by  adhmng  to  the  studies  whioh  he 
abandoned,  and  to  which  he  returned 
to  bring  the  homage  of  his  grey 
hairs.    Although,  as  I  have  already 


intimftted,' Yi0tea-^d6ee  'hoe  kcfid  a 
very  high  position  in  Eurd^as  a  pa^ 
tron  of  pictorial  utyHorha^ctatribn- 
ted  much  in  that  diredfeionVthat  city 
is  to  be  credited  wit^  liliViUg  given 
to  the  world  Eugene  von  Ghieratd. 
This  vigorous  paintet*,  who  has  won 
a  good  name,  in  America  ^peciaUj, 
was  ihe  son  of  the  Conrt  painter  b 
Vienna  at  the  beginning  of  this 
century,  but  his  genius  was  de^ 
veloped  in  Italy,  femd  bis  indi* 
vidualiiy  was  found  only'  'amid  the 
wild  grandeurs  of  Australia,  where 
he  went  never  to  return,  though 
ofben  solicited,  I  am  told,  by  tibe 
nobility  among  whom  his  &ther 
(Bernard)  flourished. 

But  if  we  turn  from  litera- 
ture and  fine  art  to  see  whst 
Vienna  has  done  and  is  doing,  we 
shall  find  that  she  has  cultivated  a 
power  of  beautiful  workmanship 
unequalled  in  any  other  city  of 
Europe.  Vienna  alone  among  highly 
civilised  and  manufikcturing  cities 
has  the  blood  to  sympathise  with  the 
Byzantine  love  of  having  everything 
beautiful,  whatever  be  the  coarse 
utility  to  which  it  is  devoted.  The 
kitchen  skewer  must  have  an  or- 
namental head  like  a  golden  hsir- 
pin.  And  Vienna  is  the  only 
European  city  which  is  in  a  posi- 
tion to  know  completely  the  wants 
and  tastes  of  the  East.  Hence  a 
stranger  roams  among  the  •  shops 
endlessly,  as  under  woven  spells. 
The  clocks  kill  timis  by  their  beaaty 
while  they  record  it;  the  shawls 
are  of  the  magio-carpet  kind,  that 
transport  one  to  far-off  realms  <^ 
beau^ ;  and  there  is  a  ioach  ef 
transcendentalism  in  their  meer- 
schaum pipes.  What  stearine  woiis 
are  these !  Who  can  ever  bum  a 
candle  irreverently  after  see- 
ing here  a  huge  grotto,  with 
crystal  stalactites,  aiid  ft  noUe 
white  bear,  all  artistieally  done 
in  stearine!  Beautiful-  bronzes, 
heraldic  engravings^  theiit^ieai  de* 
eorations,  cabinets,  ghisA^'  idl  these 
things  in  Vienna  d^ow  ti^em  its 


1873] 


Vienna, 


613 


genitid  is  &t  work.  The^*  liave  a 
waj  too  of  calling  their  shopB '  by 
pretty  names^  *  Laurel  Wreafcb/ 
*L' Amour/  Ac. 

One  may  find  mnch:  that  i&cn- 
rious,  if  less  beauty,  in  the  markets ; 
the  parrot  market,  the  monkey 
market,  and  the  Hofmarket,  where 
the  old  women  called  Frotschel- 
weiber  chatter  qnite  as  nnintel- 
lig^bly  as  the  animals  just  named. 
One  need  not  follow  the  plan  of 
the  Emperor  Joseph,  who  is  said 
to  have  gone  to  the  market  tiieo^ifo 
and  kicked  over  a  basket  of  eggs 
in  order  to  hear  the  Frotschel- 
weiber's  vocabulary  of  expletives  ; 
he  will  hear  enough  of  it  without 
that.  And  there,  too,  he  will  see 
the  wretched  Croats,  who  seem  to 
be  undet*  a  doom  to  for  ever  sell 
strings  of  onions,  like  that  which 
binds  poor  Jews  in  so  many  cities 
to  the  merchandise  of  old  clothes. 
The  Croats  are,  indeed,  a  much 
more  despised  race  in  Vienna  than 
the  J^ws,  the  Grermans  especially 
having  never  forgotten  the  part 
they  bore  in  the  butcheries  of  1848. 
*  They  have  yet  to  pay  for  the 
blood  of  Robert  Blnnn,'  said  an 
aged  German  to  me,  as  a  party  of 
Croats  passed  by.  'I  saw  them 
looking  on  with  laughter — ^so  many 
hy»nas — ^when  the  great  man  wag 
ezecnted.  He  said  ere  he  fell, 
"For  every  drop  of  my  blood  a 
martyr  of  freedom  will  arise."  It 
doesn't  look  like  it  now,  but  it  will 
come — it  will  come.' 

In  the  year  1583  Elise  Plaina- 
cherin,  seventy  years  of  age,  was, 
after  torture,  condemned  to  be 
bound  to  a  horse's  tail  at  the  so- 
called  '  Ganseweide,'  near  Vienna, 
and  there  dragged,  after  which  she 
waa  burned  alive.  The  Bishop  of 
Vienna,  Easpar  Neudeck,  saying 
mafis  over  her  granddaughter,  whom 
she  had  bewitched,  announced  that 
*  tills  maided  had  on  Auguist  14, 
15839  been  happily  freed  from'  all 
her  devik,  12,652  in  number,  and 
would  now  enter  the  cloister  of 


St.  Lairrentis.'  The  multitude  ;^ 
tibe  demons  which  were  said  t6 
have  possessed  this  girl  is  the  re» 
flection  of  the  vast  number  of 
ancient  pagan  deities  which  from 
time  to  time  were  believed  in  at 
this'  spot,  where  so  many  reUgions 
were  alternately  triumphant  and 
overwhelmed.  Christianity  de^ 
monised  all  these  deities,  but  for 
ages  they  were  supposed  tb  haunt 
every  tree  and  fountain,  and  to 
waylay  every  traveller  for  good  or 
evil,  according  to  the  treatment-^ 
as  the  offering  of  a  bit  of  bread 
and  meat,  or  the  withholding  of  the 
same — they  received.  One  old  ^ree 
survives  from  the  ancient Wienwald^ 
which  we  may  suppose  to  have 
been  originally  regained  as  haunted 
by  exceptionally  potent  deities.  It 
is  close  to  the  cathedral,  and  some 
antiquaries  believe  that  the  cathe^-^ 
dral  was  built  where  it  is  in  order  to 
inherit  or  borrow  some  of  the  sanc- 
tity with  which  the  tree  was  invested 
in  the  popular  mind.  Those  who 
are  interested  in  such  subjecfcs  will 
find  mention  of  this  curious  object 
in  Mr.  Ferguson's  Tree  <md  Serpent 
Worship.  It  is  called  the  Stock  aoA 
JSisen,  the  trunk  and  few  branohea 
that  remain  (fastened  to  a  wall) 
being  literally  changed  to  iron  by 
the  nails  which  have  been  driven 
into  it  for  good  luck.  "We  must 
look  to  Thibet  to  find  the  general 
use  of  the  nail  as  a  charm.  So- 
carefully  does  cunning  Histoiy  drop 
the  grains,  that  we  may  track  her 
in  eveiy  byway  to  her  hiding- 
place!  There  is  another  curious 
bit  of  Plant-Lore  in  Vienna  alao^ 
namely,  an  old  picture  in  the 
Library  of  the  goddess  of  Inven- 
tion  presenting  a  mandrake  .to 
Diosoorides.  Near  to  the  two  figures 
is  a  dog  in  convulsions,  showing 
how  universal  was  the  legend,  that 
the  shriek  of  the  mandrake  when 
torn  from  the  earth  being  fie^talto 
any  being  hearing  it,  a  dog  had 
to  be  tied  to  it  and  whistled  td» 
when  < in.  rushing  to  his  master  ha 


cu 


Vienna. 


[May 


would  pnll  up  tlie  root,  expire,  and 
leave  me  magic  charm  to  be  de- 
tached at  will.  The  goddess  of 
Invention  was,  perhaps,  the  ladt 
goddess  ever  invented,  which  adds 
interest  to  this  qaeer  pictnre.  It  is, 
however,  mainly  as  it  has  been 
merged  into  Roman  Catholic  le- 
gends that  the  old  mythology  is 
preserved.  Many  persons  are  as- 
.tonnded  at  the  ntter  childishness 
of  many  of  the  Chnrch  legends  and 
marvels  in  Catholic  countries,  sim- 
ply because  they  do  not  observe 
the  relation  they  bear  to  the  ori- 
ginal mythology  of  the  place.  A 
^orth  German  philosopher  has 
quoted  a  Vienna  legend  of  which 
much  is  made,  as  an  instance  of  the 
paltriness  and  childishness  of  the 
Church  fables.  At  Klostemen- 
berg — ^a  quiet  village  eight  miles 
out — this  worthy  Protestant  was 
shown  the  stump  of  a  tree  and  a 
veil,  from  which  the  famous  monas- 
tery of  the  place  grew,  as  it  were, 
and  about  which  the  piety  and 
offerings  of  the  district  cluster. 
On  listening  to  hear  the  romance 
of  the  stump  and  the  veil,  it  proved 
to  be  as  follows.  Leopold  was  a 
margrave  in  the  eleventh  and 
twelfth  centuries,  who,  two  years 
after  his  death,  was  canonised  by 
Pope  Innocent  YIII.,  the  Pope 
who  issued  the  great  Bull  against 
witches,  under  which  so  many 
thousands  were  burned  because 
the  Innocents  were  too  pious  to 
*  shed  blood.'  However,  Margrave 
Leopold  may  have  been  a  canon- 
isable  man  for  aught  the  world 
knows.  *  One  day,'  says  the  le- 
gend, 'he  with  his  spouse,  the 
Margravina  Agnes,  were  standing 
on  the  summit  of  Leopoldsberg, 
scanning  the  landscape,  with  a  view 
to  fix  upon  a  suitable  spot  for  the 
location  of  a  monastery.  Where- 
upon a  gust  of  wind  carried  away 
the  lady's  veil.  Many  persons 
searched  for  the  veil,  but  in  vain. 
Nine  years  after,  when  Leopold  was 
hunting,  he  found  the  veil,  as  good 


as  new,  hanging  on  an  elder  tree  on 
the  spot  where  Klostemeuberg  now 
stands,  the  Margrave  regarding  the 
localitv  for  the  monastery  as  having 
been  thus  miraculously  pointed  out. 
The  disgust  with  which  a  man  of 
common  sense  listens  to  the  sacristan 
relating  this  feeble  story  over  the 
log  and  rag,  which  are  the  cloister's 
most  sacred  relics,  is  only  heightened 
as  he  learns  that  the  Emperor  Maxi- 
milian  considered  this  spot  so  sacred 
that  he  entrusted  to  the  place  the 
Archducal  coronet  of  Austria,  which 
remains  on  the  head  of  Leopold's 
statue,  a  huge  copy  of  it  being 
raised  over  one  of  the  towers.  Bat 
examined  in  the  light  of  mytho- 
logical science,  the  story  is  valuable 
for  preserving  three  elements  of 
pre-Christian  and  pagan  lore — the 
sanctity  of  the  number  nine;  the 
sanctity  of  the  veil  (type  of  ascetic 
chastity  in  the  East,  inherited  by 
all  brides,  and  devoutly  associated 
with  Mary)  ;  and,  above  aU,  the 
sanctity  of  the  elder  tree,  which  in 
nearly  every  part  of  Germany  and 
of  Scandinavia  was  anciently  be- 
lieved to  be  the  home  of  the  god- 
dess Huldah  (whose  name  prolukUj 
came  from  Elder),  and  the  abode  of 
the  elves  who  were  her  servants. 

Yet  another  trace  of  tree- worship 
survives  in  various  parts  of  the 
country,  in  a  custom  known  as  the 
'  Church  wake.'  On  a  certain  day 
of  the  year  the  young  men  of  the 
village  are  accustomed  to  cut  a  tree 
out  of  the  wood,  and  having  stripped 
it  of  bark,  and  planed  it  neatly, 
raise  it  in  the  centre  of  a  pavilion, 
which  is  consecrated  to  the  *  Chnrch- 
wake.'  They  adorn  this  pole  with 
garlands  and  ribbons,  and  various 
emblems  of  rural  life  and  work — an 
apple,  a  small  sheaf  of  wheat,  &^. 
Then  they  raise  to  the  top  of  it  a 
small  fir  tree.  Having  done  this, 
they  repair  each  to  some  house  in 
the  village  wherein  resides  a  maiden, 
and  each  of  these  is  escorted  to  the 
pavilion,  none  being  neglected. 
There  they  dance  around  the  pole 


1873] 


Vtennct^ 


615 


and  the  fir  tree  all  night.  It  used 
to  be  a  general  nnderstanding,  and 
it  snrvives  in  the  more  remote  dis- 
tricts, that  a  youth  might  kiss  any 
maid  he  met  on  Ghnrch  wake 
day,  whether  he  had  ever  seen  her 
before  or  not.  A  superstition  so 
agreeably  surrounded  is  apt  to  live 
a  long  time. 

The  impression  I  have  received 
in  Vienna,  however,  is  that  the 
people  in  that  immediate  vicinity 
are  by  no  means  so  superstitious  as 
those  of  Northern  Germany.  The 
many  fauna  and  flora  of  supersti* 
tion,  in  a  country  where  many 
religions  must  be  tolerated,  each 
with  its  own  stock  of  legends,  has, 
on  the  whole,  had  a  tendency  to 
liberate  the  minds  of  the  people ; 
for  each  Church  is  able  to  detect 
and  deride  all  superstitions  save 
its  own,  and  so  each  variety  suffers 
exposure.  Moreover,  there  is  a 
tremendous  law  in  Austria  which 
prohibits  anyone  from  getting  mar- 
ried who  cannot  read  and  write, 
the  result  of  which  is  that  every 
child  bom  in  wedlock  is  apt  to 
inherit  some  degree  of  education. 
There  are,  however,  many  customs 
which  I  think  owe  their  origin 
to  old  superstitions,  even  though 
these  may  not  be  any  longer  associ- 
ated  with  them  in  the  popular  mind. 
The  little  invocation  which  anyone 
finds  uttered  over  him  by  all  who 
happen  to  hear  him  sneeze  is  pro- 
babfy  to  be  referred  to  the  age  when 
all  involuntary  agitations  of  the 
body,  from  St.  Vitus'  dance  down 
to  sneezing,  were  supposed  to  be 
the  work  of  tricky  little  demons, 
which  had  to  be  exorcised.  And  I 
think  it  must  have  been  to  some 
sach  primitive  explanation  of  the 
-whooping  cough,  that  there  has 
^rown  up  in  Austria  the  unique 
cnstom  of  treating  that  disease  by 
administering  the  rod.  When  the 
child  is  seized  with  one  of  the 
coaghing  fits,  the  rod  is  vigorously 
applied.  The  physicians  declare 
that  this  strange  custom  has  been 


preserved  because  it  is  efiectual. 
The  whooping  cough,  they  allege, 
is  rather  a  nervous  affection  tluui 
anything  else,  and  the  flogging,  be- 
sides being  a  good  counts-irritant,, 
rouses  the  child  to  an  exercise  of  thft 
will  which  often  suppresses  a  cough.. 
Whether  it  be  true  or  not  that- 
the  great  St.  Stephen's  Cathedral 
was  founded  on  a  place  previously 
hallowed  by  a  sacred  pagan  grove,, 
of  which  only  the  Stock  am  Eiaen 
remains,  that  building  and  its  superb 
steeple  seemed  to  me  an  emblem 
of  how  the  Christian  faith,  ascend- 
ing above  all  others,  was  never- 
theless compelled  to  bear  on  it 
many  of  the  earlier  religions  amid 
which  it  grew.  On  its  roof,  in  itff 
cornices,  inside  of  it,  are  found  a. 
fauna  and  flora  of  its  own;  mosses 
and  lichens,  and  curious  grasses 
grow  on  it ;  crows,  jackdaws,  hawks 
and  bats  find  it  a  comfortable  domi- 
cile. And  similarly  the  myths  and 
superstitions  which  haunted  the 
uncultured  imagination  of  man  have 
climbed  into  the  creed,  and  nestle 
in  the  ceremonial  inside  of  it.  It 
is  the  darkest  church  in  Europe. 
In  its  ciypt  are  hundreds  of  the 
unburied,  uncoffined  dead,  whose 
mummied  forms,  thrown  there  in 
the  time  of  some  great  plague,  re- 
main to  suggest  the  thousands  who 
perished  ere  this  proud  monument- 
of  religious  victory  could  be  raised. 
It  is  marked  aU  over,  too,  with  the 
strange,  wild  histpry  of  Austria. 
The  bells  were  cast  from  Turkish 
cannon,  captured  during  the  &mouff 
siege.  The  crescent  still  stands 
which  was  raised  to  induce  the 
Turkish  bombs  to  spare  the  tower. 
And  on  the  roof  is  spread  out  the 
double-headed  eagle,  wrought  in 
the  tiles  of  the  roof,  each  eye  four 
gilt  tiles,  each  beak  thirty  tiles,  and 
a  distance  of  i8o  feet  lying  between 
tip  and  tip  of  the  outstretched  wings. 
This  one  sees  from  the  top  of  the 
steeple,  reached  by  700  steps,  the 
greatest  artificial  height  in  the 
world. 


616 


Vienna, 


[May 


Early  in  the  Bpriag  the  Yiennese 
betake  themselves  to  the  variotLS 
retreats  in  the  neighbourhood,wher0 
most  of  the  social  enjoyments  take 

?lace  during  the  warm  weather, 
'here  are  no  people  who  better 
understand  the  luxuries  of  the  dolce 
far  menie,  and  one  may  see  it  in 
perfection  at  Yoslau  and  at  Baden. 
If  one  of  the  explanations  of  the 
ancient  Roman  name  of  Vienna, 
Vindobona,  which  makes  it  mean 
good  wine,  be  correct,  it  was  pro- 
bably given  because  of  the  prolific 
yintages  of  Vosla;ti,  thougl^  I  fear 
there  may  be  two  opinions  as  to  the 
cizcellence  of  the  wine  they  produce. 
One  vinegrower,  however,,  gave  me 
an  excellent  glass  of  red  wine,  which 
he  declared  was  too  good  to  sell. 
The  final  cause  for  the  existence  of 
a  town  amid  these  vintages  seems 
to  be  the  admirable  swimming  bath 
around  which  it  has  grown.  This 
bath  is  really  beautiful  It  is  a 
large  marblp  basin,  oval,  some  thirty 
yards  in  greatest  length,  and  fbbout 
twenty  yards  in  width,  filled  with, 
fresh  water,  clear  as  crystal.  The 
smooth  bottom  is  plainly  seen,  even 
where  the  water  is  twenfy  feef,  in 
depth.  This  basin  is  fringed  with 
little  alcoves,  and  the  handsome 
youths  standing  in  front  of  them, 
preparing  for  a  plunge,  look  like  so 
many  ApoUos.  A  dozen  or  more  of 
them  were  English,  and  they  were 
the  most  shapely  and  statuesque 
there. 

Charles  Kingsley  has  lately  been 
preaching  to  the  English  in  a 
dolorous  way  about  their  physical 
degeneracy ;  but  I  can  well  believe 
what  is  told  of  him,  that  his  muscular 
Christianity  is  a  phase  of  his  later 
life,  and  that  in  his  University  days 
ho  pored  over  books  during  play- 
hours.  He  read  and  re-read,  no 
doubt,  about  the  superb  statues  of 
ancient  Greece,  which  he  now  holds 
up  before  the  English  youth  to  show 
them  how  inferior  they  are  to  such 
forms — forms,  one  may  be  pretty 
sure,  which  were  ideals  combined 


from  many  models.  Kingsley  did 
indeed  study  his  books  to  good 
advantage,  and  no  one  could  wish 
one  of  theotn  unread ;  but  he  might 
have  not  learned  poetry  less  perhaps, 
while  he  would  have  estimated  the 
physical  character  of  his  young  con- 
temporaries better,  had  he  o^eoet 
gone  on  such  long-vacation  expe- 
ditions as  that  which  Arthur  Qoagh 
has  made  into  one  of  the  finest  poems 
in  the  language.  Clough  oouid  see 
the  Greek  god  in  his  Ozonifln  com- 
rade :-t- 

Yes,  it  was  he,  on  the  ledge,  hare-limbed, 
an  Apollo,  down  gazing, 

Eyeing  one  moment  the  beau^,  the  hfiev  era 
he  flung  himself  into  it, 

Eyeing  through  eddying  green  waters  the 
green-tinting  floor  underneath  them. 

Eyeing  the  bead  on  the  surface,  the  bead, 
like  a  cloud,  rising  to  it. 

Drinking  in,  deep  in  his  soul,  the  beautifnl 
hue  and  the  clearness, 

Arthur  the  shapely,  the  brave,  the  on- 
boasting,  the  glory  of  headers. 

'  Halloa,  fellows,  jump  in !  It's 
awfully  jolly!* — I  recognise  the 
Oxonian  glory  of  headers  at  once, 
as,  having  madQ  his  curve  in  the  air 
and  darted  like  some  silvery  salmon 
beneath  the  clea.r  water,  he  rises  on 
the  other  side  and  shouts  out  his 
hearty  English  amid  a  group  of 
Greeks.  Their  small  olive  bodies 
are  almost  dwarfed  by  the  Anglo- 
Saxon,  whose  blonde  and  rounded 
form  represents  a  sum  of  selected 
shapes. 

The  floor  of  the  bath  is  graded  so 
as  to  give  a  depth  suited  to  eveiy 
age  and  every  degree  attained  in  the 
art  of  swimming.  On  the  sides  goes 
on  the  work  of  teaching  little  boys 
to  swim.  They  are  attached  to  the 
end  of  rod  and  line,  and  the  teacheis 
have  the  i^peajunce  of  having  just 
caught  each  a  curious  spedes  of 
human-like  frog.  As  I  pas^d  one  of 
these  merry  feUows  his  plump  little 
body  suggested  a  pat  so  irresist- 
ibly, that,  simply  for  the  eternal 
fitness  of  things,  I  administered  a 
gentle  one.  The  liveried  servant 
who  held  the  fishing-rod  in  his  case 


1878] 


Yienna. 


617 


made  a  little  ejapalation  ef  mingled 
surprise  aq^d^  amasementy  and  my 
Viennese  ;  ^dend^,  Ja^glunglj  in- 
formed me.  tbat  I  bad  tonehed  the 
ark  of  Anp^arian  .royalty !  One  of 
them  found  in  the  performance 
an  illostn^tipn ,  of  the  strength  of 
republican  iQstincts.  I  bad  the 
pleasure  of  chatting  with  the  object 
of  my  unconscious  political  midice 
aflerwards^  and  found  him  remark- 
ably clever;  he  pould  hardly  have 
been  over  pine  years  of  age,  yet.  he 
was  already  well  advuioed  in  his 
knowledge;  of  English  and  Fi-ench. 
The  ladies  hs^ve  preceded  tis  in 
the  bath,  and  when  w<9  emerge  we 
find  them  gathe^^d  aboat  the  gar* 
den  and  portico?  of  a  pretty  fairy* 
like  chalet  on  a  sipallhill,  where^  as 
we  begin  to  ascend,  they  look  like 
parterres  of  flowers.  They  are 
dressed  in  the  richest  and  most  be* 
coming  costnn^es«  presenting  varied 
and  brillii^nt  colours.  When  the 
ladies  of  .!(x>ndon  dress  in.  rich 
colours — ;just  such  colours  as  these 
— at  the  f^tes.of  the  South  Kensing- 
ton or  the  Botanical  Gardens,  oritics 
sneer  at  the  costumes  and  call  them 
*loud'  or, .*,vjilgar.V  And  they 
really  do  so  ^pear  under  the  En- 
glish sky.  Sut  here  similar  colours 
seem  appropriate  and  refined.  The 
ladies  themselves  are  so  lovely  that 
I  was  almost  shocked  to  hear  them 
talking  in  German ;  for  I  think  the 
moat  enthusiastic  i^end  of  the  Ger- 
mans, howev^  much  he  may  ap- 
preciate the  simpligity  and  sparkling 
intelligence  of  Gretchen,  will  gener^ 
ally  concede  that,  she  is  rarely  beauti- 
ful autside  the  pages  of  poets.  When 
the  gemtleTnen  swarmed  up  the  hill 
these  ladies  began  to  beam,  and 
their  faces  blossomed  into  smiles, 
showing  them  more  flower-like 
than  ever,  and  then  ensued  an 
amount  of  iMwe  and  elaborate 
flirtation  which  I  had  never 
known  equalled  elsewhere.  The 
whole  company  parted  ofi",  two  and 
two,  on  the  solid  old  principle  that 
it  is  not  good  for  man  or  woman  to 


be  alone ;  and  if  any  of  the  fair 
creatures  were  left  without  a  gen- 
tleman she  sat  aside  in  gloomy 
silence,  almost  pouting,  like  a  dis- 
appointed child.  This  transparency 
of  feeling  in  a  company  consisting 
in  good  part  of  the  higher  classes 
was  charming^  They  seemed  a 
bevy  of  grown-up  children.  After 
strolling  about  the  grounds  for  a 
time,  they  sat,  still  by  twos,  at 
the  little  marble  tables  and  took 
coffee,  or  enjoyed  ices,  or  sipped 
the  sourish  red  wine  of  the  vines 
which  :eovered  the  hills  around 
them  as  if  they  liked  it.  '  This,' 
remarked  my  handsome^  Ghreek 
friend  from  Vienna,  '  is  the  finest 
wife-bazaar  in  this  part  of  Europe. 
It  would  be  safe  to  pronounce  these 
ladies  bold  hussies  in  London  [he 
had  once  resided  thene],  but  custom 
makes  a  great  difference.  These 
ladies  are  strolling  here,  flirting 
more  or  less  seriously,  forming  en- 
gagements for  life,  exactly  as  their 
grandmothers  and  great-grand- 
mothers did  before  them.  Our  so-* 
ciety  famishes  nothing  else  so  inno- 
cent ;  it  is  an  invention  of  common 
sense  a^d  social  necessities  to  build 
up  a  little  civilisation .  within  the 
rig^d  walls  which  have  lasted  from 
ages  that  ran  horn  the.  extreme  of 
barbaric  license  to  that  of  ascetic 
hypocrisy,  and  there  hardened.  Go 
a  little  way  east  of  this,  say  to 
Boumania,  and  you  will  find  the 
wife-bazaar  completely  undisguised, 
the  ladies  seated  in  a  line  in  their 
carriages,,  the  youths  filing  by,  and 
pausing  before  this  or  that  beauty 
to  bargain  with  papa  about  her 
dower  ^nder  her  very  nose.' 

The  most  celebrated  place  of 
resort  near  Vienna  is  Baden,  about 
fifteen  English  miles  from  the  city, 
about  half>way  to  Voslau.  Many 
thousands  go  out  to  this  place 
during  the  summer,  especially  on 
Sunday  afternoons,  the  religious 
associations  of  that  day  ending  at 
noon  and  making  way  for  a  some- 
what more  noisy  and  sportive  after- 


618 


ViemM. 


[M»y 


noon  than  is  known  to  any  other 
day  of  the  week.  Baden  is  noted 
for  its  bread — ^Rothschild  in  Paris 
will  have  no  other  baker  in  his 
house  bat  one  bred  at  Baden — and 
its  wonderful  and  abundant  hot 
fountains.  The  place  was  called  by 
the  Bomans  AqufB  HannomesB. 
The  temperature  of  the  watei*s  was 
as  high  as  104°.  There  are  about 
twenty  sources,  the  largest  of  which 
is  the  Ursprung,  which  springs  in 
the  middle  of  the  public  promenade, 
and  supplies  the  large  swimming 
baths  n>r  men  and  women,  which 
are  little  lakes  ten  or  twelve  feet  in 
depth,8tron|B^]yexhalingBulphuretted 
hydrogen,  limpid  and  warm.  This 
fountam  pours  forth  half  a  million 
gallons  every  twenty-four  hours. 
All  these  waters  are  considered  es- 
pecially usefal  in  cases  of  paralysis, 
scrofula,  wounds,  and  catanrhal 
affections.  They  contain  a  com- 
paratively small  quantity  of  salts 
and  about  a  cubic  inch  of  sulphu- 
retted hydrogen  to  the  pint.  There 
are  many  legends  about  the  dis- 
covery of  the  various  baths  of  this 
region,  most  of  them  diabolical. 
Their  healing  beneficence  has  not 
availed  to  deodorise  the  sulphurous 
character  of  its  infernal  suggestions. 
The  legend  of  the  discoveiy  of  the 
Carlsb^  springs  by  the  Emperor 
Charles  IV.,  who  saw  a  deer  plunge 
into  one  of  them,  and  a  puff  of 
smoke  arise,  has  also  been  made  to 
invest  many  another  fountain.  The 
baths  of  Baden  present  some  fea- 
tures quite  novel  to  Western  eyes. 
Each  bath  is  a  large  round  tub  in 
shape,  some  twenty  or  thirty  feet 
in  diameter,  and  made  of  stone. 
The  water  is  warm,  almost  hot,  as 
it  rushes  in,  and  at  times  the  atmo- 
sphere is  thick  with  a  not  disagree- 
able steam.  Around  the  wall  runs 
a  circular  galleiy,  where  sit  ors  tand 
parties  gazing  upon  or  criticising 
the  curious  scene  below.  All 
around,  below  the  water,  attached 
to  the  side  of  the  bath,  runs  a  seat, 
upon  which  the  elderly  or  the  ill 


sit,  while  the  younger  or  more 
roortive  swim  of  paiddle  about. 
The  bathers  are  of  both  sexes,  and 
as  the  only  garment  they  wear  is  of 
white  cotton  or  linen  the  effect  is 
startling  enough,  and  is  apt  to 
shock  those  who  have  been  brought 
up  with  English  or  American 
notions  of  propriety.  Nothing, 
however,  could  exceed  the  deconrnt 
of  the  bathers  so  far  as  behaviour 
is  concerned;  although  there  ap- 
peared to  be  a  Imid  of  free- 
masonry among  them,  permitting 
each  to  chat  wit£  the  other  and  offer 
civilities.  It  is  indeed  oonsideTed 
the  proper  thing  if  a  gentleman  sees 
a  lady  entering  the  bath  or  leaving 
it,  or  attempting  to  go  from  one 
side  to  the  other,  for  him  to  start 
forward  and  offer  his  support 
whether  he  is  acquainted  with  her 
or  not.  No  incident,  I  was  told, 
had  ever  occurred  to  suggest  any 
separation  of  the  sexes  into  different 
baths  or  hours;  and  when  I  ex- 
pressed some  surprise  thai  the 
ladies  did  not  demand  some  less  dia- 
phanous costume,  it  was  said  that 
the  physicians  considered  this  the 
best.  The  keeper  of  one  of  the 
baths  assured  me  that  the  baths 
were  conducted  now  just  as  they 
were  when  ancient  Bomans  used 
them ;  though  whether  the  classical 
invalids  of  the  Therms  Ceiise,  as 
they  were  anciently  called,  had 
cotton  gowns  seemed  to  me  doubt- 
ful. There  is,  indeed,  a  Frauenbad 
set  apart  for  ladies  who  wish  to 
bathe  alone,  but  few  go  to  it,  as 
the  merry  society  of  the  others  is 
less  lonely  to  the  victims  who  are 
ordered  to  sit  for  hours  in  the 
caldron. 

The  town  of  Baden  itself  seined 
to  me  on  an  ordinary  week  day  un- 
attractive. It  contaLis,  apparently, 
a  population  of  invalids.  There  is 
a  pleasant-looking  square  in  front 
of  the  chief  hotels,  Theresiengarten, 
covered  with  a  thick  grove  of  trees, 
but  those  who  promenade  through 
it  are  pale  victims  of  disease^  and 


1873] 


Vienna, 


619 


the  sliadj  depths  have  a  silent  sad- 
ness abnost  sepnlchral,  which  the 
feathered  songsters  ahove  can  hardly 
relieye.  A  mile  or  so  ont  of  the 
town,  however,  there  is  the  Vale  of 
Helen  (Helenthal),  which  is  cer- 
tainly beautifol.  In  it  is  the  Schloss 
Weilbnrg,  where  the  old  Archdnke 
Charles  used  to  pass  his  summers, 
anxid  his  800  species  of  roses  ;  and 
near  it  the  mined  castles  BAubeneck 
and  Scharfeneck.  There  is  also  in 
the  Helenthal  an  ancient  ruin  called 
Raabenstein,  once  a  stronghold  of 
Bobber  Elnights,  and  haunted  by 
legends  of  them.  The  castle  of  these 
aristocratic  brigands  was  destroyed 
soon  after  they  had  exceeded  the 
pradent  usages  of  their  class  so 
far  as  to  rob  the  Emperor  Maximi- 
lian I.  on  the  highway.  The  neyer- 
failing  legend  that  in  time  of  war 
the  Wild  Huntsman's  diabolical  and 
noisy  procession  is  heard  issuing 
from  or  returning  to  the  rain  may 
still  be  heard  told  by  the  peasantry 
of  the  neighbourhood.  The  fact 
that  the  Wild  Huntsman  legend 
is  always  vigorous  wherever  there 
is  an  old  Bobber-Knight  ruin  con- 
-firms  the  theoiy  that  the  ancient 
myth  of  Odin's  career  in  the  storm 
was  transplanted  from  the  Teutonic 
religion  in  its  decay  to  the  great 
centres  of  human  devilry  existing 
in  the  Middle  Ages,  chiefly  repre- 
sented by  the  mounted  knights  who 
rode  rough-shod  over  the  people, 
before  the  idea  of  chivalry  arose 
among  them  beneath  the  first  warm 
touch  of  Christianity. 

The  Slavonic  type  preponderates 
in  the  superstitions  of  Vienna  and 
the  region  round  about,  though 
happily  the  weird  horrors  of  that 
type  are  here  much  mitigated. 
Thus  the  terrible  Yampyre  legends, 
the  hungry  corpses  that  reappear 
in  pleasing  shape,  and  suck  the 
blood  of  their  surviving  friends,  so 
firmly  believed  in  in  every  part  of 
Russia,  are  here  represented  by  the 


faith  of  the  peasantry  (and  even 
some  of  higher  position)  that  on 
All  Souls*  Eve,  at  midnight,  any 
one  visiting  the  cemetery  will  see  a 
procession  of  the  dead  drawing 
after  them  those  who  are  to  die 
during  the  coming  year.  There  is 
a  gloomy  drama  founded  on  it, 
which  is  still  acted  on  every  All^ 
Souls'  Eve  in  the  people's  theatre. 
It  is  called  The  MUler  and  his  Ohild. 
The  Miller  has  a  lovely  daughter, 
the  daughter  a  lover;  the  Miller 
obstinately  opposes  the  marriage. 
After  some  years  of  despair  the 
youth  goes  to  the  churchyard  at 
midnight  and  sees  the  spectral  train, 
and  following  it  the  cruel  Miller. 
The  Miller,  then,  will  die  during 
the  year.  The  drama  might  have 
passed  at  this  point  from  the  grave- 
yard to  the  marriage  bells  ;  but  it 
would  never  be  allowed  in  Austria 
that  young  people  should  be  so  en- 
couraged to  look  forward  cheerfully 
to  the  demise  of  parents,  however 
cruel ;  and  consequently  the  youth 
sees  following  close  to  the  Miller — 
himself.  In  course  of  the  year  the 
poor  girl  loses  both  father  and  lover. 
During  the  performance  of  this 
drama  the  audience  is  generally 
bathed  in  tears,  some  persons  sob- 
bing painfully.  It  is  evidently  no 
fiction  to  them ;  and  it  is  impossible 
not  to  believe  that  the  heaping  of 
their  friends'  graves  with  wreaths 
next  day  is  in  part  due  to  the  sur- 
viving belief  that  the  dead  have 
some  awful  power  over  the  living, 
which  is  generally  exerted  for  evil. 
But  qmsque  suos  patimvr  manes. 
Have  we  not  Spiritualism  in  Eng- 
land and  America  P  Looked  at,  how- 
ever, from  the  abyss  of  Slavonian 
superstition,  the  bright  fairies  of 
Western  Europe  and  the  communi- 
cative familiars  of  the  mediums  have 
a  happv  sunshine  about  them  which 
reminds  us  that  Humanity  has  in  its 
Westward  march  at  least  got  safely 
past  GKant  Despau*. 


TOL.  Tn. — VO,  XLI.  KIW  8IBI1S. 


VV 


620 


[May 


ON  THE  REGENERATION  OP  SUNDAY. 


NOTHING  can  be  more  lovely 
and  glorious  than  the  ideaJ 
picture  of  Christian  goodness,  as 
we  read  it  in  the  Apostolic  EpisUea. 
In  how  many  Christians  it  was  a 
living  reahty,  it  is  impossible  to 
judge.  That  it  was  exceedingly 
marred  by  violent  doctrinal  quarrels 
among  themselves,  and  not  a  little 
.  also  by  the  impure  or  rude  habits 
which  they  brought  with  them  out 
of  Paganism,  is  made  too  plain  by 
various  allusions.  Some  Christians 
are  even  denounced  as  covering 
licentiousness  by  a  form  of  godli- 
ness. Nevertheless,  the  sound- 
hearted  believers  set  the  goal  of 
their  moral  aspiration  high.  When 
they  talked  of  holiness,  &ey  did  not 
mean  an  ecclesiastical,  a  formal 
sacredness  ;  neither  the  outward 
washing  of  baptism  (which  Peter 
contemptuously  calls  Hhe  putting 
away  of  the  filth  of  the  flesh'),  nor 
attendance  on  Church  ordinances, 
maceration  of  the  body,  subjection 
to  priestly  rule,  or  any  other  arti- 
ficial sanctity.  At  least  their  chief 
and  most  honoured  teachers  es- 
teemed Holiness  to  mean  the  highest 
goodness  of  every  sort  appreciable 
to  the  mind,  springfing  up  from 
within  the  heart,  and  ovei*flowing 
in  love  to  man,  in  gratitude  and 
devotion  to  Gt)d. 

Accordingly,  the  Church,  its 
ordinances  and  its  teaching,  were 
regarded  as  an  instrumental  means 
of  vitally  quickening  all  the  mem- 
bers; and  of  so  elevating  their 
characters  as  to  rise  above  Duty 
and  Law  into  the  spiritual  region  of 
Love  and  Freedom.  No  lower  form 
of  morality  was  for  a  moment  dis- 
esteemed;  on  the  contrary,  the 
function  of  the  Church  was  to 
cultivate  in  H^  eonverts  all  that 
elementary  rectitude  of  mental  or 
bodily  habits  in  which  under 
heathenism  they  had  generally  been 


veiy  deficient.  Regarding  holiness 
as  only  the  higher  stage  of  motul 
development,  we  may  say  that  the 
function  of  the  Church  was  'to 
cherish  moral  excellence  in  its  m^M- 
hers.^  According  to  the  phraseo- 
logy of  the  Apostle  Paul,  his  office 
was  to  minister  tlie  Spirit ;  and  is 
the  Spirit  was  included  holiness, 
liberty,  and  practical  wisdom.  The 
Spirit  was  with  him  opposed  to  the 
Flesh,  or  baser  nature.  In  the  works 
of  the  flesh  he  comprised  every  form 
of  iuimorality ;  but  the  fruit  of  the 
Spirit,  he  says,  is  love,  joy,  peace, 
longsuffering,  gentleness,  goodness, 
faith  [faithfuJbiess  ?],  meekness, 
temperance.  So  abundantly  was  the 
moral  element  expanded  in  his  ideal 
But  the  Church  of  that  day  was 
in  its  own  theory  an  exceptional 
body.  It  could  not  cohere  or  co- 
operate with  so  very  corrupt  a  world 
as  surrounded  it,  nor  did  it  for  a 
moment  conceive  the  vast  idea  of 
converting  the  whole  mass.  To 
take  ovi  of  the  world  an  deU  people 
was  its  sole  ambition ;  and  it  was 
manifest  that  only  ceriain  tempera- 
ments (in  their  language^  partakers 
of  grace  or  Gk)d'8  special  fJEkvour) 
were  susceptible  to  conversion. 
From  this  antagonism  to  the  world 
they  shunned  alike  pubHc  posts, 
public  amusements,  and  private 
company,  thereby  bringing  on 
themselves  dislike  and  suspicion. 
Thus  they  were  kept  in  high  tenaon. 
and  by  the  persecution  (smaU  at 
first,  soon  severer)  which  followed, 
felt  themselves  to  be  a  pecnliar 
people,  whose  task  was  to  promote 
good  works  and  holiness.  TLe 
whole  life  was  to  be  holy.  No  dis- 
tinction was  made  of  working  day 
and  Sunday.  On  the  Sabbath,  that 
is,  Saturday^  no  common  trade- 
labour  was  exercised  by  Jewish 
Christians:  the  Pagan  converts  met 
for  worship,  if  able,  on  Saturday 


1873] 


On  the  BegenemHon  of  Sunday. 


621 


evening,  when  in  Jewish  computa- 
tion the  Sabbath  was  over,  and  the 
First  Day  of  the  week  was  began ; 
but  they  had  no  day  at  all  without 
ordinary  work.  Neither  Romans 
nor  Greeks  had  any  week  of  seven 
days :  hence  the  phrase  *  first  day  of 
the  week '  could  only  be  interpreted 
from  a  Jewish  sense.  Gentile 
Christians  (except  when  they  had 
learned  from  the  Jews  to  keep 
Saturday)  counted  no  day  of  the 
week  holy  more  than  another. 

Whether  in  the  second  and  third 
centuries  Christians  collectively  were 
really  inferior  to  those  of  the  first, 
it  is  difficult  to  know ;  but  certainly 
the  standard  of  holiness  held  up 
before  them  was  constantly  sinking, 
by  ecclesiasticism  growing  up,  and 
by  controversy  ever  exalting  the 
relative  value  of  right  opinion.  In 
the  fourth  century,  under  Constan- 
tine,  the  First  Day  became  at  last,  by 
the  Emperor's  edict,  a  day  of  cessa- 
tion from,  common  labour ;  and  from 
it  our  modem  Sv/nday  is  derived. 
The  Puritanical  Sunday  of  England 
(falsely  called  Sabbath)  dates  barely 
from  Ihe  reign  of  James  I.  Base- 
less as  it  is  in  matter  of  argument, 
the  idea  of  it  was  noble  in  the  mind 
of  the  Puritan.  It  was  to  be  a  day 
nationally  devoted  to  teaching, 
learning,  or  meditation  on  holy 
things— to  religious  exercises  of  the 
heart,  in  private  and  public,  or  to 
philanthropic  action ;  with  the  least 
possible  spending  of  minutes  on  the 
needs  of  physical  life.  The  churches 
of  modem  England  have  adopted 
this  theory,  and  the  first  question 
here  arising  is,  how  far  they  have 
realised  it. 

X  do  not  question  that  there  is 
namerically  a  large  body  of  per- 
sons who  c^proximate  to  this  ideal. 
Bat  it  must  be  remembered  that 
the  institution  has  been  made  na- 
iional;  the  law  establishes  it,  and 
defends  it  with  fines  and  penal- 
ties. Nationally,  the  failure  of  the 
institation  is  enormous.     With  a 


great  majority  it  is  a  day  for  lying 
late  in  bed  and  other  bodily  indo- 
lence, a  day  for  eating  a  more  ex- 
pensive and  probably  less  whole- 
some dinner — a  mere  indulgence  of 
•the  flesh.'  With  very  many  the 
hours  pass  in  stupid  languor ;  with 
vast  multitudes  it  is  a  day  in  which 
an  extra  quantity  of  intoxicating 
drink  is  swallowed.  With  others  it 
is  a  day  for  rural  excursions,  in 
which,  however  innocent^  no  one 
can  discover  anything  specially  re- 
ligious. Debauchery  prevails  in 
the  evening  so  widely  that  on  Mon- 
day many  an  artisan  is  unfit  for 
work,  and  the  police  offices  show  a 
great  excess  of  crime.  This  is  an 
eminently  unsatis&ctory  Christian 
Sunday. 

But  even  as  to  the  portion  of 
time  spent  in  church,  no  very  high 
account  can  be  given.  There  are, 
I  well  believe,  some  who,  happy  in 
their  minister,  and  highly  devout 
in  themselves,  find  the  attendance 
in  church  very  profitable ;  but  how 
slight  is  the  efficacy  on  the  great 
mass  of  a  congregation !  Weanness 
under  long  prayers,  and  listlessness 
under  a  sermon,  is  a  widely  appli- 
cable description;  moreover,  when 
we  ask  how  often  the  pulpit  directs 
itself  against  public  immoralities, 
or  exerts  any  appreciable  effect 
against  them,  the  reply  is  highly 
damaging.  Moral  topics  are  seldom 
treated  at  all  from  the  pulpit.  To 
preach  (what  is  called)  Dry  Morality 
would  probably  empty  any  church 
or  chapel ;  nor  are  adults  likely  to 
get  much  benefit  firom  scholastic 
treatment  of  morals.  To  preach 
against  the  Crying  Sins  of  the  day 
is  quite  a  different  matter.  This  is 
what  Wesley,  Whitefield,  and  their 
associates  did ;  this  is  what  Baxter 
and  many  Puritans  before  him  did— 
vehemently  and  successfully.  K 
one  asks  why  this  is  on  the  whole 
so  very  rare^  now  or  formerly,  the ' 
reasonable  reply  is  that  the  preacher 
has  not  sufficient  weight  of  charac- 

U  U  2 


622 


On  the  Segeneration  of  Sunday. 


[May 


ter,  conviction,  and  earnestness  of 
mind ;  only  exceptional  men  can  do 
the  thing  well  or  nsefuUy.  A  large 
nnmher  of  preachers  are  too  yonng ; 
the  J  aore  deficient  in  fire ;  they  have 
not  stem  intensity  and  recklessness 
of  man's  judgment  where  that  of 
Gbd  is  clear  to  them.  Apostolic 
ferFonr  in  no  age  at  aU  has  been  a 
common  endowment.  An  under- 
lying sense  that  if  the  clergy  col- 
lectively were  to  preach  against  the 
sins  of  the  day,  they  would  often 
become  mere  partisans  and  advo- 
cates in  matters  on  which  wiser 
men  doubt,  has  led  to  a  very  pre- 
valent disuse  of  such  preaching. 
It  is  seldom  that  any  widespread 
vice  or  injustice  can  be  redressed 
without  aid  from  the  State ;  indeed, 
generally  the  State  itself  is  guilty — 
perhaps  is  an  accomplice.  To 
preach  against  such  sins  is  stigma- 
tised as  'political  agitation.'  Even 
in  the  great  movement  against  sla- 
very, which  began  with  Clarkson 
and  Wilberforce,  though  some  Epi- 
scopalian ministers  and  very  many 
Dissenters  were  warm  in  the  cause, 
I  believe  they  seldom  dared  to  bring 
the  matter  into  the  pulpit;  they 
argued  only  on  the  platform,  where 
their  ecclesiastical  character  was 
merged — where  they  appeared,  not 
as  ministers,  but  rather  as  lay  phil- 
anthropists. A  long  list  of  national 
sins,  vices,  and  injustices  might 
be  drawn  up,  as  to  which  the  pulpits 
have  been  utterly  dumb.  Even  such 
scandals  as  bribery  at  elections,  ex- 
•cess  of  drink-shops,  immoralities 
of  theatres  and  other  lower  places, 
with  ever-spreading  social  corrup- 
tion, draw  out  from  very  few  indeed 
{as  far  as  I  have  heard)  such  preach- 
ing as  in  the  movement  of  Wesley 
was  prominent  and  fruitful. 

It  must  not  be  omitted  that 
another  cause  has  greatly  conduced 
to  strip  the  pulpit  gf  its  moral 
functions,  namely,  the  development 
of  what  we  now  call  the  platform. 
The  essential  difference  is  this,  that 
from  the  platform  fnany  speak ;  and 


though  they  ofbenest  speak  all  on 
one  side,  yet  opponents,  if  they  are 
desirous  to  promote  discussion  and 
not  confusion,  will  generally  be 
welcome.  When  a  society  has  been 
formed  to  promote  a  definite  object, 
its  uniform  difficulty — ^perhaps  its 
greatest  difficulty — ^is  to  get  intelli- 
gent opponents  to  attend  and  argue 
against  it.  In  general  they  disdain 
to  come ;  friends  only  attend,  and 
there  are  too  few  in  the  audience 
who  need  conversion.  Yet  room  is 
open  for  debate.  One  man  has  it 
not  all  to  himself,  in  such  dogmatic 
style  as  needs  in  him  a  weight  of 
character  not  often  to  be  fonnd. 
There  is  room  also  for  taking  a  vote 
of  the  audience ;  and  little  as  may 
be  the  value  of  the  vote,  it  much  con- 
duces to  attention ;  for  when  men 
have  something  to  ^  as  the  result 
of  listening,  they  listen  far  more 
earnestly.  A  sense  of  responsi- 
bility comes  in.  But  if  nothing 
practical  is  to  come  of  listening, 
inattention  more  easily  steals  on 
them.  Moreover,  fiar  greater  wfe- 
rest  is  raised  by  a  varieiy  of  speakers, 
even  if  many  of  them  are  inferior. 

On  the  whole,  the  influence  of 
the  modem  churches  against  pre- 
cisely the  worst  evils  of  the  day— 
those  which  are  supported  by  State 
institutions,  by  interested  politi- 
cians or  office-holders,  or  by  great 
vested  interests  —  is  ajmost  as 
feeble  as  under  Paganism  itselt 
If  the  function  of  Chnrch  organi- 
sations is  to  promote  that  pnbHc 
morality  without  which  Rdigion 
is  fanaticism  or  hypocrisy,  t^er 
failure  on  a  nations^  scale  is  most 
lamentable.  The  Clergy  have  not, 
even  by  indirect  inflaence,  guided 
or  spurred  the  laity  to  contend  in 
any  vital  matter.  It  is  not  Reor- 
ganisation merely  that  the  Churches 
need,  but  Begeneration — ^the  in- 
fusing of  a  new  vitality.  Yet— 
believe,  this  as  we  may— outsiders 
can  do  nothing  but  make  such  sug- 
gestions concerning  possible  new 
arrangements,  as  may  give  fre^om 


1873] 


On  the  Regeneration  of  Sunday, 


623 


to  a  new  spirit,  trusting  that  it  does 
exist  among  ns. 

Indeed,  the  defects  of  the  new 
^stem  which  has  arisen — that  of 
volnntary Societies  and pnblic meet- 
ings— are  very  grave.  The  waste 
of  effort,  time,  and  money  is  enor- 
monSy  and  too  much  is  thrown  on 
t?ie  same  philanthropic  persons. 
The  nnmber  of  snch  societies  is  in 
itself  a  serious  embarrassment,  and 
the  expense  makes  it  difficult  for  a 
poor  man  to  set  them  at  work  at 
alL  In  so  far  as  snch  societies  are 
philanthropic,  that  is,  disinterested 
as  well  as  nsefnl,  it  belongs  pro- 
perly to  the  Church  or  Churches 
to  conduct  them,  for  which  they 
would  have  many  facilities;  and 
by  the  very  fact  the  Church  as  an 
organisation  would  recover  her  true 
position  in  society. 

No  National  Church  attempts  to 
imitate  the  fcrm  of  the  Apostolic 
action.  In  every  age  a  few  eccen- 
tric societies  attempt  it,  with  devout, 
self-sacrificing  zeal ;  and  they  are  a 
osefnl  protest  against  our  selfish- 
ness and  luxury.  But  no  one  can 
take  a  broad  view  of  history,  with 
a  heart  embracing  all  mankind,  and 
be  satisfied  with  so  limited  an  ac- 
tion on  the  millions  of  our  brethren 
and  sisters,  as  alone  was  possible 
or  imaginable  to  the  Apostles  and 
their  contemporaries.  It  is  an 
axiom  with  us,  that  Gt)d  cares  for 
the  unfortunate  many,  as  much  as 
for  the  happy  few ;  and  that  a  first 
daty  incumbent  on  those  who, 
whether* by  inward  or  outward  re- 
sources, are  favoured,  is  to  employ 
their  ability  for  the  welfare  of  the 
less  fiivoured.  An  Apostle  who 
said,  *  Silver  and  gold  have  I  none,' 
ooold  with  equal  truth  have  said, 
'Political  influence  have  I  none.' 
A  deputation  of  Christians  to  Ckdha, 
Yeepasian,  or  Trajan,  imploring  a 
political  change  in  the  interests  of 
morals  or  humanity,  would  have 
been  treated  even  by  these  respect- 
able emperors  as  impertinently 
offensive.     *  Do  you  think  that  the 


Emperor  and  the  Senate  do  not 
know  their  duties  without  your  in- 
struction ?  *  was  the  mildest  reply 
they  could  expect.  But  the  majority 
of  our  nation  is  contained  in  the 
Churches,  which,  if  united  in  an^ 
philanthropic  aim,  become  politi- 
cally all-powerful.  With  the  vast 
increase  of  means,  the  scale  of  duty 
enlarges  itself.  Apostles  could  not 
dream  of  uprooting  the  causeB  of 
vice  and  misery,  because  these  were 
political  as  well  as  social  and  per- 
sonal ;  with  us,  to  uproot  the  causee 
is  just  the  primary  duty,  and  is,  of 
course,  the  only  way  of  removing 
the  efiects. 

Nor  is  it  possible  for  the  Churches 
now,  as  in  some  measure  then,  to 
keep  themselves  apart  firom  the 
contaminations  of  a  guilty  and  foul 
world;  for  with  us,  Church  and 
World  are  inextricably  mixed. 
Only  while  a  Church  is  a  small 
and  special  community,  can  it  at  all 
successfully  isolate  itself.  Enthu- 
siasm may  for  a  while  keep  such 
a  Church  in  a  hi^h-strung  frame 
of  nuud,  which  resists  the  world's 
corruptions;  but  such  enthusiasm 
barely  outlasts  in  purity  a  second 
generation:  the  evil  world  drags 
the  Church  downwards.  No  Church 
can  sustain  its  own  higher  life  long, 
unless  active  to  purify  society  whi^ 
is  outside  of  it,  on  its  outskirts, 
or  in  general  interfused  with  it. 
Every  way,  therefore,  the  enterprise 
of  hoibling  the  world's  ulcers,  and 
cleansing  away  moral  pestilence,  is 
an  essential  duty  of  the  modem 
Church. 

The  Church  has  ihepulpii  entire- 
ly to  herself;  but  the  influence  of  the 
pulpit,  by  universal  confession,  has 
immensely  declined.  Why  should 
she  not  try  to  attract  the  platform 
within  her  limits,  and  work  it 
under  her  own  auspices,  so  &r  as  it 
purposes  to  promote  justice,  mercy, 
and  moral  goodness  ?  The  Church 
overlooks  her  own  facilities  for  thip. 
First  of  all,  she  has,  all  ready  for 
use,  the  building  in  which  a  public* 


624 


On  the  Regeneration  of  Sunday, 


[May 


meeting  can  be  held.  Next,  the 
cost  of  adveriisement  and  placards  in 
a  large  moyement  would  be  greatly 
economised.  One  or  two  placards 
outside  the  building  would  make 
announcement  to  the  congregation, 
and  by  mutual  agreements  the 
different  Churches  would  soon  learn 
to  help  each  other  in  such  adver- 
tising.  They  would  often  work  in 
harmony,  debating  the  same  subject 
simultaneously.  Thirdly  (what  is 
by  far  most  important,  and  is  the 
matter  to  be  here  specially  deve- 
loped),  every  local  Church  has  the 
tvine  at  her  disposal  for  philanthropic 
action,  if  Sunday,  that  ecclesiastical 
day,  were  duly  digested.  From  the 
severe  pressure  of  business,  attend- 
ance at  philanthropic  meetings  is 
impossible  in  the  prime  of  a  working 
day,  and  is  a  troublesome  effort  to 
most  persons  late  in  the  evening. 
This  grave  difficulty  would  vanish 
if  the  meeting  were  held  at  the 
church  itself,  and  on  Sunday. 
Fourthly,  a  meeting  so  gathered 
would  not  be  packed  from  any 
select  clique,  but  would  take  up 
more  independent  elements  than 
now.  Beaaoning  on  both  sides 
would  be  heard  from  the  beginning. 
A  futile  project  would  be  more 
quickly  stopped;  a  good  measure 
would  more  rapidly  rise  in  public 
esteem.  Fifthly,  far  greater  solem- 
nity would  be  maintained.  Neither 
noisy  excitement  of  applause,  nor 
unseemly  riot,  would  be  endured. 
A  more  sober  enthusiasm,  a  more 
earnest  gravity,  a  greater  general 
self-control  might  be  counted  on. 
Sixthly, '  the  clergyman  or  chief 
minister  of  the  building  would  be 
the  natural  chairman,  whose  official 
character  would  certainly  give  him 
weight  to  restrain  the  meeting,  if 
restraint  were  needed;  and  would 
be  a  full  guarantee  for  decorum,  in 
no  small  measure  also  for  religious 
earnestness.  Few  clergymen  have, 
or.  can  have,  the  fire  of  a  Beformer 
or  Prophet ;  but  a  large  majority  of 
those  in  full  maturity  of  Hfe  have 


the  qualities  needed  in  a  vigorous 
and  useful  Chairman  or  President. 
And  every  such  President,  if  he 
had  a  word  in  his  heart,  would 
have  a  full  right  and  a  firee  oppor- 
tuniiy  to  speak  it  out  at  any  con- 
venient length.  Each  would  earn 
the  influence  which  his  practical 
wisdom  might  deserve. 

A  secondary  organisation  would 
be  sure  to  rise.  A  Committee  of 
Elders,  similar  to  the  Deacons  of 
many  churches,  would  consult  with 
the  Minister  as  to  the  desirableness 
of  holding  a  meeting  for  the  dis- 
cussion of  a  certain  subject.  The 
initiation  of  the  idea  wonld  rest 
with  voluntary  movement ;  that  is, 
any  individuals  (or  any  amounting 
to  a  prescribed  number)  might  make 
suggestion  to  the  Elders,  who,  if 
they  pleased,  would  discuss  it  with 
the  Minister.  If  it  seemed  plausible 
enough  to  deserve  fuller  debate,  it 
would  be  brought  into  a  genend 
meeting.  If  there  it  were  disapprov- 
ed, the  matter  would  go  no  farther. 
No  harm  would  have  been  done; 
no  cost  whatever  would  have  been 
incurred. 

As  a  result  of  holding  meetings  of 
philanthropic  tendency  every  Sun- 
day*-on  the  one  hand,  persons  who 
do  not  esteem  the  ordinary  dmrch- 
ministrations  enough  to  freqnent 
them,  would  be  attracted  by  a 
service  which  they  appreciate,  con- 
ducted on  the  day  whidi  is  least  pre- 
occupied ;  on  the  other  hand,  all  the 
ordinary  church-attendants  would 
learn  that  philanthropists  are  not  a 
special  class,  but  that  philanthropy 
is  the  duty  of  every  religious  num. 
Owing  to  the  severe  engagements 
of  business,  a  great  majority  of  men 
now  are  apt  to  imagine  tiiat  it  belongs 
to  others^  not  to  thenij  to  bestir 
themselves  for  the  benefit  of  the 
world.  If  indeed  they  are  rich,  the 
pressure  of  others  naay  get  money 
out  of  them  ;  but  this  is  not  at  all 
so  beneficial  to  them,  as  themselves 
to  take  part  in  good  enterpiises, 
nor  does  it  so  call  out  their  liberality. 


1873] 


On  the  Begeneration  of  Swnday. 


625 


The  selfishness  and  materialism  now 
dominant  would  receive  a  whole- 
some check,  if  Sunday,  instead  of 
being  a  day  in  which  the  laity  are 
passive  hearers  and  receptive  of 
abstract  truth,  became  a  day  in 
which  kind,  just^  or  merciful 
actions  were  promoted  by  their 
co-operation  and  advice. 

To  bring  about  the  change  which 
I  imagine,  a  commencement  must 
be  made  in  Churches  really  free.  At 
this  moment,  the  Episcopalian  or 
Anglican  Church  is  wholly  in- 
capable of  such  development ;  but 
if  that  happen,  which  to  many 
minds  seems  ^t  approaching,  that 
this  Church  should  become  free 
from  the  State,  and  able  to  re- 
organise herself,  she  has  in  her 
cathedrals  and  other  ample  build- 
ings facilities  far  beyond  all  the 
rest.  It  would  only  be  requisite  to 
have  courage  to  turn  them  to  the 
best  account. 

With  no  small  timidity,  I  proceed 
to  state  more  in  detail,  what  changes 
would  regenerate  the  Sunday :  with 
timidity,  because  there  are  of  course 
many  ways  in  detail  of  applying  the 
same  principles,  and  those  which  I 
suggest  cannot  to  all  minds  seem 
the  best.  I  fear  (for  this  often 
happens)  that  readers,  instead  of 
improving  my  scheme  where  it 
may  seem  to  them  defective,  will 
look  on  what  they  regard  as  its 
defects  as  a  refutation  of  the  fun- 
damental idea.  But  unless  I 
sketch  a  plan  in  detail,  many 
readers  will  not  get  any  vivid 
notion  of  the  mode  of  action  which 
I  conceive.  To  fix  ideas,  I  shall 
name  definite  hours,  and  define 
other  matters  as  well  as  I  can. 

Suppose  that  on  Sunday  the 
cbnrch  doors  were  to  open  at  twenty 
minutes  past  ten,  and  ten  minut^ 
were  allowed  for  the  congregation 
to  assemble.  I  believe  that  an  hour 
and  a  quarter  amply  suffices  for 
what  is  called  the  ordinary  Church 
Service,  which  nught  terminate  at  a 
quarts  to  twelve   (11.45).      ^^® 


long  prayers  of  the  Anglican  Church 
were  never  intended  by  the  com- 
pilers of  the  Prayer  Book.  The 
modem  system  has  been  brought 
about  by  an  arbitrary  and  hurtful 
accumulation  of  three  liturgies — 
viz,  the  Morning  Prayers,  the 
Litany,  and  the  Communion,  be* 
sides  the  Sermon :  in  some  churches 
and  on  some  days  the  Baptismal  Ser- 
vice, or  the  Churching  of  Women, 
or  the  Commination  is  added.  It  is 
reasonable  to  believe,  that  this  will 
be  reformed  in  a  state  of  freedom. 
English  Christians  are  morally  un- 
able to  pray  on  so  many  topics  as 
their  ancestors.  It  is  neither  ne- 
cessary nor  profitable  to  open  this 
remark  more  fully ;  but  it  is  visible, 
that  a  church  no  sooner  becomes 
free,  than  it  much  shortens  its 
prayers.  And  is  not  this  in  close 
accordance  with  a  precept  of  Jesus 
himself  ?  In  different  modifications 
of  religious  theories  the  details  can- 
not be  the  same  ;  but  there  are 
many  who  will  think  it  would  suf- 
fice to  allow  twenty  minutes  for 
Beading,  ten  minutes  for  Prayer, 
fifteen  minutes  for  Hymns,  and 
twenty-five  minutes  for  Sermon. 
An  interval  of  nearly  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  would  remain,  before 
twelve  o'clock,  when  the  Philan- 
thropic meeting  might  begin. 

But  according  to  my  ideal  and  pro- 
spectus of  the  future,  perhaps  in  this 
same  space  of  time  (viz.  from  10.30 
to  11.45)  ^h^G  other  forms  of 
service  would  either  always  or  often 
go  on,  in  the  wings  of  the  same 
building  :  namely,  the  youths  (say) 
from  the  age  of  thirteen  to  eighteen 
would  receive  instruction,  moral  and 
religious,  from  an  elder  priest ;  the 
girls  of  the  same  age,  from  a  ma- 
tron priestess  :  thirdly,  the  younger 
children  would  get  school-teachmg. 
Whether  such  arrangement  may  be 
possible,  would  depend  on  the  avail- 
able teachers.  Here  it  suffices  to 
insist  on  two  things ;  fii'st^  that  at 
present  the  moral  instruction  of 
young   persons    of  both  se^es^  oh 


626 


On  the  Begenemtion  of  Sunday, 


[Maj 


sabjects  of  all  others  vital  to  them 
is  pernicioasly  omitted,  and  will  be 
omitted,,  until  they  are  taught 
separately,  by  an  elder  man  and  by 
a  matron  :  next^  that  children  are 
cruelly  and  mischievously  tired  out, 
by  teaching  them  in  school  first, 
and  bringing  them  into  church 
afterward.  It  is  an  ingenious  way 
of  making  them  hate  the  church 
service,  for  which  they  are  every 
way  too  young.  Bat  unless  the 
school  be  aimuLtaneoua  with  the 
church  service,  what  is  to  be  done 
with  the  children? 

How  very  defective  is  our  teach- 
ing of  Morals,  few  appear  to  me  to 
be  aware.  As  the  happiness  or 
misery  of  life  is  made  up  chiefly  of 
small  things,  so  is  its  morality. 
The  boys  of  England  are  perhaps  as 
reckless  and  as  rude  as  of  any  nation 
in  the  world.  See  (at  least  in 
the  towns)  the  great  incivility  of 
our  lads  to  those  whose  dress  has 
anything  not  in  the  cut  of  the  day, 
or  unusual  to  their  eye  :  observe  the 
rudeness  of  their  fun,  the  coarseness 
of  their  language  and  jokes,  their 
excessive  pertness.  A  Turkish  boy, 
however  poor,  is  a  perfect  gentle- 
man in  comparison  to  them.  Look 
again  to  the  sons  of  the  gentry. 
Unless  the  school  boys  of  this 
generation  are  prodigiously  im- 
proved, much  of  the  same  story 
might  be  told  of  them.  Indeed,  the 
accounts  given  of  our  youths  on 
their  way  to  India,  while  passing 
through  Egypt,  and  after  reaching 
India,  exhibit  them  as  not  only 
disgraceful  to  our  country,  but 
as  fostering  ^rave  political  mis- 
chief by  their  illegal  violences 
and  excessive  insolence.  What  are 
called  '  practical  jokes,'  which  are 
anything  but  jokes  to  the  sufferers, 
prevail,  unless  put  down  with  a 
iiigh  hand.  Everywhere  English 
names  are  out  on  wood  and  stone 
(by  grown  men  also),  damaging 
even  historical  or  antique  monu* 
loaentB.  Even  if  evexy  offence  were 
itself  flmaUy  yet  the  total  mischief 


to  the  character  and  to  sodety  is 
very  serious.  But  it  is  hard  for 
anyone  to  preach  from  the  pu2pti  on 
such  things ;  they  should  be  taught 
in  the  school. 

And  they  can  be  taught  well  in 
school — ^so  taught  as  to  be  instrac* 
tive  to  well-bred  young  gentlemen 
and  ladies.  Mr.  William  Ellis  so 
teaches  in  schools  the  elements  of 
Political  Economy  as  to  make  it  a 
profitable  lecture  on  Morals.  Ck>n- 
versely,  lectures  on  all  the  small 
duties  and  gpittces  of  life,  opening 
their  moral  grounds,  would  at  onoo 
inculcate  gentleness,  politeness,  and 
honesty,  and  also  explain  the  laws 
of  the  market  and  the  rights  of 
every  cultivator  to  the  fruits  of  his 
labour.  Surely  such  lessons  are  &r 
more  profitable  to  children  than  a 
premature  inculcation  of  religioD, 
the  learning  of  a  catechism,  or  even 
instruction  in  reading,  if  it  is  to  be 
never  used  and  soon  forgotten.  To 
be  contented  with  simple  food  and 
avoid  greediness,  and  many  other 
matters,  would  also  be  taught. 

So  elevated  and  mighty  an  idea 
as  that  of  GoD  cannot  be  received 
by  a  young  child.  To  a  mother 
endeavouring  to  inculcate  it^  her 
little  boy  replied,  '  MATnTyia.  i^ 
Charley's  God.'  Another  boy, 
taken  to  church  for  the  first  time, 
said  on  his  return,  '  Papa,  I  have 
seen  the  Lobd!'  His  father,  on 
enquiry,  found  that  what  the  boy 
had  seen  was  the  minister  in  a 
white  surplice.  After  a'  child  has 
learned  to  feel  and  practise  Universal 
Kindness  it  is  quite  time  enoagh  to 
begin  upon  religion.  Until  he  loves 
Man,  wnom  he  has  seen,  he  cannot 
love  God,  whom  he  has  not  seen,  or 
get  any  profitable  idea  of  Him  at 
all.  Much  less  is  there  any  uae  in 
indoctrinating  him  with  a  creed, 
though  it  be  the  soundest  and  soiest 
creed  in  the  world.  Let  the  flower 
set  well,  and  hope  for  the  fruit  in 
due  time,  under  the  blessing  of 
Ged's  Sun ;  but  to  expect  aatomn 
in  spring  is  to   waste  labour  and 


187S] 


On  the  Begeneraiion  of  Sunday. 


627 


damage  your  tree.  In  general,  hy 
teaching  confession  of  sin,  or  thank- 
fulness for  its  atonementi  you  do 
but  teach  hypocrisy. 

The  instruction    of  youths  and 
elder  girls  of  course  cannot  be  solely 
and  always  on  the  topics  on  account 
of  which  it  is  desirable  to  have  the 
sexes  apart.     Experience,  and  the 
ability  or  genius  of  teachers,  would 
regulate  details.     There  would  not 
be,  and  need  not  be,  uniformity  in 
different  churches.    But  there  are 
other  topics  ill  taught    from  the 
pulpit,  but  well  taught  when  young 
people  are  the  audience ;   such  as 
conscientiousness  in  small  service, 
the  wrongfulness  of  petty  stealing 
to  indulge  the  appetite,  and  of  all 
such  rudeness  and  damage  to  others 
as  were  named  above ;  the  duty  of 
politeness    and    distance    between 
young  men  and  women ;  the  sin  of 
waste,  the  value  of  economy;  the 
delight  of  generosity  out  of  our 
savings.      To    the  young  women, 
especially,  the  folly  and  wrong  of 
expensive     dress  ;     the    excessive 
stupidity  of  *  Fashion,'   which,  by 
dressing  all   alike,  whatever  their 
physical  aspect^  necessarily  makes  a 
large  number  ugly.      They  should 
be  taught  that  the  beauty  of  dress 
does  not  depend  on  the  costliness  of 
the  material,  but  on  the  elegance  of 
the   form    and    suitability  to   the 
wearer.     I  have  heard  a  gentleman 
say  that  if  a  shawl,  however  coarse 
and  mean,  is  given  to  a  Hindoo  girl, 
she  has  half  a  dozen  ways  of  putting 
it  on,   all   becoming.     Then,   also, 
lessons  of  cleanliness,  tidiness,  and 
conscientious     work    have    to    be 
taught.     The    numerous    evils    of 
smoking — to  the  purse,  to  health, 
to  furniture,  and  to  other  people's 
comfort — might  here  be  inculcated 
with    the    greatest    advantage    to 
youths.      I  need  hardly  ad^   the 
supreme  importance  of  implanting 
in  them   a   hatred  of  intoxicating 
drink:  bat  to  teach  them  not  to 
indulge  the  appetite  by  needless- 
ly expensive    food   approaches   to 


it  in  importance.  What  length  of 
time  the  Philanthropic  meeting 
would  take  must  depend  on  its 
nature,  and  the  interest  which 
it  might  cause.  If  such  meet- 
ings were  adjourned  from  week  to 
week  one  hour  might  ordinarily 
suffice;  but  in  all  such  matters  a 
Free  Church  would  secure  for  itself 
fleodbilityy  and  would  adapt  arrange- 
ments according  to  the  materials 
before  it.  Moreover,  instead  of 
adhering  to  a  single  routine  of  what 
is  called  the  Lord's  Supper,  would 
it  not  be  far  more  reasonable  to 
revert  to  the  freedom  of  the  original 
institution  ?  I  think  that  if  Christ- 
ians get  more  manliness  of  mind, 
and  insist  that  traditional  routine 
shall  not  impede  that  Spirit  of 
Liberty  in  which  Panl  glories,  some 
such  development  will  even  yet 
happen. 

What  is  the  exact  relation  be- 
tween the  Love  Feasts  (Jude  12) 
of  the  early  Christians,  and  the 
Lord's  Supper  as  described  by 
Paul  (i  Cor.  xi.  20),  I  do  not 
mean  dogmatically  to  pronounce. 
But  it  is  clear  that  the  Supper  to 
which  Paul  refers,  was  a  real  and 
solid  meed ;  and  the  original  Supper 
(according  to  the  Three  First  Gos- 
pels) at  which  Jesus  founded  the 
institution,  was  a  meal  upon  the 
Paschal  lamb.  The  obvious  in- 
ference is,  that  this  was  originally 
identical  with  the  Love  Feast ;  but 
that  in  consequence  of  the  abuses 
denounced  by  Paul,  and  indeed 
later  by  Jude  also,  a  modification 
took  place.  Some  Churches  pro- 
bably adopted  Paul's  advice  early, 
and  destroyed  entirely  the  nature 
of  the  Supper  as  a  true  meal,  making 
it  a  mere  shadow  or  pretence  of  a 
meal :  this  is  the  form  which  has 
come  down  to  our  day,  since  ulti- 
mately the  influence  of  Paul  predo* 
minated  in  all  the  Gentile  Churches. 
While  it  was  a  real  supper,  its 
name  (Charity)  I  suppose  implies 
that  the  expense  was  defrayed  by 
one  or  more  of  the  richer  members. 


On  the  Begeneraiion  of  Sunday. 


[Maj 


When  ricli  and  poor  partook  of  it 
in  common,  it  Tras  a  pledge  of  re- 
li^ons  union.  The  Tea-meetings 
of  our  Dissenters  aim  at  the  same 
mark. 

It  is  not  likely  that  any  British 
Churches  will  consent  to  lay  aside 
the  element  tuvne,  which  has  been 
made  a  sacred  emblem.  But  some 
of  them  already  interpret  it  (as  do 
very  many  American  Churches)  to 
mean  the  wifermented  juice  of  the 
grape  (Matt.  xxvi.  29),  and  treat 
the  use  of  fermented  wine  as  a  per- 
nicious deviation  from  the  original 
practice.  If  this  interpretetion 
were  to  become  general,  it  would 
enable  them  to  revert,  without 
design,  to  what  none  can  doubt  to 
have  been  the  primitive  idea — ^that 
the  Supper  was  a  true  meal.  In 
sjxj  case,  the  rise  of  Tea-meetings 
displays  the  desire  of  recovering 
the  Christian  CLgape. 

K,  from  any  cause,  a  meeting  or 
meetings  in  the  church  were  pro- 
longed, the  agafh  would  conveni- 
ent)^ and  beneficially  reappear. 
After  the  ordinances  of  religion 
and  the  business  of  philanthropy, 
what  more  reasonable  than  to 
unbend  the  mind  and  refiresh  the 
heart  by  pleasant  conversation? 
In  a  country  parish  and  in  fine 
weather,  the  open  field  woald  be 
preferred  to  the  inside  of  a  building; 
but  our  weather  does  not  often  per- 
mit this.  Surely  the  time  will 
come,  when  that  superstition  will 
vanish,  which  forbids  the  use  of 
ohurohes  for  meetings  on  which  the 
blessing  of  6k>d  can  be  asked.  If 
Bread  and  Wine  remain  the  type 
of  that  extreme  simplicity  which 
reduces  a  meal  to  ite  fewest  ele- 
ments ;  if  that  horrid  notion  be  set 
aside,  that  Sunday  is  the  day  for  gor- 
mandising, the  agaph  might  itself 
initiate  a  sounder  idea  of  what  a 
devout  man's  eating  ought  to  be. 
To  learn  practically  that  hunger  may 
be  satiated  and  strength  sustained 
on  figs  and  bread,  or  other  simple 
^riands,  without  hot  dishes,  flesh 


meats,  laborious  cookery  or  fer- 
mented liquors,  would  be  in  itself  a 
more  profitable  lesson  than  many 
a  long  sermon  can  impart.  The 
friendliness  between  different  ranks, 
which  is  cherished  by  the  partici- 
pation of  a  common  meal,  is  totally 
lost  in  the  modem  Lord's  Supper, 
where  each  recipient  is  isolated  and 
dumb,  and  is  a  Gommunicant  in  a 
solitary  sense  only. 

If  then  it  be  supposed  that  the  con- 
gregation, without  dispersing,  took 
a  simple  meal  of  charity,  another 
possibility  would  open.  After  thej 
had  sufficiently  refreshed  their  heads 
from  the  tension  of  thought  by  the 
cheerful  interchange  of  words,  a 
Lecture  might  be  delivered  by  the 
minister  on  an  instructive  subject. 
Ecclesiastical  History  is  the  topic 
most  pertinent  te  the  Churches,  and 
most  neglected ;  but  if  once  higer 
views  be  taken,  a  wider  survey  of 
human  nature  will  be  seen  te  be 
appropriate,  such  as  the  historj  af 
hvmian  religion — I  mean,  in  outlme; 
not  the  tedious  and  repulsive  grop- 
ing into  the  details  of  human  error, 
or  any  display  of  the  airy  fancies  of 
mythology ;  but  a  narrative  of  the 
efforte  of  the  human  nund  towards 
truth,  and  its  partial  attainment; 
also  the  relation  between  religion 
in  every  age  and  the  contomporv 
neous  metaphysical  or  physical  con- 
ceptions. It  does  not  appear  to  me 
that  metaphysics,  any  more  than 
physical  science,  in  its  detailed  or 
scholastic  development^  is  at  all 
suited  to  the  Church,  nor  are  Church 
ministers  likely  to  be  competent  to 
lecture  upon  it.  But  so  far  as  these 
subjects  are  embraced  in  a  concrete 
form,  as  embodied  in  this  or  that 
human  religion,  thej^  are  perfectly 
clerical.  Another  topic  for  Lectores, 
also  appropriate  to  the  Church,  is 
scientific  Morals^  which,  may  be 
treated  in  various  ways  according 
to  the  knowledge  and  genius  of  the 
Lecturer ;  frequently  fiie  history  of 
one  particular  branch  of  Morals  is 
highly  instroQtive,  or  the  treatment 


1873] 


On  the  Regeneration  of  Sunday, 


629 


of  specific  qncstions  of  Mdrals,  such 
as  Military  Service,  War  anditsLaws, 
Pleading  in  Law  for  Fees — tbongh, 
when  these  subjects  admit  much 
debate,  it  might  be  more  satisfactory 
to  discuss  them  in  public  meeting, 
with  leave  to  speak  on  both  sides. 
Another  form  of  Lecture  is,  continu- 
ous exposition  of  sacred  books,  and 
other  parts  of  what  is  called  Theo^ 
logical  Science,  which,  if  expounded 
in  the  pulpit,  are  too  argumentative 
to  harmonise  with  acts  of  devotion. 
Minds  unequal  to  receive  such  Lec- 
tures would  depart  with  the  children 
before  they  began.  This  is  but  an 
outline  of  the  developments  which 
might  make  the  Sunday  less  formal 
and  more  beneficial,  the  ministry 
more  fruitful  and  more  honoured. 

Certain  Dissenting  Churches,  and 
probably  (if  I  were  well  enough  in- 
formed) some  ministers  of  Anglican 
Churches  also,  have  Lectures  and 
popular  Teachings  in  their  schools, 
where  questions  can  be  asked  by 
members  of  the  audience  ;  but,  as 
far  as  I  ever  heard,  on  week-days 
only.  They  do  not  take  advantage 
of  the  fact,  that  Sunday  is  the  special 
day  of  leisure  for  such  things,  and 
that  on  Sunday  the  people  are  already 
assembled.  In  the  suggestions  here 
made,  I  have  wished  not  to  go  be- 
yond that  which  an  educated  and 
reasonable  Puritan  might  approve. 
Philanthropic  action,  and  debate  con- 
<»ming  it,  must,  according  to  their 
strictest  views,  be  appropriate  to 
Sunday ;  so  is  an  eminently  simple 
meal,  promotive  of  kind  feeling  be- 
tween different  ranks.  The  conver- 
sation during  the  meal  would  be  in 
accordance  with  their  own  view  of 
w^hat  Sunday  conversation  otight  to 
be  —  whether  more  strict,  or  less. 
The  topics  of  Lectures  here  named 
are    such  as  harmonise  with    the 


ecclesiastical  temperament  Puritani- 
cally  limited.  Nevertheless,  I  see  not 
how  to  doubt,  that  the  increased 
learning  of  the  Dissenting  ministers 
through  Collegiate  instruction  can- 
not fail  to  open  their  eyes  to  the 
utter  fatuity  of  identifying  our  First 
Day  with  the  Sabbath.  The  Italian 
Language,  the  modem  Greek  and 
the  Arabic,  have  no  other  toord  to  de- 
note Saturday  but  simply  Sahhath} 
This  is,  in  all  three  nations,  an  un- 
deniably unbroken  tradition,  coming 
down  from  the  earliest  times,  and 
even  singly  is  enough  to  disprove 
the  arbitraiy  fiction — of  which  the 
first  Protestant  Beformers  had  never 
so  much  as  heard — that  Sunday  is 
the  Sabbath.  It  may  be  added,  that 
learned  Jews  emphatically  protest 
against  the  notion,  that  intellectual 
cultivation  was  ever  forbidden  on 
their  Sabbath. 

The  social  history  of  England 
more  and  more  manifests  the  deplor- 
able evils  which  have  arisen  from 
the  ever  declining  influence  of  reli- 
gion upon  the  action  of  the  State. 
Measures  of  legislation  or  of  exe- 
cution are  controlled  and  almost 
moulded  by  the  morality  prevailing 
among  political  men,  with  whom 
Ambition  and  Avarice  have  pre- 
dominant sway.  Under  every  con- 
stitutional government,  be  it  mon- 
archical or  republican.  Wealth  has 
enormous  power  not  only  by  direct 
influence  on  dependants,  but  by 
its  easy  command  of  tools  which  en- 
able it  to  blind  and  pervert  public 
opinion.  However  much  a  minister, 
or  even  a  whole  ministry,  may  de- 
sire to  act  for  moral  mterests,  these 
are  almost  always  subordinated  to 
political  convenience  or  the  wishes 
of  rich  men.  There  is  no  one  to 
moralise  the  action  of  the  State,  if 
{he  Churches  neglect  it ;  hence  the 


*  So  in  Deh^ue's  Dictiannaire  greo  modeme  fran^aist  *  'Mfifiorov^  r\  sabat  Samedi.' 
In  Kazimiizki's  Arabic  Diet,,  'Sabt — sabbat,  jour  de  repos  des  Jnifs;  Samedi.'  Con- 
Tersely  in  Bocthor's  Diet,  frangais»aTabe,  *■  Samedi>-el  sabt'  In  Lownds's  Engl,  and 
Mod,  Greek,  'Satnxday,  rh  Xdfifiarw.*  In  Baretti's  Anglo-Italian,  'Saturday— sabbato, 
nome  del  settimo  di  della  settimana.'  So  in  Spanish,  Sabado ;  in  Polish^  Sobota.  The 
3.ii88ian  Sabboma,  as  French  Samedi,  is  apparently  only  Sabato  in  disguise. 


630 


On  the  Begeneration  of  Sunday. 


[May 


fonl  imparities,  ^rank  injustices, 
and  besotted  ignorances,  equal  to 
those  of  Paganism,  which  domineer 
among  ns.  They  never  could  have 
reached  such  a  height,  but  for  the 
moral  ruin  of  the  Church  which  the 
restoration  of  Charles  II.  caused. 
We  have  not  at  all  recovered  from 
that  deadly  mischief.  To  go  into 
the  matter  in  detail,  would  cany  me 
wide.  Suffice  it  to  saj,  that  while 
Calvin  and  perhaps  the  Puritans 
wanted  the  State,  in  its  care  for 
public   morality,   to   cripple    indi- 


vidual fi:'eedom  too  much;  dnce 
Charles  11.  the  State  has  become 
reckless,  and  seldom  takes  cogni- 
sance of  morality  at  all. 

Whether  the  Churches  can  ever 
recover  their  social  influence,  so  as 
to  infuse  morality  into  a  State  do- 
minated by  Mammon,  I  cannot  fore- 
see ;  but  obviously  it  is  very  much 
wanted;  and  no  possibility  of  it 
opens,  unless  they  will  reorganise 
and  regenerate  tiieir  use  of  the 
Sunday. 

F.  W.  Nbwmis. 


1873] 


681 


THE  JESUITS,  AND   THEIR  EXPULSION  FROM  GERMANY. 


rE  recent  decree  by  the  Protes- 
tant head  of  the  Oerman  Em- 
pire for  the  expulsion  of  the  Jesuits 
from  its  territories  is  merely  an 
appendix  to  the  historical  records 
of  similar  policy  adopted  at  various 
times,  but  in  regular  succession,  by 
all  the  Roman  Catholic  nations  of 
Europe.    The  zeal,  the  discipline, 
and  the  devotion  of  this  celebrated 
religious    order,  which    has    been 
accused  of  mingling  too  often  in 
political  and  revolutionary  intrigues, 
had  early  acquired  for  its  mem- 
bers the  distinctive  appellation  of 
being  '  The  Janissaries  of  the  Pope.' 
While  anathemas  have  been  openly 
burled  from  the  Vatican   against 
princes  and  potentates,  the  asso- 
ciates of  that  body,  muffled  in  the 
cloak  of  zeal  for  their  church,  are 
believed  to  ha.ve  been  frequently  the 
missionaries  of  sedition,  when  its 
aim  was  to  stab  the  liberties  of  men, 
or  disturb   tlae  repose   of    States. 
Being    stem      Infallibilists,     they 
would     seem      to     be    peculiarly 
favoured    by    Pius    IX.,  and,  the 
Superiors  being  resident  in  Rome, 
they  are  supposed  to  have  obtained 
admission  into  his  cabinet  council. 
Apprehensive  that  the  unity  of  Italy 
may  be  secured  as  well  by  the  al- 
liance as  by  the  consolidation  of  the 
German  Empire,  and  feeling  that 
the  Church  has  ceased  to  be  su- 
preme, even   in  that  city,  the  fo- 
menters  of  a  religious  war  threaten 
a  formidable    organisation.      The 
avowed    object  is  to  reatore    the 
temporal  power  of  the  Pope,  as  we 
trust  and  believe  a  forlorn  hope, 
but     the     inevitable    consequence 
would  be  the  annihilation  of  Italian 
independence.     The   (Jltramontane 
aniagonism  of  the  Roman  GathoHc 
hiertffchy  and  priesthood  in  Ger- 
many is  also  a  concerted  niovement 
to  dislocate  if  possible  that  union  of 
States  which    the    sympathies    of 
language  and  of  race  would  speedily 
cement.     In  politico*religions  con- 


tests against  nations  ambitious  of 
peaceful  unity,  the  warriors  of  the 
Faith  seem,  as  usual,  disposed  to 
rally  under  the  spiritual  direction 
of  the  Jesuits.  The  policy  of  the 
German  Chancellor  is  merely  pro- 
tective; his  determination  is  to 
resist  any  aggressive  attempts 
against  a  power  which  the  Pope 
has  already  denounced  as' the  Euro- 
pean Colossus.  That  great  minis- 
ter, while  rejecting  all  pretensions 
to  religious  supremacy,  is  willing 
to  concede  to  the  priesthood  their 
rights  as  German  citizens.  We  may 
therefore  assume  that  any  measures 
which  he  may  be  compelled  to 
adopt,  apparently  opposed  to  the 
spirit  of  toleration,  must  be  dictated 
by  imperious  necessity,  and  by  a 
high  sense  of  duty  to  the  sovereign 
and  his  subjects.  Even  his  edict 
for  the  banishment  of  the  Jesuits 
has  been  marked  by  moderation, 
for  while  Protestant  Prussia  al- 
lowed three  months  for  their  ex- 
patriation, it  has  been  publicly 
stated  that  the  Roman  Catholic 
Kingdom  of  Bavaria^  which  has 
been  emphatically  distinguished  as 
the  *  Gterman  State  of  the  Church,* 
deemed  three  days  amply  sufficient 
for  their  final  departure. 

The  founder  of  the  Order,  Ig- 
natius Loyola,  a  native  of  the  Bis- 
caen  Province  of  Navarre,  after- 
wards annexed  to  Spain,  had  early 
predicted  that  his  followers  would 
yet  become  the  Pretorian  Guards 
of  the  Roman  Church.  Although 
his  original  success  was  due  mainly 
to  his  enthusiasm,  he  was  not 
deficient  in  the  cool  and  calculating 
qualities  of  a  politician.  The  depth 
of  his  conceptions  was  manifested 
in  the  organisation  of  the  numbers 
who  embraced  his  tenets,  and  his 
sagacity  was  shown  in  the  esta- 
blishment of  a  German  College  at 
Rome  for  the  education  of  mission- 
aries of  that  race,  who  were  after- 
wards deputed  to  eradicate  from 


632 


The  Jesuits,  and  their  Es^pvlsionfrom  Qermany. 


[M»y 


their  native  soil  the  doctrines  of 
the  Reformation.  This  device  was 
imitated  with  respect  to  England, 
by  planting  similar  seminaries  in 
Continental  cities  within  easy  reach 
of  our  shores.  The  fonnder  had 
from  the  outset  determined  that  the 
government  of  the  Order  should  be 
monarchical,  and  he  was  of  coarse 
elected  by  his  associates  their  first 
General,  that  being  the  term  ap- 
plied to  their  Superior,  who  is 
chosen  for  life,  and  cannot  be  de- 
posed, except  for  high  crimes 
against  its  constitutions. 

The  fame  of  Loyola  even  attracted 
female  devotees,  and  he  was  induced 
by  their  persuasions  to  admit  Isabel 
Bozella,  a  noble  Spanish  widow, 
with  whom  he  had  once  been  a 
&vourite,  and  two  Roman  ladies 
within  his  rules ;  but  he  soon  re- 
pented of  his  pious  gallantry,  and 
declared  that  the  government  of  the 
three  sisters  was  more  troublesome 
to  him  than  that  of  the  whole 
Society.  Having  gotten  rid  of  his 
charge,  he  obtained  the  Pope's 
Apostolic  letter  exempting  the 
Jesuits  from  all  future  combination 
with  the  fair  sex,  whether  singly 
or  in  association,  a  privilege  to 
which  it  would  seem  that  his  fol- 
lowers have  since  rigidly  adhered. 

The  Oi'der  of  the  Jesuits  invites 
our  attention  in  three  distinct  as- 
pects— ^religious,  educational,  and 
political.  The  great  Charter  of 
Jesuitism,  which  is  impressed  with 
the  name  *  Monita  Seer  eta,*  or  the 
Secret  Instructions,  is  believed  to 
havebeen  revised  by  the  founder,  and 
forms  an  Encyclopedia  of  precepts, 
inculcating  in  every  shape  the 
doctrine  of  *  right  divine  to  govern 
wrong.'  The  existence  of  ihis  code 
has  been  doubted  and  denied,  but 
its  recent  publication  in  Paris  by 
Charles  Sauveme,  author  of  Les 
Gongregationa  EeligietCses,  places 
its  authenticity  beyond  question. 
In  preserving  its  secrecy  the  Order 
has  imitated  the  priests  of  ancient 
Egypt,  who  buried  in  the  ground 
under    their   altars    the    doctrines 


they  reserved  to  themselves  to  guide 
the  people ;  while  the  Church  re- 
poses on  the  double  principles  of 
authority  and  universality.      The 
aim  of  Jesuitism  has  ever  been  the 
religious  government  of  the  woild; 
and  its  guiding  principle,  that  bat 
one  religion  must  be  tolerated  on 
earth.     To  encourage  their  increase 
the  members  are  divided  into  six 
classes,  the  Probationary  or  Jesuits 
Proper,  the  Spiritual  Coadjutors,  the 
Approved  Scholars,  the  Lay  Bro- 
thers or  Temporal  Coadjutors,  the 
Novices,  and  those  that  are  affiliated, 
or  Jesuits  of  the  short  robe,    l^e 
leading  educational  policy  of  thefie 
new  preceptors  of  mankind  wa$  to 
acquire  the  reputation  of  being  the 
most  learned  body  in  Christendom; 
and  by  inspiring  an  almost  exclusiTe 
taste    for    the    classic    authors  of 
antiquity,  they  sought  to  damp  the 
mental  energies,  and  to  stifle  all 
desire    of  enquiring    into  matters 
either  controversial  or  philosophic. 
By  rigidly  enforcing  the  vow  of  sub- 
missive obedience,  they  have  neces- 
sarily restricted  the  sphere  of  intel- 
lectuJEd  acquirements;  and  they  hare 
invariably  endeavoured    to    model 
science  so  as  to  suit  the  interests  of 
their  creed.      By  devoting   more 
time    than    any  ot^er    branch   of 
Uie  priesthood  to  their  own  pecoliar 
stu<£es^  they  acquired  more  insinu- 
ating polish  in  their  manners;  while 
the   casuistry  of  their  schools  in- 
structed them  in  the  sophistica]  arts 
of  dissimulation.     Their  ecclesiasti- 
oal  discipline  prescribing  obedience 
on  the  part  of  every  member  as 
passive  as  if  he  were  a  corpse,  sack- 
cloth and  ashes  were  selected  as  the 
gloomy  &shions  of  the  order.   Their 
educational  as  well  as  their  rehgioas 
system  was  ingeniously  devised  to 
make  Jesuits,  but  not  men,  in  the 
more  extensive  acceptation  of  the 
term.     In  their  political  conceptions 
they  attribute  to  the  Court  of  Borne 
a   dominion    as    extensive  and   as 
arbitrary  as  was  ever  claimed,  even 
in  the  dark  ag^eSi  by  the  most  au- 
dacious Pontiffs. 


1878] 


The  Jemits,  and  their  Expulsion  from  Germany. 


638 


The  first  Jesuit  mission  into 
Grermany,  cjomposed  of  Spaniards, 
Italians,  and  Netherlanders,  dates 
&om  the  year  1550,  when  they 
settled  at  Cologne,  and  thence  spread 
over  the  districts  adjacent  to  the 
Rhine.  Prom  the  period  of  the 
Reformation  the  Popes  had  ruled 
more  by  address  than  by  authority, 
and  they  soon  perceived  that  the 
most  efficient  weapons  of  aggression 
and  defence  were  to  be  found  in  the 
armoury  of  the  Order.  The  beatifi- 
cation, as  it  is  termed,  and  the  sub- 
sequent canonisation  of  Loyola  as 
Saint  Ignatius  by  two  successive 
Popes,  presenting  fresh  attractions 
to  wavering  fanatics,  speedily  re- 
cruited their  ranks.  Conscious  that 
the  great  religious  revolution  had 
made  most  progress  among  the 
Teutonic  races,  their  enthusiastic 
ardour  pushed  their  missions  be- 
yond the  Rhenish  Principalities  into 
Bavaria,  and  other  States.  The 
infiuence  they  there  acquired,  after 
a  time  became  so  perceptible,  that 
the  Papal  Nuncio  announced  to 
his  Court  they  had  won  many  souls 
and  done  great  service  to  the  Roman 
See.  Some  of  their  members  even 
obtained  chairs  in  the  Bavarian 
Universities,  and  the  first  efiective 
anti-Protestant  impression  made 
upon  the  Lutheran  nations  may  be 
traced  to  their  presence  and  their 
preaching.  There  is  no  precedent 
in  the  history  of  reactions  for  the 
rapidity  of  their  progress ;  the  in- 
habitants formerly  attached  to  the 
Romish  £uth  who  had  yielded  to 
the  early  Reformers,  were  re-con- 
verted into  Catholics.  To  that 
period  may  be  traced  a  counter  Re- 
formation, in  which  States  where 
the  Gospel  light  had  earliest  beamed 
again  relapsed  into  mediaBval  dark- 
ness. Frequent  vicissitudes  of  fate 
are  to  be  found  in  the  early  Jesuit 
annals.  Even  the  Emperor  Charles 
v.,  a  bigoted  Roman  Catholic,  who 
abdicated  all  his  crowns  in  order  to 
pass  his  latter  days  within  the 
cloisters  of  a  monastery,  having 
beoome  jealous  and  alarmed  at  the 


political  influence  they  had  acquired 
and  exercised,  sanctioned  their  ba- 
nishment fi-om  some  of  the  cities  of 
his  vast  dominions.  The  series  of 
their  expulsions  commenced  in  the 
first  century  of  their  existence  ;  they 
were  driven  in  1 555  from  the  Spanish 
city  of  Zaragoza,  from  the  Italian 
Valteline  in  1566,  from  Vienna  in 
1568,  from  Avignon,  a  Papal  State» 
in  1570,  from  Antwerp  in  I578> 
from  England  in  1579,  from  Bor- 
deaux  in  1589,  from  Holland  in 
1590,  and  from  France  in  1595- 
We  reserve  for  the  present  the 
category  of  their  expulsions  in  later 
times,  but  the  political  events  of 
1848,  which  expelled  the  Order  from 
other  European  countries,  opened  a 
wide  field  of  action  in  several  of  the 
German  States.  In  their  strange 
alternations  of  fortune,  while  they 
were  permitted  to  settle  in  Protest^ 
ant  Prussia,  they  were  expressly 
excluded  from  the  Roman  Catholic 
Kingdom  of  Saxony,  by  the  Consti- 
tution of  1 83 1  regulating  the  Go» 
vernment  of  that  State. 

The  Order  first  settled  in  France 
in  1554,  at  the  Abbey  of  Mont 
Martre,  originally  in  the  days  of  the 
Romans  Mont  de  Mars,  and  after- 
wards Mont  des  Martyrs,  where 
Loyola  had  for  a  time  pursued  hia 
scholastic  studies.  On  their  ap- 
pearance, the  Faculty  of  Theology 
at  Paris  publicly  denounced  their 
principles  as  calculated  to  wound 
the  honour  of  religious  life,  to  alter 
the  ceremonies  of  the  Church,  and 
to  encourage  schisms  and  even 
apostasy.  Contemporary  historians 
have  asserted  that  members  of  the 
Order  were  implicated  in  many  of 
the  bloody  scenes  of  the  Leagne,  but 
as  our  notice  is  at  present  confined 
to  their  expulsions  from  Roman 
Catholic  States,  we  proceed  to  the 
event  for  which  they  were  first  ex- 
pelled from  the  soil  of  France.  After 
the  conversion  of  Henry  of  Kavarre 
had  enabled  him  lo  ascend  the 
throne,  the  two  successive  attempts 
of  Pierre  Barriere  and  Jean  Ch&tel, 
who  were   alleged  to    have    been 


634 


The  Jesuits,  and  their  Ei^pulsionfirom  Qerviany. 


[May 


both  incited  by  tbe  regicide  doc- 
trines attributed  to  the  Jesuits, 
created  vast  indignation  against  the 
Order.  Ch&tel  had  been  unquestion- 
ably educated  at  their  great  semi- 
nary, and  on  the  failure  of  the 
attempt  so  popular  was  the  King, 
that  the  multitude  proceeded  with 
menacing  cries  to  their  college  in 
the  Bue  St.  Jaques,  and  there 
would  have  been  a  general  massacre 
of  the  members  if  the  King  and  the 
Parliament  of  Paris  had  not  inter- 
vened by  force.  The  Jesuits  Gui- 
gnard  and  Queret  were  arrested,  and 
subjected  to  torture  in  the  hope  of 
fixing  them  as  accomplices  in  the 
crime.  Gruignard,  who  was  Regent 
of  the  College,  was  afterwards  con- 
victed of  having  written  several 
seditious  libels  to  prove  that  it  was 
lawful  to  kill  the  Bang.  The  Par- 
liament of  Paris,  on  the  7  th  of 
January,  1595,  decreed  that  he 
should  be  strangled  in  the  Place  de 
Greve,  and  his  body  consumed  to 
ashes,  a  sentence  which  was  carried 
into  execution  on  the  same  day.^ 
The  decree  then  ordered  that  the 
priests  and  scholars  of  the  College 
of  Clermont,  and  all  others  calling 
themselves  members  of  the  Society, 
as  corrupters  of  youth,  disturbers  of 
public  peace,  and  enemies  of  the 
King  and  the  State,  should,  within 
three  days  after  notice  of  the  decree, 
quit  Paris  and  all  other  towns  and 
places  where  they  had  colleges,  and 
within  fifteen  days  after  leave  the 
kingdom,  on  pain,  if  found  after  the 
expiration  or  that  time,  of  being 
punished  as  criminals  guilty  of  high 
treason.  Their  goods,  movable  as 
well  as  immovable,  were  declared 
forfeited,  and  to  be  devoted  to 
charitable  purposes.  All  subjects  of 
the  kingdom  were  forbidden  to  send 
their  sons  to  Jesuit  colleges  out  of 
the  kingdom  to  be  educated,  also 
under  pain  of  high  treason.'  Henry 
lY.,  when  afterwards  receiving  the 


congratulations  of  the  Parliament, 
declared  with  peculiar  emphaais, 
*  Je  suis  Gatholique,  Boi  Catholiqne, 
Catholique  Remain,  non  Catholiqne 
J6suite !  Je  connais  des  Catholiqnes 
J^suites ;  je  ne  suis  pas  de  Thumeur 
de  cesgens-1^  nideleurs  semblables.' 
In  the  true  spirit  of  that  toleration 
which  dictated  to  that  sovereign  Uie 
Edict  of  Nantes,  the  banished  Order 
was  permitted  to  return  in  1603. 

That  edict,  declaring  amnesty  for 
the  past  and  religious  freedom  for 
the  future,  was  dictated  by  noble 
and  generous  sentiments ;  but,  as  it 
proposed  to  equalise  all  creeds,  it 
was  opposed  to  their  pi'inciples  and 
hateful  in  the  eyes  of  the  Jesniia. 
The  hero  of  Ivry  would  seem  to 
have  had  a  strong  presentdment  of 
his  impending  fate ;  and  a  vague 
rumour  that  he  contemplated  a  war 
against  the  Catholics,  and  to  depose 
the  Pope,  re-animated  the  fanatidsm 
of  the  former  members  of  the  League. 
He  was  also  destined  to  fall  in  a 
public  street  in  Paris  by  the  dagger 
of  a  religious  visionary,  Francois 
Ravaillac,  who  had  in  vain  endea- 
voured to  be  received  as  a  Jesnit 
lay  brother,  but  who  to  the  last 
denied  that  he  had  any  instigator 
or  associate.  Henry  of  Bourbon  is 
the  most  popular  name  in  the  long 
line  of  French  kings,  and  the  blow 
of  this  fibnatic  assassin  deranged  for 
years  the  destinies  of  Prance.  The 
College  of  the  Sorbonne  immediately 
after  the  event  renewed  their  decree 
condemnatory  of  the  treatise  by  the 
Jesuit  Mariana,  De  Bege  ei  Begii 
Insiitutione,  which  hod  defended 
the  assassination  of  Sovereigns. 
The  book  was  accordingly  seized 
and  publicly  consigned  to  the 
flames. 

During  the  regency  of  the  rojal 
widow,  Marie  de  Med^cis,  the 
Jesuits  would  seem  to  have  r^;ained 
favour  with  the  Court,  and  the  wily 
Richelieu,  probably  in  the  hope  of 


HUtoire  de  la  CompagniedeJknu,  par  T.  Critineau-Joly.  Paris,  1S44.  VoL  L  pu  459* 
Histoire  des  Jieuitu,  par  FAbM  auett^.    Paria,  1858.    Vol.  I.  pp.  264-5. 


l873] 


The  JemitSy  mid  their  Erpuhion  frain  Germany, 


635 


tranqnillisiiig  the  contending   fac- 
tions, or  with  the  view  of  extending 
his  own  political  influence,  selected 
a  father  of  the  Order  as  his  confes- 
sor.    While  Ann  of  Austria  was 
regent,  the  Order  was  not  so  courted; 
Mazarin  kept  them  at  a  distance, 
and  would    not   permit    them    to 
meddle  in  affairs  of  State.     On  the 
accession    of    Louis    XIV.     after 
his  long  minority,  they  became  the 
humble  flatterers  of  absolute  power 
and  received  as  their  reward  the 
royal  authority  to  confer  on  their 
College  at  Clermont  the  title  of '  Le 
College  de  Louis  le  Grand.'     Ma- 
dame de   Maintenon,   who    subse- 
quently became  the  married  mis- 
tress of  the  Bang,  granted  iliem  her 
protection,   and  in   1685   their  re- 
presentations obtained  from  bigoted 
infatuation  the  fatal  revocation  of 
the  Edict  of  Nantes.    That  hateful 
measure,  so  disastrous  in  its  conse- 
quences to  France,  has  been  always 
attributed  to  thePere  La  Chaise,  who 
had  become  the  Jesuit  confessor  of 
the  King,  and  had  afterwards  ar- 
ranged his  secret  marriage.     The 
result  of  that  revocation  was   to 
prohibit  to  the  Huguenots  not  only 
the  exercise  of  their  religion,  but  of 
every    branch    of    industry ;     the 
nattural  authority  of  parentage  was 
disregarded :  children  were  taken  by 
force  from  their  Protestant  fathers, 
and  educated  by  the  members  of  an 
adverse  creed.     Certificates  of  mar- 
riage were  burot  in  the  presence  of 
the  married  pair,  the  husband  was 
sent  to  the  galleys,  the  wife  into 
seclusion,  and  their  property  confis- 
cated.    The  scenes  m  IJie  Cevennes 
were      frightful ;      apostasy     was 
preached  and  enforced  by  a  brutal 
and    unrestrained    soldiery ;    men, 
women,  and  children,  were  tram- 
pled   down    by    dragoons,    whose 
licensed    atrocities     acquired     the 
name  of  the  dragonnades !    History 
has  not  solved  the  question,  whether 
the  Massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew  or 
the  persecutions  of  Louis  XIV.  were 
the   greater  crimes,  but  the  latter 

VOL.  Vn*— »0.  XLI.    NEW  SERIES. 


involved  in  misery  and  ruin  five 
times  as  many  victims  as  the  former. 
That  revocation  has  been  defended 
on  the  ground  that  it  was  merely 
retaliation  for  the  severities  prac- 
tised against  the  Catholics  in  Pro- 
testant States.  Irrespective  of  its 
cruelty,  no  state  of  circumstances 
can  psJliate  the  impolicy  that,  re- 
versing the  mild  and  tolerant  prin- 
ciples of  Henry  IV.,  banished  from 
the  soil  of  France  five  hundred 
thousand  of  the  best,  the  bravest, 
and  the  most  enlightened  of  her 
people,  to  introduce  and  improve 
the  useful  arts,  increase  the  com- 
mercial wealth,  and  augment  the 
military  strength  of  foreign  and 
hostile  nations. 

This  reign  was  remarkable  for 
one  of  the  most  celebrated  contro- 
versies, religious,  doctrinal,  social, 
and  political,  between  parties  all 
professing  the  Boman  Cathoho 
creed,  that  had  arisen  since  the 
Beformation.  The  Jansenists  as- 
sailed the  Jesuits,  among  other 
grounds,  for  the  gaudy  ornamenta- 
tion with  which  they  adorned  their 
churches  and  for  their  aUeged  wor- 
ship of  images  and  pictures ;  while 
their  opponents  retorted  that  the 
simplicity  they  sought  to  introduce 
was  Calvinistic.  Irrespective  of 
its  religious  aspect,  the  contest  has 
acquired  historical  interest  from 
the  fate  of  the  once  famous  Conven- 
tual Institution  of  Port-Boyal,  and 
from  the  provincial  letters  of  the 
celebrated  Blaise  Pascal.  Although 
a  devoted  Bomanist,  his  name  is 
associated  with  that  splendid  philo- 
sophical galaxy  which  followed  the 
path  opened  by  Galileo  to  the  tem- 
ple of  science.  As  one  of  the  as^ 
sociated  inmates  of  Port-Boyal, 
he  became  its  champion  and  ar- 
raigned the  Jesuits  with  acrimonious 
accusations,  in  which  playftil  raillery 
was  intemiiDgled  with  the  most 
stinging  irdny.  His  hostility  to 
the  Order,  as  well  as  to  the  system, 
may  be  estimated  from  the  separate 
titles  of  some  of  the  letters,  which 

XX 


The  JemMJUy  and  their  Expuleumfirom  Germany, 


[May 


maj  perhaps  be  taken  as  an  index 
to  the  principles  he  condemned : 
*  Differenta  artifices  dee  Jesuites  pour 
eluder  Va/uiorite  de  VHvangile,  dee 
GondUee  et  d-esPapee.*  *JDe  la  f ansae 
devotion  de  la  ViergCj  que  les  JSsuites 
ont  introduite,*  *  Diverses  facUitea 
quails  ont  inventees.*  '  Leurs  maaimea 
aur  Vamhition,  Venvtey  la  gowrman* 
diae,  lea  equivoquea,  lea  reatrictiona 
mentalea,*  and  ^  Lea  maximea  a^vr 
Bimonie  et  aur  homicide^  &c.  The 
scholasticism  of  the  Jesuit  defences 
has  been  long  forgotten,  while  the 
letters  still  rank  among  the  French 
classics  of  the  period.  The  blow 
which  had  been  aimed  by  the  Jan- 
senists  at  the  heart  of  Jesuitism  was 
too  deadly  to  be  ever  forgiven,  and 
in  the  end  the  malignant  perse- 
verance of  the  Order  prevailed. 
Such  was  the  merciless  vengeance 
of  the  Jesuits,  their  patrons,  and 
their  partisans,  that  not  a  stone 
remained  upon  a  stone  to  mark  the 
spot  where  Port-Royal  once  stood. 

As  the  illusions  of  religious  zeal 
declined,  the  heroic  age  of  Jesuitism 
was  at  length  destined  to  pass 
away ;  and  the  last  century  will  be 
long  memorable  in  the  annals  of 
the  Order.  During  the  administra- 
tion of  the  mild  and  pacific  Fleury,  in 
the  early  years  of  the  reign  of  Louis 
XV.,  the  Jesuits  were  comparatively 
quiescent;  but  the  Cardinal  has 
thus  recorded  in  a  manuscript 
letter  his  estimate  of  the  members  : 
'  Ces  sont  d'excellents  valets,  mais 
de  mauvais  maitres.'  (They  are  ex- 
cellent servants,  but  bad  masters.) 
They  found  in  his  successor, 
Choiseul,  a  sterner  statesman,  who 
wrung  from  a  reluctant  sovereign 
the  Edict  of  November  1764,  which 
practically  suppressed  the  Order  in 
France.  By  its  decree  the  members 
were  not  permitted  to  sojourn  in  the 
country  unless  associated  with  the 
secular  clergy,  and  were  forbidden 
in  any  case  to  reside  within  a  less 
distance  than  six  leagues  from  Paris. 
Haying  been  thus  reduced  to  the 
position  of  mere  citizens,  they  pre- 
ferred exile,  and,  according  to  Mura- 


tori,  bent  their  steps  towards  Lor- 
raine.  They  attributed  that  edict 
to  the  secret  influence  of  Madame 
Pompadour,  the  mistress  of  theKing, 
although  she  did  not  survive  to  wit- 
ness their  expulsion.  Choiaenl 
owed  his  elevation  to  her  patronage, 
and,  as  they  allege,  she  was  inoensd 
against  them  for  having  refiosed^ 
semblance  of  religious  sanction  to 
the  immoral  position  in  which  she 
lived.  It  was  their  boast  tbt 
when  banished  from  a  Bonm 
Catholic  State  they  were  receiyed 
with  open  arms  in  the  dominions  of 
Frederick  the  Great,  as  well  aa  in 
those  of  Catherine  II.  Frederick, 
not  even  pretending  to  have  any 
religion  himself,  was  willing  eqnafly 
to  patronise  the  priests  of  any  creed; 
but  even  he  required  the  Order  to 
abandon  its  constitution,  and  tbe 
members  to  become  teachers  nnder 
the  name  of  The  Priests  of  fte 
Royal  School  Institute.  He  after, 
wards,  in  conversation  with  ^ 
Prince  de  Ligne,  thus  explained  his 
policy :  *  As  my  brothers,  the 
Catholic  kings,  the  most  Christian, 
the  most  Faithful  and  Apostolic, 
have  all  driven  thorn  out^  I  that  am 
the  most  heretic  collect  as  many  as 
I  can !  I  keep  up  the  race.*  Ks 
favour  might  perhaps  be  traced  to 

g)litical  motives,  for  he  and  the 
ussian  Empress  had  previonslj 
contemplated  and  were  then  nego- 
tiating the  treaty  for  the  partiiion 
of  Poland.  It  has  -been  surmiBed 
that  they  hoped  to  find  in  the 
Jesuits  whom  they  befriended :  nae- 
ful  auxiliaries  in  reconciling  the 
Poles  by  their  persuasions  to  that 
atrocious  conspiracy  of  despots. 
After  the  restoration  of  the  Older 
in  1 8 14,  the  Jesuits  were  once  mow 
welcomed  in  France  by  the  Bourbon 
dynasty,  which  was  itself  contem- 
poraneously restored  ;  but  the  Bevo- 
lution  of  1830  again  proved  fetal  to 
their  prospects,  and  they  never 
received  any  peculiar  favour  from 
Louis  Philip  of  Orleans.  The  secret 
history  of  the  recent  war  has  not  as 
yet  revealed  to  us  how  fitf»reUgiou3 


1873] 


Hie  Jesuits^  and  their  Expulsion  from  Oermany. 


687 


impulses  or  influences  might  have 
instigated  or  encouraged  a  policj 
whicm  in  its  consequences,  to  bor- 
row  a  remarkable  expression  of 
Talleyrand,  'avait  desosse  laFrance ' 
(has  disboned  France). 

The  era  which  comprises  the  reign 
of  Elizabeth  in  England  was  one  of 
the  most  execrable  periods  in  mo- 
dem European  annals.  France  was 
distracted  by  civil  wars  under  the 
masks  of  rival  religions,  its  national- 
ity disgraced  by  the  massacre  qf  its 
Huguenot  subjects,  and  its  loyalty 
attainted  by  the  assassination  of 
Henry  HI.,  its  Sovereign.  While 
the  English  Queen  was  insulted 
with  invectives  from  the  Vatican, 
as  the  English  Jezebel,  Mary  Stuart 
was  in  secret  alliance  with  her 
cousins  the  Guises,  the  founders  of 
the  Holy  League,  with  the  English 
malcontents,  the  King  of  Spain,  and 
the  Pope.  The  Jesuits,  from  their 
Spanish  predilections,  were  the  most 
active  missionaries  of  sedition ;  their 
pretext  was  the  extirpation  of 
heresy,  their  aim  the  life  of  the 
Queen,  and  their  text,  which  was 
adopted  as  a  proverb  by  their 
devotees,  that '  the  end  justified  the 
means.'  Urged  by  their  repre- 
sentations, the  Spanish  Monarch 
had  procured  from  Simancas  the 
evidences  of  his  title  to  the  English 
crown  on  the  anticipated  &ilure  of 
the  Stuart  line.  The  spirit  of  the 
Queen,  the  determination  of  her 
people,  the  wisdom  of  her  counsels, 
and  the  intrepidity  of  her  seamen, 
saved  England  from  being,  at  least 
for  a  time,  a  dependency  of  Spain. 
Can  we  feel  surprise  therefore  that 
Elizabeth,  surrounded  by  avowed 
and  secret  foes,  felt  alarm,  and  re- 
solved to  enact  severe  laws  for  the 
protection  of  her  person  as  well  as  of 
her  power  ?  We  would  willingly  draw 
the  veil  of  oblivion  over  the  hideous 
scenes  which  are  recorded  in  our 
annals  as  attendant  on  the  cruel 
administration  of  those  laws,  in 
times  when  the  rack  and  even  death 
seemed  to  have  lost  their  terrors  for 


the  in&tuated  and  fanatic  refugees. 
The  machinations  of  enemies,  foreign 
and  domestic,  forced  upon  England 
the  origin  of  that  penal  code,  which 
continued  with  modifications  and 
relaxations  down  to  the  present 
century,  when  repealed  in  1829  by 
the  measure  of  Boman  Gatholio 
Emancipation.  The  illustrious  war- 
rior who  was  the  author  of  that 
repeal,  was  not  a  man  to  be 
affrighted  by  phantoms,  but  still, 
in  deference  to  our  national  tra- 
ditions, he  introduced,  enactments 
by  which  Jesuits,  unless  natural 
born  subjects,  were  forbidden  to  come 
into  the  kingdom  without  license; 
and  the  Order  was  prohibited  from 
assisting  in  the  admission  of  any 
person  into  their  body  under  pain 
of  banishment.  These  restrictions, 
in  the  tolerant  spirit  which  now 
prevails,  have  been  allowed  to  rest 
in  oblivious  disuse. 

The  Jesuits  were  ever  desirous  of 
extending  the  sphere  of  their  devo- 
tion beyond  the  mere  centres  of 
European  civilisation,  and  early 
pushed  their  missions  into  the  most 
remote  regions  of  the  East.  Their 
over-zeal  in  Japan  led  to  frequent 
massacres,  which  were  transmuted 
by  the  Papacy  into  martyrdoms, 
while  it  suspended  and  almost  ex- 
tinguished for  ages  all  commercial 
intercourse  between  that  jealous 
people  and  the  States  of  Europe. 
The  conquest  of  the  South  Ameri- 
can continent  by  Spain  encouraged 
extensive  Jesuit  missions  amongst 
the  docile  and  timid  natives  of  the 
Indian  race,  which  necessarily  in- 
troduced some  usages  of  civilisa- 
tion. They  succeeded  in  supplant* 
ing  a  debased  and  cruel  idola^y  by 
more  mild  and  more  attractive 
ceremonials,  but  the  achievement  of 
which  the  Jesuit  missionaries  ought 
to  be  most  proud  was  the  settlement 
they  founded  in  Paraguay.  They 
first  entered  these  fertile  regions 
about  the  year  1580,  and  the 
territory  on  which  they  settled 
was  the  rich  district  lying  be- 
xxa 


TJie  Jesuits,  arid  tJieir  Expulsion  from  Qermany. 


[May 


tween  the  znonntains  of  Potosi 
and  the  confines  of  the  river 
De  la  Plata.  Their  romantic 
Buccess  in  establishing  a  Utopian 
Eepnblic  may  have  been  exagge- 
rated, bnt  we  have  the  authori^  of 
Montesquiea  that  it  was  a  glorious 
institution,  being  the  first  that  ever 
exhibited  in  these  countries  religion 
joined  with  humanity;  and  that,  by 
combining  those  principles  with 
sentiments  of  honour,  sought  to 
repair  the  devastations  of  the 
Spaniards.'  As  colonists  the  Jesliits 
exhibited  their  jealousies,  for  in  1690 
they  obtained  an  arbitrary  mandate 
prohibiting  other  Spaniards  from 
entering  the  territory  without  their 
permission.  They  were  thus  enabled 
to  establish  an  independent  theo- 
cratic Government,  but  their  efforts 
to  semi-evangelise  the  natives  ex- 
cited jealousies  in  the  governors 
of  neighbouring  provinces.  Spain 
had  ceded  a  portion  of  her  territory 
to  Portuguese  Brazil ;  and  it  was  in- 
tended to  transfer  the  Jesuits  with 
the  soil,  but  they  refused  to  be 
treated  as  serfs  or  slaves.  They 
were  then  charged  with  instigating 
the  Indian  races  to  revolt  against 
the  treaty  of  Cession,  and  the  revolt 
was  followed  in  1767  by  their  expul- 
sion. That  expulsion  was  directed 
by  Roman  Catholic  authorities  and 
enforced  by  Koman  Catholic  officials, 
but,  according  to  the  details  which 
have  reached  us,  it  was  attended 
with  circumstances  not  only  cruel 
but  even  sacrilegious. 

The  ultimate  fate  of  the  Order, 
terminating  in  its  temporary  fall, 
arose  from  the  avowed  hostility 
of  the  two  Eoman  Catholic  nations 
of  Europe  most  blindly  devoted  to 
the  Church  of  Rome.  No  soil  was 
so  congenial  for  a  Jesuit  settle- 
ment as  Portugal,  which  resembled 
a  vast  monastery  rather  than  a 
kingdom.  Jesuitism  had  been  in- 
troduced as  early  as  1 540  by  Francis 
Xavier,  a  name  in  its  annals  second 
only  to  that  of  its  founder.     Being 


also  a  native  of  Navarre,  he  was  one 
of  the  original  associates  of  Loyola. 
He  aspired  to  render  his  spiritual 
progress  co-extensive  with  the 
maritime  discoveries  of  the  great 
Portuguese  navigator  Vasco  de 
Gama,  and,  having  acquired  the 
title  of '  The  Apostle  of  the  Indias,' 
was  also  canonised.  That  cbuntiy 
had  been  thrown  into  the  depths  of 
distraction  and  distress  by  the 
frightful  earthquake  of  1755,  &^  Lis- 
bon, in  which  it  was  said  that  50,000 
of  Ihe  inhabitants  had  perished 
A  conspiracy,  known  in  Portuguese 
history  as  the  Tamoras  oonspiracj, 
was  detected  by  the  failure  of  an 
attempt  in  September  1758,  by  a 
mounted  party  armed  with  mns- 
quetoons,  to  shoot  the  King.  The 
minister,  Sebastian  de  Ganralho, 
afterwards  created  Marquis  of 
Pombal,  had  obtained  from  Bene- 
dict XrV.  a  brief  for  the  refonu  of 
abuses  in  the  Jesuit  disci]^e, 
which  aroused  their  hostility.  Gar- 
valho  was  supported  in  hi8  design 
by  Cardinal  Saldanha,  Patriarch  of 
Portugal,  who  was  appointed  hj 
the  Pope  visitor  and  reformer  of 
the  Jesuits.  The  brief  of  the  Pope 
ordained  that  the  Order  should  be  re» 
modelled,  so  far  as  regarded  its  rela- 
tions with  the  bishops  and  the  State. 
The  Cardinal  Patriarch  was  charged 
with  this  reform,  which  the  Jesuits 
resisted,  insisting  that  it  would 
render  the  Patriarch  in  effect  the 
Pope  of  Portugal.  SuspicionB  of 
having  been  implicatea  in  the 
conspiracy  against  the  life  of  the 
King  fell  on  some  members  of 
the  Order,  who  were  anesied 
and  imprisoned  in  the  Fort  of 
Junquiera,  where  torture  was  re- 
sorted to  in  order  to  extort  con- 
fessions. The  Jesuit  writers  assert 
that  several  of  those  prisoners  died 
miserably  in  the  dungeons  of  Pom- 
bal. Gabriel  Malagrida,  an  Italian 
Jesuit,  who  had  been  the  oomi&aat 
of  some  of  the  guilty  couEnpirators, 
was    brought  to   trial  before  the 


'  rUfprU  des  Lais,  c.  6. 


1873] 


The  JeauitSf  and  their  ExpuUion  from  Oermtmy. 


689 


SorereigQ  Goart  in  the  capital,  and, 
it  appearing  that  he  had  in  Tarions 
letters  prophesied  the  death  of  the 
Sovereign,  he  was  condemned.  His 
execution  was,  however,  suspended 
in  consequence  of  the  immunitj 
which  ecclesiastics  then  claimed 
from  the  sentences  of  civil  courts, 
and  his  case  was  remitted  to  the 
Inquisition,  a  tribunal  which  had 
been  previously  favoured  and  extolled 
by  his  Order.  He  was  p>gain  con- 
demned by  that  tribunal,  composed 
exclusively  of  ecclesiastics,  but,  as 
the  Jesuits  alleged,  of  their  deadly 
enemies  the  Dominicans,  on  a  pre- 
tended charge  of  heresy ;  and,  having 
been  first  strangled,  his  body  was 
publicly  burned  in  the  Square  de 
Rosico  at  Lisbon.  Besides  their 
resistance  to  the  proposed  religious 
reform,  there  was  a  political  accu- 
sation against  them — that  they  pre- 
tended to  universal  dominion, 
sought  to  establish  in  the  territory  of 
Brazil  under  the  Portuguese  Crown 
the  same  power  which  they  had 
exercised  in  Paraguay,  and  to  sub- 
stitute an  ecclesiastical  democracy 
for  the  royal  anthority.  These 
several  causes  combined  led  to  the 
decree  of  the  3rd  of  September,  1759, 
which  directed  the  summary  ex- 
pulsion of  the  Jesuits  from  all  the 
territories  subject  to  the  HoDse  of 
Braganza.  Under  that  decree, 
which  declared  them  traitors  and 
rebels  as  well  as  confiscating  all 
their  property,  the  members  of  the 
Order  to  the  number  of  600  were 
expelled  from  the  kingdom.  Some 
of  the  Jesuits  having  refused  to  obey 
the  decree,  the  bold  and  powerfal 
Hiinister  caused  them  to  be  seized 
hy  the  soldiery,  to  be  embarked  by 
force  in  ships,  and  transported  to 
the  States  of  the  Church.  Clement 
XIII.  having  complained  of  the 
sacrilege,  Pombal,  in  1760,  caused 
the  Papal  Nuncio  to  be  conducted 
to  the  frontier.  A  rupture  appeared 
imminent  between  one  of  the  most 


bigoted  of  the  Roman  Catholic 
States  and  the  head  of  the  Church, 
when  the  Pope  died.  He  was  suc- 
ceeded byGanganelli,  who,  as 
Clement  XIV.,  restored  harmony 
between  the  Roman  See  and  the 
Portuguese  Crown. 

The  example  of  this  expulsion  was 
speedily  followed  by  Spain.  All  the 
Jesuits  in  that  country,  amounting 
to  6,000  were  secretly  seized  on  the 
same  day  throughout  all  the  pro- 
vinces. The  Jesuit  authors  attri- 
bute this  arbitrary  measure  to  the 
Count  d'Aranda,  President  of  the 
Council  of  Castile,  and  allege  that 
it  was  caused  by  the  influence 
which  the  Society  had  by  their 
religious  teaching  legitimately  ac- 
quired over  the  minds  of  the  people. 
The  Spanish  authorities,  on  the 
other  hand,  asserted  that  treason- 
able papers  had  been  discovered  in 
one  of  their  colleges,  declaring  that 
the  King  was  illegitimate,  and  not 
the  rightful  heir  to  the  throne.  The 
order  for  their  expulsion,  signed  by 
his  hand,  was  addressed  under  seals 
impressed  with  the  royal  arms  to 
the  Governors  of  Provinces  and 
Captains- General,  with  dii*ections 
not  to  be  opened  until  the  appointed 
day,  on  pain  of  death.  So  peremp- 
tory were  its  terms  that  if  a  single 
Jesuit,  even  an  invalid,  should  be 
found  after  their  embarcation,  the 
official  charged  should  answer  for  it 
with  his  head.*  Having  been  simul- 
taneously seized  and  embarked,  to 
the  number  of  6,000,  in  wretched 
ships,  they  were  insultingly  trans- 
ported to  the  Papal  shores,  with 
this  intimation,  that  as  they  were 
so  obedient  to  the  Pope  they  should 
become  his  own  subjects.  The 
French  ambassador  represented  to 
his  Court  that  the  vessels  in  which 
they  were  crowded  resembled  slave 
ships,  and  Clement  XIII.,  indig- 
nant at  the  outrage,  issued  orders  to 
warn  off  the  Spaniards  and  to  turn 
the  guns  of  Civita  Yecchia  against 


<  V6gli9e  peitdafU  lei  qwttre  demiers  SUeUi,  par  M.  Capeflgne.    Parii,  1858.  Vol.  III. 
p.  177. 


640 


The  Jesmit,  and  fheir  Esqmition  from  Qermawy. 


[May 


them.  The  Pope  was  natnrallj 
irritated  at  his  States  being  con- 
verted into  a  prison  for  stich  re- 
ligions orders  as  it  should  please 
Boman  Catholic  nations  to  banish 
from  their  "homes,  on  the  allegation 
that  their  presence  was  dangerous 
to  public  order.  The  French  then 
occupied  the  maritime  coast  of 
Corsica,  where  the  patriot  Paoli 
had  raised  the  cry  of  independence. 
The  ports  were  neutral,  and  permis- 
sion having  been  given  to  the  pro- 
scribed, they  entered  the  harbour 
of  Ajaccio,  a  city  which  was  almost 
contemporaneously  the  birthplace  of 
Napoleon  I.,  where  they  slept  for 
a  time  on  the  rock  of  San  Boni- 
facio under  such  shelter  as  they 
could  procure.  Driven  as  outlaws 
from  their  homes,  abandoned,  and 
denied  an  asylum  even  by  their 
natural  protector,  they  were  loud  in 
their  clamours  against  the  head  of 
their  Church.  The  Republic  of 
G^noa  having  subsequently  ceded 
the  island  to  France,  the  first  care 
of  Choiseul  was  to  direct  their  im- 
mediate expulsion.  Again  expelled, 
they  turned  towards  the  Genoese 
coast;  they  next  presented  them- 
selves at  Bologna ;  and  ultimately 
settling  at  Ferrara,  which  had  once 
been  the  asylum  of  Calvin  and 
other  Beformers,  they  mingled  with 
the  different  clerical  orders,  and 
spread  over  Italy.*  In  contrasting 
the  severities  thus  practised  by  Ultra- 
Boman  Catholic  States  against  the 
Jesuits  with  the  mild  but  firm  pro- 
cedure of  the  German  Chancellor, 
the  most  zealous  of  their  devotees 
cannot  evade  the  admission  that  the 
governments  of  those  States  must 
have  been  most  grievously  provoked 
and  incensed. 

The  events  in  Spain  and  Por- 
tugal immediately  forced  the  adop- 
tion of  similar  policy  on  other 
Boman  Catholic  States,  and  the 
Jesuits  were  summarily  expelled 
from  the  Kingdom  of  the  Two 
Sicilies  and  the  Duchy  of  Parma. 


In  the  beginning  of  1769,  the  am- 
bassadors from  the  Bourbon  Courts 
of  France,  Spain,  and  Naples,  ap- 
peared  at  Borne,  jointly  to  demand 
from  Clement  XIII.  the  final  aboli- 
tion of  the  Order.  The  humilia- 
tion which  awaited  the  Pope  was 
beyond  his  endurance ;  he  was 
seized  with  convulsions,  during 
which  he  expired.  The  attitude 
of  the  Boman  Catholic  Courts  was 
so  threatening,  and  their  influence 
with  the  Conclave  so  powerfnl,  that 
Lorenzo  Ganganelli  was  selected  for 
the  triple  crown,  as  the  man  best 
suited  for  their  purposes.  Belong- 
ing to  the  Franciscans,  who  hiid 
ever  been  antagonistic  to  the  Jesuits, 
he  had  been  a  follower  of  the 
Augustinian  theology,  and  -was  not 
altogether  free  frt>m  JansenisizL 
The  Jesuits  even  went  so  far  as  to 
pray  publicly  in  their  churches  for 
the  conversion  of  the  Pope.  The 
pontificate  of  Clement  XTV.  has 
been  rendered  memorable  in  histoij 
by  the  Papal  decree  of  July  21, 
1773,  ^hich  in  its  policy  adopted 
the  maxim  of  Lorenzo  Bicd,  the 
inflexible  General  of  the  Jesuits, 
Sint  ut  sunt,  aut  non  suni — ^Let  i3S 
be  as  we  are,  or  let  us  not  be! 
That  decree  declared  that^  from  the 
very  origin  of  the  Order,  sorrow, 
jealousies,  and  dissensions  arose,  not 
only  among  its  own  members  but 
between  them  and  the  other  reh- 
giouB  orders  and  their  colleges. 
Afber  further  declaring  that,  ui^ed 
as  its  head  by  a  sense  of  duty  to 
restore  the  harmony  of  the  Churchy 
and  feeling  convinced  that  the 
Society  could  no  longer  subserve 
the  uses  for  which  it  was  created, 
and  on  other  grounds  of  prudence 
and  governmental  wisdom,  he  by 
his  decree  abolished  the  Order  <^ 
Jesuits,  its  offices,  houses,  and  in- 
stitutes.  He  felt  that,  politicaUy, 
their  affiliations  had  entangled  him 
in  an  inextricable  net ;  in  break- 
ing from  his  early  religions  con- 
nections, he  seemed  to  consider  the 


»  Hiataire  de  la  Compagnie  de  Jisua,  par  T.  CrAtineau-Joly,    Vol.  V.  pp.  306-7, 


ISTS] 


The  Jesuits^  and  their  Expulsion  from  Oermany. 


641 


Order  as  a  warlike  institntion,  nn- 
snited  to  a  state  of  peace,  aad  he 
aimed  bj  his  energetic  act  at  the 
adaptation  of  Catholicism  to  the 
spirit  of  the  age.  The  other  reli- 
^ous  orders  at  Borne  were  jealous 
that  Jesuits  should  have  been  the 
confessors  of  Sovereigns  at  West- 
minster, Madrid,  Vienna,  Versailles, 
liisbon,  and  Naples.  The  influ- 
ences of  the  Dominicans,  the  Bene- 
dictines, and  the  Oratorians  were 
accordingly  exercised  for  their  sup- 
pression. The  Jesuits  had  enter- 
tained hopes  of  averting  their  doom 
through  the  fears  or  irresolution  of 
the  Pope,  and  they  attributed  to  him 
some  expressions  of  remorse — 
Compulsus  feci,  compuUtis  fed^  seem- 
ing to  forget  that  if  the  expres- 
sions were  ever  used,  he  referred 
alone  to  the  compulsion  of  the 
CathoUc  powers.  The  Papal  Bull 
Uomintu  Bedemptor  nosier  was  at 
first  resisted  by  the  Jesuits,  and 
their  Greneral,  Lorenzo  Bicci,  was 
sent  to  the  Castle  of  St.  Angeio. 
Bemardine  B^nzi,  a  female  Py- 
thoness, having  predicted  the  death 
of  the  Pope,  two  Jesuits,  Coltrano 
and  Venissa,  who  were  suspected 
of  having  instigated  her  prophe- 
cies, were  consigned  to  the  same 
prison.  All  that  follows  relating 
to  the  fate  of  Oanganelli  is  of  mere 
historic  interest;  his  end  is  shrouded 
in  mystery,  which  has  *  been  as 
yet,  and  is  likely  to  continue,  im- 
penetrable. According  to  the  re- 
velations of  Cardinal  de  Bemis, 
Granganelli  was  himself  apprehen- 
sive of  dying  by  poison,  and  a 
sinister  rumour  respecting  a  cup  of 
chocolate  with  an  in^sion  of  Aqtia 
de  Tofana,  administered  by  a  pious 
attendant,  was  generally  prevalent 
throughout  Europe;  but  the  time 
has  long  since  past  for  an  inquest 
over  the  deathbed  of  Clement  XIV. 
The  Jesuit  Order  remained  in 
abeyance  for  a  period  of  forty-two 
years,  until  Pius  VII.  on  his  return 
to  Bome,  after  his  liberation  from 


the  captiviiy  he  endured  under 
Napoleon  I.  at  Eontainebleau,  issued 
his  brief  of  August  7,  1814,  solid- 
tudo  oimiium,hj  which  he  authorised 
the  surviving  members  of  the  Order 
again  to  live  according  to  the  rules 
of  their  founder,  to  admit  novices, 
and  to  found  colleges.  With  sin- 
gular fJEktuity  the  Papal  Edict  for 
the  restoration  of  the  Jesuits,  con- 
tradicting its  own  title,  assigns  on 
the  face  of  the  document  as  the 
principal  reason  for  its  being  issued 
the  recommendation  contained  iu 
the  gracious  despatch  of  August  1 1, 
1800,  received  from  Paul,  the  then 
reigning  Emperor  of  the  Bussias.^ 
We  have  the  histories  of  all  nations 
concurring  that  Paul  was  noto- 
riously mad,  and  within  six  months 
from  the  date  of  that  gracious 
despatch  he  was  strangled  iu 
his  palace  by  the  members  of 
his  own  Court,  as  the  only  pos- 
sible means,  as  they  conceive^  of 
rescuing  the  Empire  from  his  insane 
and  vicious  despotism.  In  return 
probably  for  the  successful  inter- 
cession of  Paul,  Thadeus  Brzo- 
zowski,  a  Pole  by  birth  but  a  Bussian 
subject,  was  elected  the  first  General 
of  the  restored  order.  We  find  a 
striking  comment  on  his  recommen- 
dation in  the  Imperial  Ukase  of  his 
successor,  the  Emperor  Alexander, 
by  which,  in  June  1 8 1 7,  he  banished 
the  Jesuits  from  all  his  dominions. 
Spain,  the  scene  of  their  former 
ignominioDS  treatment,  was,  under 
the  degraded  rule  of  tiie  Ferdinan- 
dian  dynasty,  the  first  country  to 
which  they  were  recalled ;  but  they 
were  soon  again  expelled  by  the 
National  Cortes.  Our  limits  here 
confine  us  to  a  simple  categoij  of 
their  subsequent  expulsions  from 
Boman  Catholic  otates :  from 
France  in  183 1,  from  Saxony  in  the 
same  year,  from  Portugal  again  in 
1834,  from  Spain  again  in  1835, 
from  France  again  in  1845,  from  the 
whole  of  Switzerland,  including  the 
Boman  Catholic  Cantons,  in  1847, 


•  Parliamentary  Debates,  1815.    Vol.  XXXI.  p.  1098. 


642 


The  Jesuits^  and  their  Expulsion  from  Germany.  [Maj 


and  in  1848  from  Bavaria  and  other 
Oerman  States.  In  the  Bevolution 
of  1848,  they  were  expelled  from 
every  Italian  State,  even  from  the 
territories  of  the  Pope ;  but  on  the 
counter  Revolution  they  rotumed, 
to  be  again  expelled  in  1859  from 
Lombardy,  Parma,  Modena  and  the 
Legations.  They  have  had  to  en- 
dure even  a  more  recent  vicissitude, 
for,  in  December  187 1,  a  measure 
relating  to  the  vexed  question,  the 
Union  of  Church  and  State,  received 
the  sanction  of  the  National  Coun- 
cil (Bundesraih)  of  Switzerland, 
by  which  the  Jesuits  were  prohibited 
from  settling  in  the  country,  from 
interfering  even  in  education,  or 
from  founding  or  re-establishing 
colleges  throughout  the  Federal 
territories.  They  have  thus  within 
a  recent  period  received  sentence 
of  banishment  from  almost  every 
Roman  Catholic  Government ;  but 
they  still  remain  in  Rome  to  concert 
with  the  Pope,  within  the  walls  of 
the  Vatican,  their  machinations 
against  the  peace  and  liberties  of 
Italy. 

The  events  of  three  centuries  that 
are  past  have  been  thus  briefly  pre- 
sented to  our  view,  and  we  now 
proceed  to  describe  the  modern  re- 
appearance of  the  Jesuits  in  the 
British  Islands.  On  the  upheaving 
of  society  in  France  by  the  great 
revolution,  the  ancient  aristocracy, 
as  emigrants,  attended  by  the 
French  religious  orders,  found  a 
generous  reception  and  a  secui'e 
asylum  in  England.  The  members 
of  the  Order  after  its  suppression 
assumed  a  variety  of  names,  and 
those  who  first  settled  in  this 
country  called  themselves  Peres  de 
la  Foi,  or  Fathers  of  the  Faith,  but 
they  were  Jesuits  in  disguise.  The 
patron  under  whose  protection  they 
arrived  was  a  member  of  the  House 
of  Broglie,  which  ranked  high 
amongst  the  old  noblesse,  and  whose 
father,  a  Marshal  of  that  name,  had 
perished  in  1794  by  the   guillotine. 


The  banished  refugees  locatedihem* 
selves  in  Kensii^gton  Hoase,  an 
antiquated  and  stately  building, 
nearly  opposite  the  avenue  leading 
to  the  Palace,  a  house  whidi 
had  in  former  days  been  the  resi. 
dence  of  one  of  the  many  mis- 
tresses of  Charles  II.  The  numaon 
within  which  the  most  profligftte  of 
our  Stuart  kings  had  been  fasci- 
nated by  the  voluptuous  blandish. 
ments  of  the  French  ooartes&n 
Louisa  Quenouaille,  whom  he  en- 
nobled as  Duchess  of  Portsmoniii, 
thus  became  a  sanctuary  for  the 
pious  followers  of  Saint  Igoatiiis. 
A  brilliant  essayist,  the  late  &cliazd 
Lalor  Sheil,  who  had  been  a  pnpil 
in  the  establishment,  has  bequeathed 
to  us  in  his  BecoUections  of  ^ 
Jesuits  some  striking  sketches  both 
of  the  men  and  of  the  mannen 
of  the  Community.^  As  the  writer 
was  to  the  last  a  strict  adheraii 
of  the  Roman  Catholic  religioii, 
he  cannot  be  suspected  of  hariiig 
satirically  over-coloured  his  por- 
traitd.  The  Fathers  are  represent- 
ed by  him  as  having  reoussnmed 
their  Continental  costume,  loog 
robes  of  coarse  black  doth  witJi  a 
cowl  thrown  over  the  head,  and  a 
girdle  of  strong  black  leather  ronnd 
the  waist,  to  which  a  rosaiyand  a 
crucifix  were  attached.  We  are 
assured  by  our  authority  that  there 
were  amongst  the  members  one  at 
least  who,  according  to  the  fashion 
of  the  foreign  cloister,  was  verj 
sparing  of  his  ablations,  probablj 
deeming  '  uncleanliness  amongst 
the  incidents  attached  to  devotion/ 
We  select  four  of  the  indiridml 
portraits,  drawn  from  vivid  ^ecolle^ 
tions,  in  which  the  high  finish  of  a 
master  is  apparent. 

•  Pire  Alnot  *  was  at  the  h«id  of  • 
society  called  '  The  Sodalitj/  an  iostitiitMS 
which  is  adopted  in  all  Jesuit  fleminaiitf 
and  which  selects  the  Viigin  JCaiyastk 
object  of  its  veneration.  AsepTHUdM- 
pel  was  dedicated  to  her  by  the  Pire  Abwt, 
which  he  look  a  special  care  in  adomia^ 
It  was  painted  with  green,  repusentJii 


'  Sketches,  Legal  and  Political, 


1873] 


The  JesuiUf  and  their  ExptiUion  fr&m  Oennany. 


643 


heaven,  and  waa  etndded  over  with  span- 
gles bjr  way  of  stars.  I  always  looked 
upon  him  with  an  instinctive  aversion,  in 
wnich  I  was  confirmed  bj  a  Genoese  Je- 
suit, the  F&re  Molinari,  who  represented 
him  as  a  person  of  the  darkest  and  most 
€vil  character.  '  Molinari '  was  the  only 
one  in  the  whole  school  who  knew  a  word 
of  Greek.  Though  entirely  free  from  the 
monkish  gloom  of  the  Fire  AlDot,  there 
was  a  large  infosion  of  fanaticism  in  his 
character.  He  believed  firmly  in  witch- 
craft, and  was  versed  in  all  the  mysteries 
of  demonology.  The  bodily  presence  of 
the  Devil  was  among  the  artides  of  his 
creed,  and  I  recollect  him  to  have  told  me 
stories  of  the  appearance  of  Lucifer  with 
•nch  a  minnte  specification  of  circumstance 
as  made  *  mv  fell  of  hair  to  stir  as  life 
were  in*t.'  Another  point  on  which  he 
was  a  little  weak  was  the  fatal  infiuence 
of  the  '  niumin^ '  in  Germany. 

I  have  heard  him  describe  the  mid- 
night orgies  of  the  German  philosophers, 
who,  according  to  him,  assembled  in 
chambers  covered  with  rich  scarlet  cloth, 
and  brilliant  with  infernal  lights  where, 
by  the  power  of  sorcery,  every  luxury 
was  collected,  and  where  men  devoted 
themselves  to  Satan  in  a  registry  kept  by 
the  secretary  of  the  Society,  where  everv 
man's  name  was  enrolled  in  his  own  blood. 
He  was  exceedingly  mild  in  his  temper, 
but  had  frequent  recourse  to  punishment 
of  a  very  intense  sort  He  had  a  whip 
made  of  several  strong  eordswith  knots  at 
Tegolar  intervals,  wiUi  which  he  used  to 
lash  the  hands  of  the  scholars  in  such  a 
way  as  to  make  the  blood  leap  from  them. 
He  had  a  very  extraordinary  method  of 
reconciling  the  devouter  students  to  his  tor- 
ture. He  sentenced  you  first  to  nine  lashes, 
and  then  ordered  you  to  hold  out  your 
hand.  '  Offer  it  up  to  God  and  His  saints,' 
he  would  say,  '  as  a  sacrifice.'  He  would 
then  select  you  nine  saints.  The  first 
blow  was  to  be  suffered  in  honour  of  St. 
Ignatius—'  Aliens,  mon  enfant,  au  nom  du 
plus  grand  de  tons  les  saints,  saint  Ignace,' 
and  £>wn  went  the  whip  from  a  vigorous 
and  muscular  arm.  *  Oh !  mon  Dieu  I ' 
cried  the  little  martyr,  withdrawing  his 
hand  after  the  first  operation,  '^lons, 
mon  enfant,  au  nom  de  saint  Fran9oi8 
Xavier,'  and  he  inflicted  a  second  laceration 
on  the  culprit.  'Mais,  mon  pire,  ayes 
piti^ ;  jamais,  jamais  je  ne  ferai  des  soU- 
cismes.  Oh  I  mon  pire,  iamus.'  The 
Jesuit  was  inexorable.  *Allons,  mon  en- 
fi&nt,  an  nom  de  saint  Louis  de  Gonsague,' 
and  thus  he  proceeded  till  he  had  gone 

through  his  calendar  of  infliction 

The  person  who  next  to  Molinari  attracted 
my  attention  was  '  Le  P&re  Oaperon.'  He 
was  a  great  Oriental  scholar,  was  regarded 
as  a  master  of  the  Arabic  language,  and 


was,  I  believe,  as  profoondly  versed  in  the 
Koran  as  in  the  Gospel.  He  believed  him- 
self to  be  occasionaUy  tempted  by  the  De- 
vil, in  a  more  direct  and  palpable  fashion 
than  Satan  is  apt  to  use.  This  con- 
viction made  him  frequently  an  object  of 
entertainment  with  us.  When  he  said* 
Mass,  he  used  to  throw  himself  into  such 
strange  attitudes,  and  indulge  in  such 
extra-clerical  ejaculations,  that  the  French- 
men used  to  rejoice  whenever  he  adminis- 
tered to  their  devotions.  The  poor  man 
conceived  that  he  was  struggliug  with  the 
demon  in  a  corporeal  wrestle,  and  cast 
himself  in  postures  corresponding  with  his 
grotesque  delusion.  Sometimes  he  used 
to  bid  the  flend  begone  to  the  Rf'd  Sea, 
and  at  other  times  used  to  stamp,  as  if  he 
had  got  the  head  of  Lucifer  under  his 
feet. 

After  the  transfer  of  the  establish- 
ment to  Stonjbnrst  in  Lancashire, 
we  are  tbns  introduced  to  an  English 
Jesuit,  Father  Beeves : 

His  favourite  tenet  was  that  England 
was  the  dower  of  the  Blessed  Virgiu,  and 
had  been  assigned  to  her  by  a  peculiar  gift 
from  Heaven.  Aceordinglv,  in  his  spiritual 
exhortations,  he  never  called  England  by 
any  other  name  than  Dos  Miurise.  .  .  . 
He  used  to  fall  into  paroxysms  of  pro- 
phesy in  the  pulpit,  when  he  announced 
that  England  would  be  speedily  converted, 
that  the  Virgin  would  be  restored  to  her 
rights,  and  that  she  would  be  reinstate  in 
the  plenitude  of  possession  in  'Dos  Marise.' 
.  .  .  '  The  Retreat '  is  a  period  of  annual 
seclusion,  which  lasts  about  seven  days, 
during  which  the  students  are  forbidden  to 
speak,  even  at  their  meals,  and  are  com- 
pelled to  expend  their  time  in  religious 
contemplation.  In  all  Jesuit  colleges,  some 
days  in  every  year  are  appropriated  to  the 
holy  sequestration  from  which  it  derives 
its  name.  To  persons  living  in  the  world, 
it  might  be  of  considerable  use  to  retire  for 
a  limited  period  from  its  pursuits,  but  I 
question  whether  it  does  school-boys  (who 
have  at  a  Jesuit  school  at  least  an  abund- 
ance of  daily  prayer)  any  very  substantial 
or  permanent  good.  However,  everything 
that  could  be  devised  in  the  way  of  ex- 
ternal form  was  resorted  to  for  the  pur- 
pose of  giving  impressions  to  the  observ- 
ances of  this  dismal  week.  Adjoining 
the  great  dormitory  there  was  a  large 
apartment  situated  immediately  between 
the  two  great  towers.  Here  a  small  altar, 
with  a  single  lamp  burning  npon  it,  was 
placed ;  all  other  light  was  excluded.  The 
students  assembled  in  this  spot.  An  hour 
of  taciturn  meditation  was  flrst  ordained. 
This  was  followed  by  a  sermon.  Father 
Beeves  appeared  at  the  altar  in  the  robes 


644 


The  Jemiis,  and  their  Expulsion  from  Oermany. 


[M.y 


of  his  Order ;  but,  both  in  the  selection  of 
his  subjects  and  in  the  manner  of  treating 
them,  inflicted  npon  ns  a  tedinm  which 
superseded  all  necessity  of  penance.  His 
favonrite  topic  was  the  overthrow  of  the 
fallen  angels.  He  described  the  whole 
campaign  in  heaven,  in  which  Lucifer  had 
been  worsted,  with  a  minuteness  of  celestial 
strate^  which  I  shall  not  cease  to  remem- 
ber. His  favourite  text  was,  'Quasi  m- 
dentibus  detractL'  The  pulling  down  of 
Satan  with  a  rope  from  heaven  was  the 
subject  of  many  and  many  a  description, 
which  in  elaborate  particularity  of  incident 
it  would  be  difficult  to  surpass. 

The  present  seat  of  British  Je* 
Boitism  woald  seem  to  be  the  mansion 
and  demesne  at  Stonyhurst,  pre- 
sented to  the  spiritual  commnnity 
by  the  late  Thomas  Weld  of  Lnl- 
worth  Castle,  who,  in  return,  was 
created  a  Cardinal  in  1820,  by  Pius 
VIII.  Several  branches  of  this 
sacred  corporation  have  been  since 
established  in  other  quarters  of  the 
country,  and  a  sum  of  i6,oooL  being 
in  the  hands  of  the  last  Irish  Jesuit 
who  had  survived  the  abolition  of 
the  Order,  it  was  invested  in  tiie 
purchase  of  an  estate  in  Ireland,  and 
in  the  establishment  of  Clongowes. 
In  estimating  the  character  of  the 
Jesuit  Order  as  existing  in  England, 
the  eloquent  rhetorician  from  whom 
we  have  quoted,  and  who  may  he 
considered  both  an  admirer  and  an 
apologist,  declared :  *  I  am  at  a  loss 
to  discover  any  evil  to  society,  and 
much  more  surprised  to  hear  it 
suggested  that  any  danger  can  accrue 
to  the  State,  from  the  extension  of 
a  body  which  is  far  more  a  literary 
than  a  poUtical  confederacy  in  these 
countries.'  He,  however,  added  this 
candid  admission :  '  The  general 
policy  of  the  Order  may  have  been 
round  injurious  to  the  well-being  of 
States,  in  which  they  acquired  an 
illegitimate  ascendancy;  their  diplo- 
matists and  politicians  may  have 
accommodated  their  morality  with 
too  ready  a  flexibility  to  the  inclina- 
tions of  kings  and  of  women ;  they 
may  have  placed  the  confessional  too 
near  the  cabinets  of  the  one  and  the 
boudoirs  of  the  other.'  We  have  also 
his  cusMurance  that  the  body  is  *  &.r 


more  a  literary  than  a  politicaL  ood> 
federacy  in  ihis  country,  the  rule  of 
the  Order  being  that  a  Jesuit  should 
entertain  and  teach  no  political 
tenets  which  are  not  in  conformiij 
with  the  institutions  under  which  he 
Hves.'  Whatever  political  sentim^itfi 
they  may  secretly  impart  in  thdr 
religious  homilies,  it  is  but  justice 
to  avow  that  the  English  Jesuits 
would  seem  to  have  cautiously  se- 
cluded themselves  from  the  parfy 
conflicts  of  the  kingdom ;  but  the 
Irish  branch  of  the  Order,  catching 
the  perilous  infection  which  is 
endemic  in  that  island,  is  beginning 
to  disavow  and  disdain  the  prudent 
reserve  of  their  English  brethren. 

From  the  days  when  the  Popes, 
asserting  under  the  donation  of  Con- 
stantine,  nowadmitted  even  by  Papal 
authorities  to  have  been  a  forgery, 
dominion  over  all  the  Islands  of  ike 
West,  transferred  Ireland  to  the 
British  Crown,  its  history  has  exem- 
plified the  maxim  that  superstition 
differs  from  every  other  description 
of  power,  being  most  impliritly 
obeyed  in  countries  most  remote  from 
its  seat.  The  Papacy  has  ever  been, 
and  still  continues  to  be,  most  ad- 
mired and  adored  where  its  govern- 
ment and  its  despotism  are  least  un- 
derstood. All  the  later  wars  with 
England,  in  which  Ireland  was  in- 
variably destined  to  be  subdued,  were 
wars  of  religion  as  well  as  of  race. 
The  Jesuits  were  believed  to  have 
been  early  bound  by  a  vow  of  devo- 
tion to  Spain,  so  that  even  Popes 
have  protested  against  the  selectbn 
of  their  General  from  the  natives  of 
that  realm.  After  they  had  instigat- 
ed, towards  the  close  of  the  sixteenth 
centuiy,the  Spanish  invasion  of  Ihat 
island,  Jesuit  missionaries  tracked 
the  footsteps  of  Tyrone's  rebellion 
against  Elizabeth ;  tiiey  accompanied 
the  camp,  and  presided  over  the 
oombined  counsels  of  the  foreigii 
invader  and  the  native  rebeL  In 
the  subsequent  war  for  the  restora- 
tion of  the  Stuart  dynasty,  James 
II.,  in  imitation  of  his  royal  patron 
and  ally  of  France,  selected  Father 


1878] 


The  JesuUsy  cmd  their  Uxpulnon  firom  Oermany, 


645 


Petre,   a  Jesuit,  as  his  confessor. 
In   their  spiritual  communications 
the   ex-king  learned  that    lawless 
things  hecome  lawful    when  they 
tend  to  serve  religious  ends;  while, 
by  following  the  poKtical  counsels 
of  his  spiritual  adviser,  James  for- 
feited for  himself  and  his  descendants 
for  ever  the  crowns  of  three  king- 
doms.    Innocent  XI.  was  opposed 
to  the  aggressive  ambition  of  Louis 
XrV.  ;   and,  by  a  strange  reversal 
of  their  policy,  the  Jesuits,  who  in 
their  extreme  Ultramontanism  had 
even  denied  the  claim  of  CEcumenic 
Councils  to  control  the  Papacy,  be- 
came estranged  from  the  Pope,  and 
even,  mutinied  against  his  authority. 
Elated  by  their  success  in  having  led 
to  the  revocation  of  the  Edict  of 
Nantes,  and  flattered  by  promises  of 
forther  ascendancy,  they  attached 
themselves  to  the  French  King,  and 
sustained  in  Ireland  the  desperate 
schemes  of  Tyrconnell.     In  order  to 
secure  his  support  to  their  ^designs, 
their  General  forwarded  to  him  a 
special   diploma  under  the  seal  of 
the  Order  dated  at  Home,  Septem- 
ber   2,    1 686,    conferring  peculiar 
favours   on   '  lUmo  et  Excmo  Duo 
Ricardo  Talbot  Comiti  de  Tiroonnel, 
supremo  Regia  Militari,  in  Hibemii 
Prasfecto,'  &c.^    Thus   encouraged 
we   can  readily  conceive  how  his 
practices  led  to  the  calamitous  events 
and   disastrous  confiscations  which 
were  the  consequences  of  his  career. 
The  declaration  of  Italian  inde- 
pendence has  beeii  the  signal  for  a 
general  clerical  revolt  in  the  hope 
of  totally  eclipsing  the  glorious  pro- 
spect about  to  open  upon  that  people, 
of  again  attaining  their  ancient  rank 
amongst  the  nations  of  the  earth. 

Fit  retribution !     Gaul  znaj  champ  the  bit 
And  foam  in  fetters,  but — 

notwithstanding  the  avowal  of 
M.  Thiers  that  her  traditional 
policy  had  ever  been,  and  that 
his    own  is  still,  opposed  to  Ita- 


lian   unity,    even    France     must 
now  in  her  humiliation   prove  a 
feeble,   if    not    a    faithless,    ally. 
The  first  prominent  movement  by 
the  Irish  Jesuits  was  the  recent 
celebration,  at  their  church  in  Dub- 
lin, of  a  High  Mass,   with  great 
solemnity,   for  the  souls  of  tiiose 
native  warriors  in  the  Papal  pay 
who  fell  in  resisting  the  deliverance 
of  Rome  from  the  tyranny  of  Popes, 
Cardinals,  and  Priests.     While  pro- 
claiming that  these  heroes  were  '  as 
deserving  of  veneration  as  any  of 
the  ancient  martyrs,'  the  occasion 
was  selected  for  the  inauguration  of 
a  modem  religious  crusade.     The 
avowed  design  is  to  reconquer  and 
wrest  by  force  of  arms  the  Papal 
States  from  the  Kingdom  of  Italy, 
and  restore  them  to  the  Pope.    The 
scene  was  got  up  with  every  attrac- 
tion of   theatrical   effect,   and  its 
Jesuit  authors  have  conferred  upon 
this  spiritual  confederacy  the  title 
of  '  The  League  of  Saint  Sebastian.' 
Although  it  has  been  ostentatiously 
announced  that  there  are  extensive 
and  expanding  affiliations  in  other 
countries,   they  have    not  as    yet 
enlightened  even  their  votaries  as 
to  the  origin  of  that  designation, 
leaving  to  our  researches  the  merit 
of  its  ascertainment.     By  some  the 
appellation  has  been  traced  to  the 
memory  of  the  primitive  martyr  of 
that  name,  a  native  of  Narbonne  in 
Quul,  whose  existence  is  obscured 
in   the  clouds  of  fable  which  sur- 
round the  reign  of  Diocletian.  This 
saint  is  only  known  to  us  by  pic- 
torial productions  of  Italian  fancy, 
in  which  he  may  be  seen  pierced  by 
the  arrows  of  Mauritanian  archers. 
Others  derive  the  epithet  from  Sebas- 
tian I.,  King  of  Portugal,  a  contem- 
porary of  Loyola,  who  had  been  edu- 
cated by  the  early  Jesuits,  and,  in- 
spired by  similar  &naticism,  had  con* 
ceived  the  gigantic  scheme  of  rivalling 
the  glories  of  Alexander  the  Great. 
He   contemplated    the   subjugation 


*  The  original  document,  on  parchment,  Ib  in  the  British  Museum. 
HSS.  8905. 


Addition 


646 


The  JetuUs,  and  their  Exptilnon  from  Oermany. 


[M»y 


of  Africa,  thence  to  oyerran  India, 
to  penetrate  into  Persia,  then  to 
retam  to  Europe  through  Tarkey, 
and  finally  to  rescue  Constantinople 
from  Islam.  All  those  magnifi- 
cent designs  suddenly  collapsed. 
The  warriors  of  the  Faith  who  com- 
posed his  army  ingloriously  fled 
before  the  Infidels,  leaving  the  King 
a  prisoner ;  and  on  August  4,  1578, 
a  Moorish  chieftain,  with  his 
scimitar,  struck  off  the  head  of 
the  aspiring  Sebastian.  Having 
early  resolved  to  tread  in  the  foot- 
steps of  the  pious  Crusaders,  he 
was  by  many  believed  to  have  been 
canonised,  but  we  are  yet  in  doubt 
whether  this  distinction,  if  con- 
ferred, was  designed  to  comme- 
morate his  ambitious  conception 
or  his  inglorious  fate.  The  re- 
port»  industriously  circulated  by 
the  priesthood,  that  be  still  sur- 
vived in  captivity,  led  to  the  appear- 
ance of  several  impostors,  who  all 
ended  their  days  on  the  scaffold  or 
in  the  galleys.'  It  remained  for  the 
Jesuits  to  exhume  these  ill-omened 
names,  which  had  lain  in  obscurity 
for  ages ;  but  we  may  venture  this 
prediction,  that  the  liberties  of  Italy 
have  little  to  apprehend  from  war- 
riors enrolled  and  arrayed  under  the 
auspices  of  either  the  mythical 
martyr  or  the  headless  hero. 

The  Scandinavian  nations  have 
hitherto  enjoyed  comparative  free- 
dom from  the  missions  and  intrigues 
of  the  Jesuits.  Christina,  Queen  of 
Sweden,  the  daughter  and  successor 
of  Gustavus  Adolphus,  the  great 
warrior  champion  of  Protestantism, 
owed  her  conversion  to  a  Spanish 
Jesuit,  who  was  in  the  suite  and 
under  the  protection  of  the  am- 
bassador   from  that  country;    but 


that  conversion  coerced  her  to 
abdicate  her  crown.  The  earnest 
persuasions  of  Christina,  when  af- 
terwards sojourning  in  the  Lov 
Countries,  failed  to  induce  the  Bel- 
gian Jesuits  to  visit,  far  less  to 
settle  in,  any  of  the  Swedish  Pro- 
vinces.  They  prudently  felt  averse 
to  incurring  the  risk  of  that  cruel 
infliction  which  an  ancient  and  bar- 
barous law  of  the  kingdom  imposed 
upon  that  class  of  spiritual  in- 
truders.*'  Prince  Bismarck  may, 
perhaps,  in  the  plenitude  of  bis 
power,  yet  turn  the  movement  of  the 
Old  Catholics  to  more  account  than 
its  timid  and  feeble  founders  hare 
as  yet  been  able  to  effect  The 
success  of  the  Imperial  measures 
may  be  estimated  from  the  receat 

5ublic  announcement,  that  tbe 
esuits  have  submissively  departed 
from  the  Saxon  States,  from  Wcir- 
temberg,  Baden,  Mecklenbarg, 
Lauenburg,  the  Hanse  Towns, 
Brunswick,  Anhalt,  and  Schwarz- 
burg.  Mayence  is  also  fr*ee;  and 
in  the  annexed  provinces  of  Alsace 
and  Lorraine,  their  establishments 
at  Strasburg,  Metz,  and  Issenheim 
have  been  finally  closed.  By  tbe 
policy  of  disendowment,  in  with- 
holding the  stipends  which  the 
State  had  provided  for  the  bishops 
and  the  priesthood,  he  wiU  probaUj 
soon  appease  the  dissensions  between 
creed  and  creed,  so  as  to  consolidate 
the  Empire.  Finally,  this  moral 
may  be  safely  deduced  from  tbe 
concurrent  testimonies  of  history— 
that  every  political  or  revolution, 
ary  movement  conceived  or  conduct- 
ed by  the  Jesuits  has  invariablj 
proved  a  signal  failure,  attended 
with  disastrous  consequences  to  its 
dupes. 


*  An  interesting  Tolame,  2a  faux  Dom  SSbasiien :  kude  tur  Fhistoire  de  Ptfrtuffol, 
par  Miguel  d'Antas,  &c.,  was  poblisbed  in  Paris  in  1866. 
>•  HarUian  MitcHlany.    London,  1809.    Vol.  IV.  p.  418. 


1873] 


647 


BODLEY  AND  THE  BODLEIAN. 


WHEN  we  try  to  call  Tip  the 
Deyonshire  of  Qneen  Eliza- 
beth's days,  the  figures  which 
rise  before  ns  are  for  the  most  part 
those  of  the  great  sea-captains  and 
adyentorers — Drake,  Hawkins,  Gil- 
bert, Baleigh — with  whose  doings 
eyeiyone  is  more  or  less  familiar. 
These  men  were  not  only  Devonshire 
born.  They  were  closely  connected 
witli  their  natiye  county  throngh- 
out  the  whole  of  their  actiye  lives ; 
whilst  many  an  Elizabethan  worthy, 
of  whose  birth  Devonshire  may 
well  be  prond,  following  a  more 
pacific  calling,  passed  early  from 
the  *  sweete  hive  and  receptacle  of 
western  witts,'  as  old  Carpenter 
calls  '  onr  Dievon,'  and  has  lefb  the 
chief  mark  of  his  life  elsewhere. 
Such  were  Jewell  and  Hooker, 
whose  '  pious  ghosts  would  rise  up 
in  opposition'  should  they  be  ranked 
among  the  worthies  of  any  other 
coanty,  although  they  saw  little 
of  Deyonshire  after  they  had  once 
lefl  it ;  and  such  was  Sir  Thomas 
Bodley,  founder  of  that  fiunous 
Library  at  Oxford  which  *  has  ren- 
dered nis  name  more  immortal  than 
the  foundation  of  a  family  could 
have  done,'^  and  of  which  Casanbon 
wrote  as  a  '  work  rather  for  a  king 
than  a  private  man.' 

Bodley  left  Devonshire  at  an  early 
age,  at  first  for  a  studious  Univer- 
sify  life,  and  afterwards  for  a  life 
of  Court  service  and  employment. 
So  little  is  his  name  associated  with 
the  glories  of  his  native  county — 
although  he  lived  through  a  period 
in  which  Devonshire  was  certainly 
more  distinguished  than  any  other 
part  of  England — that  he  is  hardly 
recognised  as  one  of  the  brightest 
'  Dsevonian  witts,'  as  eminent, 
thonght  Carpenter,  '  as  their  native 
mountains,  approiaohing  far  nearer 
to  heaven  in  excellency  than  the 


other  in  height  transcend  the  val- 
leyes.'  Bodley 's  work  was  done  else- 
where. Yet  it  would  be  impossible 
to  find  a  truer  son  of  Devon,  or  one 
more  worthy  of  the  *  sweet  western 
hive.' 

The  family  of  Bodley  belonged  to 
that  class  of  sqnirelets — something 
more  than  franklins,  yet  perhaps  in 
many  ways  not  so  feivourably  placed 
—of  which  Devonshire  in  the  days 
of  Elizabeth  was  very  full  The 
Bodleys  were  entitled  to  'coat- 
armour,'  and  their  'five  martlets 
in  saltire,  sable,  on  a  shield  argent/ 
no  doubt  dignified  the  window  of 
the  great  parlour  at  Dunscombe,  in 
the  parish  of  Crediton,  where  they 
had  been  settled  for  some  time  be^ 
fore  the  opening  of  the  sixteenth 
century.  There  are  no  remains  of 
the  old  house  at  Dunscombe,  but 
the  modem  farm  occupies  the  same 
site,  on  a  rising  ground  above 
the  quiet  green  mes^ows  through 
which  the  uttle  river  Creedy  winds 
onward  towards  its  junction  with 
the  Exe.  Wooded  lulls,  pastures, 
and  broken  plough-lands  rise  at  the 
back,  and  the  scene  is  still  the  same 
as  when  Leland,  riding  from  Exe- 
ter to  Crediton,  found  it  'exceeding 
goodly  and  faire,  all  by  gresse  and 
com.'  The  line  of  ancient  road, 
now  of  course  greatly  changed, 
passes  close  under  the  house  at 
Dunscombe. 

The  Bodleys  intermarried  with 
the  lesser  gentry  of  the  county,  and, 
more  rarely,  with  houses  of  greater 
mark,  such  as  that  of '  Copleston  of 
the  white  spur,'  '  the  great  Cople« 
stons,*  as  they  were  called,  then 
flourishing  in  state  within  the  bounds 
of  the  same  parish  of  Crediton.  A 
cadet  of  Dunscombe  married  Joan, 
daughter  and  part  heiress  of  Robert 
Hone,  of  Ottery  St.  Mary.  This 
was    John  Bodley,  father  of   Sir 


>  Hallam,  lAt,  Hist,  iii.  454. 


648 


Bodley  and  the  Bodleian. 


[Ifay 


Thomas.  He  settled  in  Exeter, 
where,  owing,  no  doubt,  to  advan- 
tages of  family  and  inheritance,  he 
became  a  prominent  and  wealthy 
merchant.  In  due  time  five  sons 
were  bom  to  him.  Thomas  was  the 
eldest.  The  others  were  John,  Law- 
rence, Zachary,  and  Josias.  John 
and  Zachary  *  lived  privately,'  and 
are  called  'ministers.'  Lawrence 
was  a  Canon  of  Exeter,  and  parson 
of  Shobrook.  Josias  was  a  'worthy 
soldier,'  active  in  *  Tyrone's  wars,' 
and  knighted  in  Lreland  by  the 
Earl  of  Devon.  So  they  are  de- 
scribed by  Thomas  Westcote,  author 
of  a  cxtrious  View  of  Devonshire,  who 
lived  and  wrote  at  Shobrook,  within 
sight  of  Dunscombe.  He  was  a 
personal  friend  of  Lawrence  Bodley, 
who,  as  he  tells  ns,  '  was  greatly 
assistant  to  his  brother's  chargeable 
work,'  the  foundation  of  the  great 
Library  at  Oxford. 

Thomas  Bodley  was  bom  at 
Exeter  on  the  2nd  of  March,  1 544. 
He  was  not  removed  from  his  birth- 
place until  1556,  when  he  was 
twelve  years  old;  but  during  that 
.  time  events  had  taken  place  at 
Exeter  which  cannot  but  have  made 
a  deep  impression  on  him.  In  1549 
occurred  the  rising  of  the  two  western 
counties,  Devonshire  and  Cornwall ; 
when  the  insurgents,  who  professed 
to  be  in  arms  for  the  support  of  the 
*  old  religion,'  besieged  Exeter  for 
more  than  a  month.  The  city  was 
itself  greatly  troubled,  *  the  serpent 
of  division  and  the  fire  of  malice 
having  entered  it,'  says  Hooker.* 
But  the  Mayor,  and  others  of  the 
'ancientest,'  although  many  were 
inclined  to  Rome,  yet  determined 
to  hold  out  for  the  King's  Govern- 
ment, and  did  so.  John  Bodley 
had  set  himself  strongly  on  the 
side  of  the  Reformation  ;  and  when 
Lord  Russell,  who  had  been  sent 


against  the  insurgents,  was  unable 
to  advance  from  Honiton  for  want 
of  supplies,  Bodley,  with  other 
merchants  of  Exeter,  provided 
money  on  their  own  security.  Tlie 
defeat  of  the  rebels,  and  the  harsh 
measures  afterwards  taken,  can 
hardly  have  tended  to  soften  the 
feeling  with  which  the  opposed 
parties  regarded  each  other,  and 
Mary's  accession  in  1553  greatly 
depressed,  of  course,  that  to  which 
the  Bodleys  had  attached  them- 
selves.  There  was  extreme  agita- 
tion  in  Exeter  in  the  following  year, 
when  the  Spanish  match  was  in 
question.  It  was  rumoured  that 
Philip  was  about  to  descend,  with 
a  large  force,  on  the  coast  of  Devon- 
shire.  The  Carews  and  Courtenars 
were  deep  in  plots,  and  Sir  Peter 
Carew,  who  in  1549  had  been  active 
on  the  side  of  order,  was  now  com- 
pelled to  escape  in  all  haste  fit)m 
his  house  at  Mohun's  Otteiy. 
Whether  John  Bodley  was  at  all 
concerned  in  the  disturbances  of 
this  time  is  not  evident,  but^  as  his 
son  tells  us,  *he  was  so  cruelly 
threatened  and  so  narrowly  ob- 
served by  those  that  maliced  his 
religion,'^  that  he  found  Exeter  no 
longer  a  safe  place  of  abode,  and 
accordingly,  in  1556,  he  took  refuge 
in  Germany,  where  his  wife  and 
family  soon  afterwards  joined  him. 
They  then  settled  themselves  at 
Geneva,  where  there  was  a  con- 
siderable English  '  congregation,' 
consisting  for  the  most  part  of 
persons  who,  like  Bodley,  had  fled 
from  England  on  account  of  theii 
religion.  The  University  of  Geneva 
had  but  lately  been  established,  and, 
young  as  he  was,  Thomas  Bodlej 
(so  he  tells  us  himself)  attended  the 
public  lectures  of  Chevalerias  in 
Hebrew,  of  Beroaldus  in  Greek, 
and  of  Calvin  and  Beza  in  Divinity. 


*  John  Hooker  or  Vowell,  Chamberlain  of  Exeter,  and  author  of  a  carious  histoiy  of 
the  'Commotion/  as  it  was  called  in  Devonshire,  of  1549.  He  was  uncle  of  the 
'Judicious'  Hooker. 

*  The  very  short  sketch  of  his  own  life  written  by  Sir  Thomas  Bodley  will  be  found  in 
the  Eeliquia  Bodleiana^  published  by  Heame  in  1703. 


1878] 


Bodley  and  the  Bodleian, 


649 


In  later  years  he  became  an  excel- 
lent Hebrew  scholar,  and  was,  in- 
deed, an  accomplished  linguist, 
speaking  well  and  flnently  French, 
Italian,  and  Spanish.  But  he  did 
not  remain  long  at  Geneva.  The 
'whole  family  returned  to  England 
on  the  accession  of  Elizabeth  in 
1558.  John  Bodley  then  settled  in 
Liondon,  and  in  1560  his  son  Thomas 
was  entered  as  an  undergraduate 
at  Magdalen  College,  Oxford.  From 
that  College  he  took  his  Bachelor's 
degree  in  1563,  and  in  the  same 
year  was  elected  a  Fellow  of  Merton. 
He  remained  at  Oxford  until  the 
year  1576,  lecturing  in  Greek  in 
the  Hall  of  Merton,  reading  natural 
philosophy  in  the  public  schools, 
and  serving  for  some  time  as  Uni- 
versity  Orator.  In  1576  he  went 
abroad,  and  spent  four  years  in 
difiereui  cities  of  France,  Germany, 
and  Italy.  On  his  return  he  ap- 
plied himself  to  the  study  of  history 
and  politics,  and  was  made  gentle- 
man uflher  to  Queen  Elizabeth.  The 
Queen,  or  the  great  statesmen  who 
surrounded  her,  soon  recognised  the 
ability  of  Bodley,  and  after  serving 
on  various  embassies,  he  was  sent 
to  the  Hague  in  1588,  where  he 
remained,  with  only  a  short  inter- 
val, until  1597.  In  1585  he  had 
married  Anne,  *  daughter  of  Mr. 
Carew,  of  Bristol,  and  widow  of 
Mr.  Ball,'  a  lady  of  considerable  for- 
tone. 

Affairs  at  the  Hague  were  at  this 
time  in  their  usual  troubled  con- 
dition. Elizabeth,  by  virtue  of  her 
treaty  with  the  States,  had  the 
right  to  appoint  two  of  her  subjects 
to  be  members  of  the  Council.  One 
of  these  was  Bodley,  who,  in  this 
position,  is  accused  of  overbear- 
ing demeanour  and  intemperate 
language.  He  says  himself  that  he 
did  wonderfully  well  at  the  Hague, 
bnt  he  was  one  of  those  fortunate 
persons  who  are  always  on  the  best 
terms  with  themselves,  and  his  good 


opinion  of  his  own  judgment  was 
not  to  be  shaken.  He  certainly 
made  many  enemies.  Walsingham, 
shortly  before  his  death,  regretted 
having  placed  '  so  unquiet  a  spirit ' 
in  so  important  a  place ;  and  the 
Queen  was  greatly  offended  with 
Bodley  on  account  of  a  sudden 
visit  to  England  in  1595,  with  a 
secret  proposition  from  the  States 
about  the  money  advanced  by 
Elizabeth — always  a  sore  subject. 
Bodley  then  wrote  from  London  to 
Anthony  Bacon,  that  he  had  not 
stirred  abroad  for  ten  days  past, 
nor  knew  when  he  should,  he  saw 
so  little  hope  of  better  usage  at 
Court,  *  when  I  did  hear  for  my 
comfort  that  the  Queen  on  Monday 
last  did  wish  I  had  been  hanged. 
And  if  withal  I  might  have  leave 
that  I  should  be  discharged,  I  would 
say,  "Benedetto  sia  il  giomo,  e'l 
mese,  e  V  anno."** 

His  public  life  closed  in  1597. 
When  he  returned  to  England 
he  found  himself  surrounded  by 
jealousies  and  intrigues;  and  ac- 
cordingly, in  his  own  words,  *  ex- 
amining exactly  for  the  rest  of  my 
life  what  course  I  might  take,  and 
having  sought,  as  I  thought,  all  the 
ways  to  the  wood,  to  select  the 
most  proper,  I  concluded,  at  the 
last,  to  set  up  my  staff  at  the 
Library  door  in  Oxon,  being 
thoroughly  persuaded  that  ...  I 
could  not  busy  myself  to  better  pur- 
pose than  in  reducing  that  place  to 
the  pubUc  use  of  students.  For  the 
effecting  whereof  I  found  myself 
furnished,  in  a  competent  propor- 
tion, of  such  four  kinds  of  aids  as, 
unless  I  had  them  all,  there  was  no 
hope  of  good  success.  For  without 
some  kind  of  knowled^,  as  well  in 
the  learned  and  moaem  tongues 
as  in  simdry  other  sorts  of  scholas- 
tic literature ;  without  some  purse 
ability  to  go  through  with  the 
charge;  without  great  store  of 
honourable  friends  to  further  the 


*  Birch's  Queen  EUzabeth,  i.  244. 


650 


Bodley  and  the  Bodleian. 


[M»y 


design;  and  without  special  good 
leisure  to  follow  such  a  work,  it 
could  but  have  proved  a  vain  at- 
tempt and  inconsiderate.'  Bodlej's 
•purse  ability'  may  bave  been 
partly  acquired  at  the  Bague ;  but 
his  wife  had  brought  him  the 
greater  portion  of  his  means,  and 
it  must  be  set  down  to  the  self- 
importance  which  so  strongly  marks 
him,  that,  as  Chamberlayne  says, 
'  although  he  had  written  his  life  in 
seven  sheets  of  paper,  he  did  not 
so  much  as  make  mention  of  his 
wife,  or  that  he  was  married  at  all.' 
There  was  at  this  time  no  public 
library  in  Oxford.  The  older  Uni- 
versity Library,  at  first  established 
in  a  chamber  attached  to  St.  Mary's 
Church,  was  greatly  increased  by 
Duke  Humphrey  of  Gloucester,  the 
patron  of  all  leamiog  ;  and  in  con- 
sequence of  his  numerous  dona- 
tions, a  new  building,  which  now 
forms  the  central  portion  of  the 
great  reading-room  of  the  Bodleian, 
was  begun,  and  was  completed 
about  1480.  This  library  was  literal- 
ly destroyed  by  the  Commissioners 
sent  to  Oxford  in  1550  by  Edward 
VI.  *for  the  reformation  of  the 
University.'  All  illuminated  manu- 
scripts were  condemned,  without 
examination,  as  eminently  Popish. 
The  few  others  that  remained  were 
stolen  or  uncared  for ;  and  in  1555 
the  fittings  of  the  Ldbraiy,  its  shelves 
and  stalls,  were  sold  under  the 
direction  of  certain  'venerabiles 
viri'  appointed  for  the  purpose. 
When  Thomas  Bodley  first  came 
to  Oxford,  an  eager  student  to 
whom  all  books  were  precious,  he 
found  round  him  in  all  directions 
traces  of  the  recent  destruction. 
'  His  stationer  may  have  sold  him 
books  bound  in  fragments  of  those 
manuscripts  for  which  the  Univer- 
sity but  a  century  before  had  conse- 
crated the  memoty  of  the  donors  in 


her  solemn  prayers ;  the  tailor  who 
measured  him  for  his  Bad-coloured 
doublet  may  have  done  it  with  t 
strip  of  parchment  brilliant  witli 
gold  that  had  consequently  been 
condemned  as  Popish,  or  covered 
with  strange  symbols  of  an  old 
heathen  Greek's  devising,  that  pro- 
bably passed  for  magical  and  unlaw- 
ful incantations.'^  At  any  rate, 
Bodley  carried  with  him  in  all  his 
wanderings  the  ardour  of  a  student, 
and  never  forgot  the  losses  and 
needs  of  his  '  deare  mother  Oxforde.' 
Accordingly,  in  February  1597-8, 
he  wrote  to  the  Vice-Chancellor, 
offering  that  'whereas  there  hath 
bin  heretofore  a  publike  library  in 
Oxford,  which,  you  know,  is  ap- 
parant  by  the  roome  itself  remayn- 
ing,  and  by  your  statute  records,  I 
will  take  the  charge  and  cost  upon 
me  to  reduce  it  again  to  his  former 
use* — ^by  fitting  it  with  shelves  and 
seats,  by  procuring  benefactions  of 
books,  and  by  endowing  it  with  an 
annual  rent.  The  offer  was  grate- 
fully accepted.  Merton  College 
undertook  to  supply  wood  for  the 
purpose,  and  in  little  more  than  two 
years*  time  the  old  Library,  above 
the  Divinity  School,  partly  buli 
by  Duke  Humphrey,  was  refitted 
for  the  use  of  students,  and  ready 
to  receive  books.  More  than  2,ocx> 
volumes  had  been  supplied  when, 
on  November  8,  1602,  it  was  so- 
lemnly opened  by  the  Vice-Chan* 
cellor,  attended  by  a  numerons 
company  of  red-robed  doctora.  In 
1604,  the  year  after  his  accession, 
James  I.  granted  letters  patent,  in 
which  the  Library  receives  for  tiie 
first  time  the  naxae  of  its  founds, 
by  which  it  has  ever  since  been 
known.  The  King  hiniself  visited 
the  Bodleian  in  the  following  year, 
and  declared  that  if  he  were  not 
King  James  he  would  be  a  Univer- 
sity man;  and  that  if  it  were  his 


»  of  the  Bodleian  Library,  by  the  Rev.  W.  D.  Macray,  1868.    This  exodlflflt 
ins  a  very  full  *  chronicle  of  the  Libraiy,  year  after  year,  from  its  fonndatioo. 


*  Annals 
book  contains 
It  need  hardly  be  said  that  the  present  writer  is  lazgely  indebted  to  it. 


1873] 


Bodley  and  the  Bodleian. 


651 


fate  to  be  at  any  time  a  captive,  he 
wonld  choose  sacha  library  for  hiB 
prison.  Bodlejr  had  been  knighted 
by  James  on  his  accession  to  the 
throne;  and  on  reading  the  in- 
scription below  the  bast  of  the 
founder,  placed  in  the  Library  by 
the  Chancellor,  the  King  remarked 
that  he  ought  to  be  called  Sir 
Thomas  Oodley  rather  than  Sir 
Thomas  Bodley.  Besides  this  bust, 
the  Library  contains  a  contemporary 
portrait  by  Cornelius  Janssen,  the 
most  skilful  and  most  refined  limner 
of  that  period.  The  head  of  Bodley 
is  that  of  a  thoughtfuljobseryant  man, 
not  without  such  a  cast  of  shrewd- 
ness as  might  be  expected  in  a  long 
resident  at  the  Hague.  His  dress 
is  rich.  His  right  hand  grasps  the 
hilt  of  a  sword,  suspended  from  an 
embroidered  belt.  A  fur-lined  man- 
tle hangs  from  his  shoulder. 

Foreigners,  and  all  who  chose  to 
submit  to  the  regulations  of  the 
statutes,  were  allowed  to  study  in 
the  Bodleian.  It  was  indeed  the 
first  truly  public  library  established 
in  Earope ;  although  it  was  speedily 
followed  by  that  of  Ange^  Rocca 
at  Rome  (1604),  and  the  Ambrosian 
Library  at  Milan  (1609).*  Bodley 
himself,  from  the  commencement, 
was  a  most  liberal  donor  of  books 
and  miuiuscripts ;  but  his  *  store 
of  honourable  friends  '  contributed 
largely  ;  and  their  names  are  duly 
entered  in  the  folio  register  '  aureis 
umbilicis  fibulisque  ftdgidum,'  as  it 
is  described,  enriched  with  silver- 
gilt  bosses,  and  with  the  arms  of 
Bodley  and  of  the  University. 
Among  the  earlier  donors  were 
Savile  and  Camden ;  Blount,  Lord 
Monntjoy,  who  sent  lOoZ.  from 
Lreland  for  the  purchase  of  books ; 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  and  Sir  Robert 
Cotton,    who,   with   other    manu- 


scripts, gave  a  text  of  the  Gospels 
which  is  believed  to  be  one  of  the 
hooka  sent  by  St.  Gregory  to 
Augustine,  one  of  the  most  ancient 
books  that  ever  were  read  in  Eng- 
land, belonging  to  the  'primitSd 
librorumtotiusEcclesiiB  Anglican®,' 
as  these  gifts  of  St.  Gregory's  are 
called  by  Elmham.  The  Bodleian  is 
rich  in  manuscripts  which,  like 
this,  formerly  one  of  the  treasures 
of  St.  Augustine's,  Canterbury, 
had  belonged  to  the  dissolved  mon- 
asteries. They  found  a  fitting 
resting-place  at  Oxford;  but  it  is 
hardly  possible  to  say  as  much  for 
the  *  81  Latin  manuscripts  '  sent  to 
Sir  Thomas  Bodley  in  1605  ^Y  ^^^ 
Dean  and  Chapter  of  Exeter.  His 
brother,  Lawtence  Bodley,  *  parson 
of  Shobrook,'  was  at  this  time  a 
Canon  of  Exeter;  and  we  must 
conclude  that  it  was  at  his  instance 
that  the  Chapter  stripped  their 
library  of  some  of  their  most  ancient 
and  most  precious  ornaments. 
Among  them  are  many  manuscripts 
which  had  been  giveu  to  the  Church 
of  Exeter  by  her  first  bishop, 
Leofric,  under  whom  the  see  was 
transferred  from  Crediton  in  1050. 
His  native  county  did  well  to  re- 
cognise and  to  assist  the  noble 
work  of  Bodley ;  but  it  is  difficult 
to  understand  by  what  right  the 
Chapter  thus  alienated  their  books. 
They  clearly  despised  (or  perhaps 
could  not  read)  the  words  written 
by  Leofric  in  each  volume,  by  which 
he  gives  over  whomsoever  should 
abstract  it  '  to  bondage  with  all  the 
devils.*^  At  a  later  period  the 
Dean  and  Chapter  of  Windsor 
followed  the  example  of  Exeter. 

Before  the  year  16 10  the  re- 
stored Library  had  become  crowded 
with  books;  and  Sir  Thomas  laid 
the  foundation  of  a  new  building 


•  Macray's  AnnaU^  p.  47,  note. 

'  Besides  Leofric's  books,  there  are  MSS.  given  to  the  Charch  of  £xeter  by  Hugh, 
Archdeacon  of  Taunton ;  by  Adam  of  St.  Bridget,  Chantor ;  by  Richard  Brounst,  Vicar 
Choral ;  by  the  executors  of  Bishop  Lacy ;  and  by  those  of  John  Snetesham,  Canon  and 
Chancellor. 

VOL.  VII. — NO.  XLI.      NEW   SERIES.  Y  T 


652 


hodiey  and  the  Bodleian, 


[May 


ttt  tlie  eiai  end  of  the  Divinity 
School,  and  arraagdd  transversely  to 
it.  He  lived  to  see  this  finished ; 
bat  it  can  hardly  have  been  stored 
with  books  before  his  death  in  1613. 
In  the  mean  time  he  bad  not  been 
idle.  He  procnred  an  arrangement 
with  the  Stationers*  Company  by 
which  they  granted  to  the  Library 
a  copy  of  every  book  they  printed, 
an  arrangement  which  long  after- 
wards was  madebindine  bytheCopy- 
rightActs.  He  began  the  permanent 
endowment  of  the  LibraTy,be8towing 
on  it  sundry  manors  and  tenements. 
He  provided  a  massive  iron  chest 
with  three  locks  for  the  due  safety 
of  the  money  to  be  kept  in  it,  and 
the  ironwork  of  these  locks  is  so 
beautifal  and  intricate,  that  the 
chest  is  now  exhibited  in  the  pic* 
tare  gallery ;  and  he  set  up  a  lai^ 
bell  to  announce  the  closing  hoar, 
which  has  been  lately  restored  to 
its  place, '  daily  thundering  forth  an 
unmistakable  signal  for  the  de- 
parture '  of  all  stadents.  Whatever 
additions  might  afterwards  be  made. 
Sir  Thomas  had  clearly  established 
his  right  to  call  the  foundation 
*  after  his  own  name;'  and  al- 
though he  had  not  exceeded  the 
age  of  sixty-eight,  his  work  was 
well  done  when  he  died  in  16x3, 
at  his  house  in  Little  Street,  Bar- 
tholomew Lane,  London. 

In  accordance  with  his  own  de« 
sire,  his  body  was  brooght  to  Ox« 
ford,  and  was  interred  in  great 
state,  with  long  processions  and 
with  many  orations,  in  the  chapel 
of  Merton,  his  own  college,  to  the 
library  of  which  he  had  been  a  great 
bene&ctor.  After  the  fashion  of 
the  time,  the  University  set  forth 
two  volumes  of  elegiac  verses,  in 
which  the  '  Ptolemy  of  Oxford  *  was 
conmiemorated  with  due  honour. 
One  of  these  volumes  was  entirely 
composed  by  members  of  Merton 
College.  Among  the  contributors 
to  the  other  were  Laud,  then  Pre- 
sident of  St.  John's,  and  Isaac  Cas- 
aubon.      A  stately  monument,  for 


which  Nicholas  Stone,  the  seolpior, 
received  200!.,  was  raised  above  bis 
grave,  which  is  on  the  north  ride  of 
tiie  chapel,  immediately  oppo&itea 
cenotaph  erected  to  his  friend  Sir 
Henry  Savile,  Warden  of  Merton, 
but  also  Provost  of  Eton,  where  he 
was  buried.  Bodley  appears  on  his 
monument  surroonded  by  boob, 
and  attended  by  Grammar,  Rhe- 
toric, Music,  and  Arithmetio;  bat 
'  the  labour  of  an  age  in  piled  stones  * 
could  have  afforded  ham  no  such 
lasting  memorial  as  he  had  con- 
structed for  himself  in  his  lifetime. 
Of  this  he  may  have  been  Mj 
conscious.  At  least  he  has  not 
escaped  the  charge  of  being  » 
'drunk  with  the  applause  and  Tioi- 
ties  of  his  Library,'  that  with  great 
'unthankfulnesse '  to  his  friends  and 
brothers,  he  left  little  or  nothing 
to  them,  *  not  even -to  the  children 
of  his  wife,  by  whom  he  had  all  his 
wealth,*  but  bestowed  by  his  will 
nearly  the  whole  of  his  monej 
toward  the  advancement  of  his  grett 
undertaking.  His  brothers,  at  uj 
rate,  did  not  require  hfs  assisiiuice; 
and  it  wy  to  the  means  thus  pro- 
vided that  we  are  principally  in- 
debted for  the  completion  of  the 
quadrangle  of  the  schools,  of  which 
the  Libiary  forms  a  part.  This  was 
finished  no  lonff  time  after  Bodley's 
death ;  the  architect  being  Thomas 
Holt  of  York,  who  was  also  em- 
ployed in  the  building  of  Wadham 
College,  where  the  cl^pel  is  a  reiy 
remarkable  examfrfe  of  late  Gothic. 
The  court  of  the  schools,  plain  and 
somewhat  bare  as  it  is,  has  nerer- 
theless  a  grave,  antique  chancier, 
not  unbefitting  the  exterior  of  a 
great  library.  It  has  sometimei 
suggested  reminiscences  of  old  Ita- 
lian cities,  and  especially  of  Padia, 
which  are  due  mainly  to  its  height, 
and  to  the  Gateway  Tower,  on  the 
east  side.  The  five  storeys  of  Uiis 
tower  display  the  five  ck^c  orders 
interspersed  with  various  arab^ues 
and  ornaments,  and  decoi^sted,  in  the 
fourth  storey,  with  a  seated  figure 


1873] 


'  BoSley  and  ike  Bodleian, 


653 


of  Jftmes  I.  Thie  *  picture,'  as  An. 
thonj  k  Wood  calk  it,  and  other 
emblems,  were  at  first  covered  with 
gilding ;  bnt  when  the  Eling  him- 
self came  from  Woodstock  to  behold 
the  new  boilding,  he  found  them 
too  '  glorious,'  and  commanded  that 
they  should  be  '^whited  over  and 
a  lomed  with  ordinary  colours.' 
The  'whiting'  has  happily  disap- 
peared.  In  other  respects,  the  So- 
lomon of  Britain  was,  as  before, 
highly  content  with  the  Library; 
and  soon  afterwards  (1620)  pre- 
sented to  it  the  folio  edition  of  his 
own  works.  This  most  weighty 
volume  was  received  by  the  Uni- 
versity with  great  ceremony,  and 
was  conveyed  in  solemn  procession 
to  the  Library,  attended  by  the  Vice- 
Ohanoellor  and  four-and-twenty 
Doctors.  There  it  was  placed  '  in 
archivis '  with  much  respect ; 
greatly  to  the  satisfaction  of  King 
James,  who  had  frowned  and  mut- 
tered when  the  University  of  Cam- 
bridge received  their  copy  with  less 
solemnity.  Yet  he  gave  a  word  of 
praise  to  George  Herbert,  then 
Public  Orator,  who  to  his  letter  of 
thanks  for  the  book,  added  the 
lines : — 

Qaid    VaticaQum  Bodleiannmque   objicis, 

hospes? 
Unicus  eBt  nobis  Bibliotheca  liber. 

The  King  pronounced  the  Orator 
to  be  the  Jewel  of  the  University.* 
Vast  accessions  have  enriched  the 
Bodleian  since  this  quadrangle  was 
completed,  and  the  royal  volume 
was  duly  installed ;  bnt  the  interior 
of  the  Library,  at  least  so  far  as  the 
principal  rooms  are  concerned,  has 
been  but  little  changed.  The  roof 
of  the  central  reading-room — ^that 
chamber  above  the  Divinity  School 
with  the  restoration  of  which  Bod- 
ley  began  his  work — still  displays, 
on  its  bosses,  the  arms  of  the 
founder,   quartered  with  those  of 


Hone,  his  mother's  &mily  (two 
bars  wavy  between  three  hone 
stones),  and  having  on  a  chief  the 
three  ducal  crowns  dL  the  Uaivar* 
sity  shield-^an  addition  granted  to 
Bodley  at  this  time — togethw  with 
the  motto,  '  Quarta  perennis  erit.' 
The  main  panels  are  occupied  by 
the  University  shield  itself — ^the 
open  Bible  with  its  seven  clasps, 
between  the  three  crowns.  The  room 
remains  much  as  it  was  seen  by 
King  James  ;  but  time  alone — the 
two  centuries  and  a  half  which 
have  passed  since  James  visited  it 
— could  bestow  on  it  that  charm  of 
reverend  antiquity  so  difficult  to 
put  into  words,  yet  so  real  and  so  im- 
pressive ;  a  charm  felt  in  the  stillness 
and  seclusion  of  the  place,  repeopling 
it  with  those  illustrious  dead  whose 
feet  have  often  trodden  the  floors, 
and  whose  best  thoughts  now  lie 
enshrined  in  the  cases  along  its  walls. 
Few  libraries,  whether  in  England 
or  on  the  Continent,  have  a  more  ve- 
nerable air  than  the  Bodleian.  Like 
some  great  musical  symphony,  it  at 
once  excites  and  tranquillises ;  and 
many  an  enthusiastic  student  might 
confess,  with  Sir  Walter  Scott,  that 
his  feelings  within  its  walls  resemble 
those  of  the  'Persian  magician, 
who  visited  the  enchanted  library  in 
the  bowels  of  the  mountain,  and 
willingly  snfi*ered  himself  to  be  en- 
closed in  its  reoesses,  while  less 
eager  sages  retired  in  alarm.'* 
There  is  indeed  one  sound  which 
occasionally  floats  through  the  air, 
but  only  to  deepen  the  impression 
of  quiet  and  distance  *a  strepitu 
ssDculari.'  The  latticed  cells  wherein 
readers  sit,  '  from  year  to  year  have 
been,  and  still  are,  the  resort  of 
grand  and  grave  old  bees,  majestic 
in  size  and  deportment,  of  sonorous 
sound,  and  covered  with  the  dust, 
as  it  were,  of  ages.  Just  as  a 
solemn  rookery  befits  an  ancestral 
mansion,  so  these  bees  of  the  Bod* 


»  Walton,  I4fe  of  George  Herbert. 


*  Ixfe,  by  liGckhart,  ix.  p.  55. 


654 


Bodleij  aivA  tlte  Bodleian, 


[M»y 


leian  form  a  fitting  accompaniment 
to  the  place  of  their  choice.'  *® 

At  the  present  time  the  Bodleian 
Library  contains  about  350,000 
printed  volumes,  and  about  25,000 
manuscripts.  The  growth  has  been 
very  gradual.  Afber  Bodley's  *  store 
of  friends '  had  sent  their  contribu- 
tions, and  afber  Bodley  and  his 
generation  had  passed  away,  many 
very  important  MSS.  were  given 
by  the  Earl  of  Pembroke,  Chancellor 
of  the  University,  and  by  Sir 
Kenelm  Digby  ;  but  the  first  great 
benefactor  was  Archbishop  Laud. 
Between  the  years  1635  and  1640 
he  sent  to  the  Library  nearly  1,300 
MSS.  in  various  languages,  some  of 
which  are  of  the  highest  value. 
From  a  curious  letter  addressed  by 
Laud  to  the  Vice- Chancellor,  Doc- 
tor Frewen,  it  appears  that  the 
books  hitherto  placed  in  the  Library 
had  been  chained  to  the  shelves 
after  the  ancient  fashion  (a  fashion 
which  may  still  be  admired  in  per- 
fection in  the  Chapter  Library  at 
Hereford).  Laud*s  books,  in  1639, 
stood  unchained.  '  And  I  would  to 
Grod,'  he  writes,  '  the  place  in  the 
Library  for  them  were  once  ready, 
that  they  might  be  set  up  safe,  and 
chained  as  the  other  books  are; 
and  yet  then,  if  there  be  not  care 
taken,  you  may  have  some  of  the 
best  and  choicest  tractats  cut  out 
of  the  covers  and  purloin'd,  as  hath 
been  done  in  some  other  libraries.* 
The  books  indeed,  and  more  than 
the  books,  were  on  the  eve  of  ex- 
posure to  great  perils.  Laud's 
formal  letter,  in  which  he  i*esigns 
his  office  of  Chancellor,  dated  from 
the  Tower,  June  21,  1 641,  is  dis- 
played in  one  of  the  cases  near  the 
entrance  of  the  Library.  In  1642 
the  King  borrowed  500Z.  *out  of 
Sir  Thomas  Bodley 's  chest,'  a  sum 
which  was  never  repaid ;  and  it  was 
in  the  winter  of  the  same  year 
that  Charles  I.,  while  at  Oxford, 
visited   the   Library,   and   amused 


himself  with  what  was  then  a 
favourite  method  of  enquiiy  into 
the  future — ^the  'Sortes  Virgilian».* 
His  ill-luck  has  oflen  been  told.  If 
the  story  be  true,  he  opened  on 
Dido's  denunciation  of  ^neas,  the 
words  of  which  are  curiously  ap- 
propriate to  his  own  &te ;  and  Lord 
Falkland,  who  next  consulted  the 
oracle,  was  answered  just  as  fit- 
tingly. Oxford  surrendered  to  the 
troops  <5f  the  Parliament  in  Jone 
1 646,  and  Aubrey  tells  us  that '  the 
first  thing  Grenend  Fairfax  did  wbs 
to  set  a  good  guard  of  soldiers  to 
preserve  the  Bodleian  library.' 
Fairfax  was  a  true  lover  of  learning 
and  of  art,  as  he  showed  by  his 
care  for  the  Library  at  Oxford 
(which  at  his  death  he  enriched 
with  the  Dodsworth  manuscripts), 
and  for  the  stained  glass  in  York 
Minster.  The  Cavaliers  are  said  to 
have  done  more  harm  in  the  Bod- 
leian than  the  Puritans  ;  but  either 
party  was  less  to  be  dreaded  than 
the  Council  of  War  which  sat  at 
Westminster  in  1649.  In  that  year 
the  Jews  offered  6oo,ooo2.  for  St 
Paul's  Cathedral  and  for  the 
Library  at  Oxford.  The  former 
they  would  have  turned  into  a 
synagogue,  the  latter  they  wonld 
have  sold.  The  Council  refused  to 
take  less  than  8oo,oooZ.,  and  the 
offer  was  not  renewed.  This  dsD- 
gerous  time  passed  away  at  last 
without  much  evil,  and  ten  years 
later  (1659)  the  Library  received  the 
second  great  addition  to  its  stores, 
in  the  collection  which  the  learned 
Selden  left  to  it  by  his  will.  This 
numbered  nearly  8,000  volumes, 
most  of  which  contain  SeldenV 
motto,  *  vtpl  waiTOc  rviv  iXivOrpiar.' 
Among  them  is  a  MS.  of  Harding's 
Chronicle,  which  once  belonged  to 
a  Percy,  Earl  of  Northumberland, 
whose  border  antipathies  seem  to 
have  been  considered  in  an  appended 
map  of  Scotland,  where  '  Styx  the 
infernal  flood,'  and  'the  palais  o( 


*•  Macra/s  Annals^  Preface. 


1873] 


Bodletj  and  the  Bodleian, 


655 


Pluio,  King  of  Hel,*  are  noted  as 
*  neigbbore  to  Scottz.' 

No  such  benefactor  as  Selden 
appeared  until  the  year  1795,  when 
Richard  Rawlinson,  a  bishop  of  the 
Nonjurors  (he  was  consecrated  in 
1728),  left  by  will  to  the  Library 
the  whole  of  his  collections — ^printed 
books,  manuscripts,  and  antiquities. 
There  were  about  1,900  printed 
books,  and  4,800  manuscripts.  The 
collection  is  especially  strong  in 
history,  biography,  and  topography, 
and  had  been  gathered  at  the  dis- 
persal of  many  famous  libraries.  It 
was  from  Rawlinson  that  the  Bod- 
leian acquired  the  acknowledgment 
of  the  Duke  of  Monmouth,  signed 
and  sealed  on  the  day  of  his 
execution,  that  Charles  II.  had  de- 
clared to  him  that  he  had  never 
been  married  to  his  mother.  This 
acknowledgment  is  now  displayed 
in  one  of  the  glass  cases  in  the 
Library.  The  diary  and  note-books 
of  Heame  the  antiquary, 

Who  snatched  old  stones  from  the  jaws  of 

time, 
And  drove  the  spiders  from  much  prose 

and  rhyme, 

were  also  among  Bawlinson's  trea- 
sures. Extracts  from  them  were 
published  by  Dr.  Bliss  in  1857 ;  and 
they  are  full  of  such  curious  personal 
anecdote,  gossip,  and  denunciations 
of  *  anti-monarchical  Whigs,'  as 
might  have  been  looked  for  from  so 
tborough-paced  a  Jacobite  and  Non- 
juror. In  1 70 1  Heame  had  been 
appointed  Janitor  or  Assistant  in 
the  Bodleian.  He  resigned  this 
office  in  17 16,  when  an  Act  was 
passed  compelling  all  office-holders 
to  take  the  oaths  to  tbe  existing 
Government.  His  Jacobitism  had 
already  brought  him  into  trouble, 
and  he  had  been  *  reported  '  to  the 
Vice  Chancellor  by  a  certain  Whig- 
g-ish.  visitor,  to  whom  he  impru- 
dently exhibited  a  portrait  of  the 
•  Pretender.  He  fell  upon  hard 
times,  for  his  love  for  the  great 
liibrary,  and  his  zeal  in  caring  for 
its   treasures,  could  not  well  have 


been  exceeded.  Whenever,  in  his 
explorations  among  the  manuscript 
volumes,  he  came  upon  the  hand- 
writing of  Duke  Humphrey  of 
Gloucester — the  founder,  as  we  have 
seen,  of  the  first  Library  at  Oxford — 
he  was  wont,  as  he  tells  us,  '  to  show 
a  sort  of  particular  respect  to  it.' 

*  Probably,'   suggests  Mr.  Macray, 

*  by  such  a  reverential  kiss  as  he 
once  bestowed  on  a  certain  pave- 
ment of  sheep's  trotters,  believing 
it  to  be  a  Roman  tesselation.'  The 
'religious, good, and  learned  Prince,' 
as  Heame  calls  the  Dake,  wrote 
his  motto,  *  moun  bien  mondaine,' 
in  many  volumes  which  have  found 
their  way  to  the  Bodleian. 

To  the  present  time  the  only 
rivals  of  Bawlinson  in  the  extent 
of  their  donations  have  been  Gough 
and  Douce.  Grough's  collections, 
received  in  1809,  related  chiefly  to 
Anglo-Saxon  and  Northern  litera- 
ture, and  to  the  topography  of 
Great  Britain  and  Ireland.  There 
were  about  3,700  volumes.  The 
library  of  Francis  Douce,  consisting 
of  16,480  printed  books,  393  MSS. 
and  a  large  collection  of  early  and 
valuable  prints  and  drawings,  was 
bequeathed  to  the  Bodleian  in 
1834.  This  library  is  the  delight 
of  antiquaries.  Among  the  manu- 
scripts are  some  of  the  finest  illu- 
minated service  books  in  the  world ; 
HoraB,  executed  by  the  chief  artists 
of  their  day  for  emperors  and  prin- 
cesses ,  and  volumes  of  earlier  date, 
which,  if  less  elaborately  enriched, 
are  of  still  greater  historical  inte- 
rest. 

These  are  the  memories — not  only 
of  the  founder  and  th^  great 
donors,  or  of  men  who,  like  Hearne, 
have  found  their  chief  '  bien  mon- 
daine '  in  the  diligent  study  of  its 
stores,  but  more  especially  of  the 
books  themselves,  with  their  varied 
and  often  eventful  histories — that 
give  such  a  charm  to  a  stroll 
through  the  chambers  of  a  great 
library  like  the  Bodleian.  Massive 
volumes,  which  crrew  slowly,  year 


656 


Bodley  and  the  Bodleian. 


[May 


after    year,  in    the  '  scriptoriam ' 
of  many  a  noble  monastery,   long 
rained,  or,  it  may  be,  atterly  swept 
away  from  the  face  of  the  earth; 
spoils  of  war,  like  the  Wnrtzbnrg 
manuscripts,    rescned     from     the 
troopers  of  Gastams  Adolphns,  and 
given  to  the  Library  by  Land,  or 
like  the  books  of  Osorins,  Bishop 
of  Faro,  carried  off  when  that  town 
was  captured  by  the  English  fleet 
under  the  Earl  of  Essex  in   1598, 
and    bestowed    on    Bodley's    new 
foundation,  it  is  said,  by  the  in- 
fluence of  Raleigh,  who  was  a  cap- 
tain in  the  squadron ;  the  choicest 
treasures  of  great  princes,  dispersed, 
like  the  library  of  Charles  I.,  in  the 
storm  of  revolution ;   or   volumes 
which  have  been  handled  and  pored 
over  by  possessors  whose    names 
alone  would  give  distinction  to  the 
simplest  old  '  tractate,'  *  dark  with 
tarnished   gold ;' — it  is,   in   truth, 
under  a   'weight  of  time  and  of 
history*  that  the  'groaning  shelves' 
are  bending.      What  changes  and 
what    dispersions,    wrote   South ey 
of   his   own    library,   'must    have 
taken  place,  to  make  it  possible  that 
these  books  should  be  brought  to- 
gether here  among  the  Cumberland 
mountains ! ' "  What  changes,  what 
dispersions,  what  revolutions,  and 
what  passing  away  of  whole  worlds 
of  thought  and  of  action,  tell  their 
silent    stories    in    the    collections 
which  make  up  the  gpreat  Library 
of   Oxford !      Here,    for    example, 
among  the  Jjaudian  manuscripts  is 
the    Peterborough    copy    of    that 
old  English  chronicle  which  before, 
and  for  a  short  time  after,  the  Nor- 
man Conquest  was  regularly  com- 
piled in  certain  of  the  greater  monas- 
teries. Thisrecord  was  con  tinned  for 
nearly  a  oentnir  after  the  others ; 
and    neither    the    gpreat    existing 
church     of      '  Peterborough      the 
Proud'   nor  the  fragments  of  its 
once   stately    monastery    take    us 
back  so  completely  into  the  days  of 


the  '  alien  king,*  and  of  tlie  straggle 
between  Norman  and  Englishmen, 
as  those  leaves  of  grey  parchment 
on  which    the  monk  entered  his 
record    of   the  troubles  that  had 
fallen  on   England.     Here,  again, 
one  of  many  precious  manuscripts 
bequeathed  to  the  Library  by  Francis 
Junius  in  1678  is  the  famous  poem 
of  Cflsdmon,   the   '  oeorl '  attached 
to  St.  Hilda's  Abbey  on  the  Whithj 
headland,   whose    first  verses    (so 
Bede  asserts)  were  composed  in  bis 
sleep,   and  who  afterwards  elabo- 
rated this  long  paraphrase  of  the 
Scriptures.      This    is   the  solitary 
manuscript  of  what  is  the  earliest 
English  poem  ;  and  its  adventnrffs, 
could  they  be  recovered,  might  well 
prove  as  remarkable  as  the  poem 
itself.     The  Codex  EughiiwrtkianHi, 
given  in  1681  by  John  Roshworth, 
the  historian  of  the  Long  Parliamrat, 
carries  us  across  the  Irish  Sea  and 
back  to  the  days  when  L*^and  was 
in  truth  a  land  of  learning.     It  is 
a  MS.  of  the  Latin  Gospels,  written 
by  an  Irish  scribe,  MacBegol,  who 
records  his  name  on  the  last  leaf; 
and  is  glossed  with  an  interlinear 
Anglo-Saxon  translation.   It  is  said, 
though  improbably,  to  have  been  in 
Bede's  possession ;  but  €tie  Saxon 
gloss  tells  its  own  story,  and  qnieU? 
asserts  the  intercourse  between  ihe 
Churches.     Not  one  of  the  superb 
manuscripts  which,  displayed  nnd^ 
glass,  immediately  attract  the  at- 
tention of  the  visitor  as  he  enters 
the  Library,  but  is  worth  dwelling: 
upon,  not  only  for  its  beauty  as  a 
work  of  high  art,  but  for  its  actoal 
history,  and,  not  less,  for  the  asso- 
ciations which  it  suggests  and  illus- 
trates.    It  may  be  mentioned  that 
some  of  the  finest  of  these  mann- 
scripts  formed  part  of  a  collection 
made  by  a  Venetian  Jesuit  named 
Canonici,  *  who  died  in  1806.    In 
181 7    the     Bodleian    bought    the 
whole  of   his  manuscripts,  aboot 
2,045   ^^  number,  for  the  sum  of 


"  CoUoquif,  Vol,  11.  'The  Library.* 


1873] 


Bodleij  and  the  Bodleian. 


657 


5,444Z.,  a  larger  sum  than  has  been 
expended  at  one  time  by  the  tms^ 
tees  of  the  Library  before  or  since. 
In  this  collection  came  fifteen 
manuscripts  of  Dante,  the  first 
which  the  Bodleian  possessed,  not« 
-withstanding  a  wonderful  story 
told  by  a  certain  Girolamo  Gigli 
about  1 71 7 — how  in  the  Bodleian 
Library  at  'Osfolk'  there  was  a 
MS.  of  the  Divina  Commedia  which 
bad  been  used  for  wrapping  up 
Florentine  cheeses,  and  so  had 
been  brought  into  England.  The 
odour  of  the  cheese  (says  this  vera- 
cious chronicler)  had  so  penetrated 
the  manuscript  that  it  was  neces- 
sary to  protect  it  from  mice  by  a 
brace  of  traps  constantly  placed 
near  it.  Hence  it  was  known  as 
the  '  Book  of  the  Mousetrap.' 

The  Bodleian  is  famous  for  its 
vast  assemblage  of  Oriental  manu- 
scripts, .collected  at  varioas  times, 
but  begun  by  Bodley  himself,  who 
had  desired  the  Consul  at  Aleppo 
of  the  Company  of  English  Mer- 
chants to  procure  for  him  such 
books.  But  it  would  be  idle  to 
attempt  any  further  delving  among 
the  treasures  of  this  great  store- 
house. Two  additional  books  only 
shall  find  a  place  here — the  first 
because  it  is  the  handywork  of  a 
coantryman  of  Bodley'a,  and  de- 
serves the  respect  of  all  Devonians; 
the  second  because  it  is  in  itself 
unique,  and  is  one  of  the  great 
marvels  of  the  Library.  The  Rev. 
William  Davy,  vicar  of  Lustleigb, 
in  Devonshire,  wrote  and  printed 
witli  his  own  hands,  between  the 
ycjars  1795  *^^  1807,  twenty-six 
volumes  of  A  System  of  Divinity,  in 
a  Course  of  Sermmis  on  the  First 
Institutunis  of  Religion,  Fourteen 
copies  only  were  printed,  in  a  very 
indifierent  type,  of  which  the  author 
l>ossessed  only  sufficient  to  print 
two  pages  at  once.  It  must  have 
been  with  no  small  zeal  that  he 
worked — *  arte  mea/  he  says,  *  di- 
nmo  noctumoque  labore ' — in  his 
remote  parsonage  under  the  shadow 


of  the  Dartmoor  hills.  Whatever 
the  merits  of  the  Syiftem  may 
be,  the  book  so  laboriously  ela- 
berated  well  deserved  a  •  place 
among  the  *  Curiositiesof  Literature' 
in  the  Bodleian.  The  second  book 
or  '  collection  '  is  of  very  different 
quality.  In  1839  Mrs.  Sutherland 
presented  to  the  Library  the  folio 
editions  of  Clarendon's  History  of 
tbe  Rebellion,  of  his  Life,  and  of 
Burnet's  History  of  his  own  times. 
These  are  inlaid  and  bound  in 
sixty-one  elephant  folio  volumes, 
and  iUustrated  with  no  less  than 
19,224  drawings  and  engravings: 

*  portraits  of  every  person  and 
views  of  every  place  in  any  way 
mentioned  in  the  text  or  connected 
with  the  subject-matter.'  The 
collection  was  begun  in  1795  by 
the  husband  of  tbe  donor,  who 
continued  it  after  his  death.  It  is 
enough  to  suy  that  there  are  743 
portraits  of  Charles  I.,  373  c^ 
Cromwell,  and  552  of  Charles  II. 
The  views  of  London  are  in  number 
309,  and  there  are  166  of  West- 
minster. 

Such  curiosities  as  are  frequently 
assembled  under  the  wing  of  a 
great  library,  are  not  wanting  in 
the  Bodleian.  The  founder  himself 
procured  from  Sir  Richard  Lee,  to 
whom  it  had  been  given  by  the  Czar 
of  Muscovy,  a  clos^  lined  with  the 
wool  of  *  certaine  livinge  creatures 
in  the  shape  of  lambes,  which  grow 
out  of  the  ground  in  Tartaria,'  the 
wool  being  'of  excellent  use  and 
vertue,  especially  against  the  plague 
and  other  noysome  diseases  of  those 
cuntries.'  This  was,  of  course,  the 
famous  Agntis  Scythicus,  the  mystery 
of  which  is  explained  by  the  re- 
markable woolly  growth  which  is 
found  on  the  large  Polypodium  Bo" 
rometz — a  Tartarian  fern,  of  which 
specimens  may  be  seen  at  Kew  and 
elsewhere.  Sir  Richard  Lee's  cloak 
was  greatly  envied  by  the  *  Kinge  of 
Sweth]and,'  whom  he  visited  on  his 
homeward  journey.  He  brought  back 

*  divers  other  rich  furres  and  rari- 


658 


Bodley  and  the  Bodleian, 


[Maj  1873 


ties . . .  the  greatest  part  whereof  the 
Qneene  tooke  of  him,  and  promised 
him  recompense  for  them,  which  she 
never  performed ;  which  was  partly 
the  canse  that  he  concealed  this 
garment  from  her  daring  her  life.' 
Thns  it  came  to  the  Bodleian,  where 
it  is  no  longer  to  be  found,  although 
an  'ark  of  sweet-smelling  wood' 
was  prepared  for  its  reception.  This 
was  a  more  worthy  marvel  than  Guy 
Fauz's  lantern — still  to  be  admired 
in  the  Picture  Gallery.  It  was  given 
to  the  University  in  1639  ^7  B^bert 
Hey  wood,  the  son  of  a  'Justice 
Heywood '  who  assisted  in  search- 
ing the  cellars  of  the  Parliament 
House,  and  arrested  Faux  with  the 
lantern  in  his  hand.  It  has  a  neigh- 
bour in  a  chair  made  from  the  wood 
of  the  Qold-en  Hitid,  the  ship  in 
which  Sir  Francis  Drake  sailed 
round  the  world.  It  is  hardly  fair 
to  number  among  similar  curiosities 
the  fragment  of  Charles  the  First's 


waistcoat  (so  called)  in  whicli  a 
New  Testament  exhibited  in  one  of 
the  glass  cases  is  bound.  More  in- 
teresting, because  certainly  anthen. 
tic,  are  the  specimens  of  Queen 
Elizabeth's  skill  in  embroidery.  A 
New  Testament  which  belonged  to 
her  is  bound  in  a  covering  worked 
by  herself,  with  various  mottos— as 

*  Celum  patria,'  •  Scopus  vit«  Xpus.' 
Another  book,  sent  by  her  from 
Ashridge  in  1644,  to  *  our  most 
noble  and  vertuous  Queue  Kathenn' 
(Katherine  Parr),  is  embroidered 
with  the  Queen's  initials,  on  a  ground 
of  blue  silk. 

An  annual  speech,  in  honour  of 
Sir  Thomas  Bodley,  is  still  made 

*  in  schola  linguamm.*  But  it  is 
little  needed.  His  memorial  will  en- 
dure  so  long  as  Oxford  '  stands 
where  it  does,'  and  while  one  stone 
of  his  great  Library  remains  on 
another. 

BicHABD  John  Enf&. 


FEASEK'S    MAGAZINE. 


SDITED  BT 


JAMES  ANTHONY   FROUDE,  M.A. 


New  Sbbibs.  JUNE  1873.        Vol.  VH*— No.  XLII. 


CONTENTS. 

PAQB 

LECTURES   ON  MB.   DARWIN'S   PHILOSOPHY   OF  LANGUAGE.— 

Br  Pbofbssos  Max  MOxxkb. — Sbcx>nd  Lectuhb  659 

PEASANTRY  OF  THE  SOUTH  OF  ENGLAND.— By  a  Wtkbhamist 679 

A  WEEK  OF  CAMP  LIFE  IN  INDIA    693 

ON  THE  EXTENSION  OF  RAILWAYS  IN  AMERICA 702 

THE  FABLE  OF  THE  BEES.— By  Lbslib  Stephen , 713 

THE  WORKMEN  OF  PARIS  DURING  THE  SIEGE.— By  J.  db  Bouteiller  728 
PRINCIPAL  TULLOCH  ON  RATIONAL  THEOLOGY  AND  CHRISTIAN 

PHILOSOPHY    738 

THE  COMING  TRANSIT  OF  VENUS.— By  Richabd  A.  Pboctob,  B.A....  750 

THE  ETHICS  OF  ST.  PAUL 760 

OUR  IRISH  POLICY 778 


LONDON : 
LONGMANS,    GBEEN,    AND    CO. 

1873. 


FRASEE'S  MAGAZINE  for  MAY  1873 


CONTAINS 

LECTURES    ON    MR.    DARWIN'S    PHILOSOPHY    OP    LANOUAGK-Br 

PJ10FB88QB  Max  Mdllsb. — PmsT  Lbctubb. 
PEASANTRY  OF  THE  SOUTH  OF  ENGLAND.— By  a  Wyxbhawst. 
GERARD  DE  NERVAL.— Bt  A.  Laito. 
A  NOTE  OF  INTERROGATION.— By  Flobbkcb  Niohtikgalb. 
OVER  THE  MARCHES  OF  CIVILISED  EUROPE. 
PRESENT  ASPECTS  OF  THE  LABOUR  QUESTION.— By  ait  Abhsah. 
VIENNA.— By  M.  D.  Conway. 

ON  THE  REGENERATION  OF  SUNDAY.— By  F.  W.  Nbwmax. 
THE  JESUITS,  AND  THEIR  EXPULSION  FROM  GERMANY, 
BODLEY  AND  THE  BODLEIAN.— By  Richabd  John  Knco. 


NOTICE    TO    COBRESPONDENTS. 

Oorrespondenits  are  desired  to  observe  thai  all  OommmcaMms  vmi  U 
addressed  direct  to  the  Editor. 

Bqected  Oontributions  eamot  he  returned. 


FKASER'S    MAGAZINE. 


JUNE   1873. 


LECTUEES  ON  MR.  DARWIN'S  PHILOSOPHY  OP  LANGUAGE. 
Bt  Pbofessob  Max  MI^lleb. 


SECOND   LECTUEE, 
Deutsbbd  at  the  Botal  Institution,  Mabch  29,  1873. 


r'  we   want  to  nnderstaiid  the 
history  of  the  Norman  Conquest, 
the  Beformation,  the  Prench  Be- 
Tolntion,  or  anj  other  great  crisis 
in  the  political,  religions,  and  social 
state  of  the  world,  we  know  that 
we  mnst  stndj  the  history  of  the 
times  immediately  preceding  those 
momentons  changes.    Nor  shall  we 
ever  understand  the  real  character 
of  a  great  philosophical  crisis  nnless 
we  have  made  ourselves  thoroughly 
&miliarwith  its  antecedents.  With- 
out going  so  far  as  Hegel,  who  saw 
in  the  whole  history  of  philosophy 
an  unhroken  dialectic  evolution,  it 
is  easy  to  see  that  there  certainly  is 
a  greater  continuity  in  the  history 
of  philosophic  thought  than  in  the 
history  of  politics,  and  it  therefore 
seemed  to  me  essential  to  dwell  in 
my  first  Lecture  on  the  exact  stage 
which  the  philosophical  struggle  of 
our  century  had  reached  before  Mr. 
Darwin's  publications  appeared,  in 
order   to  enable  us  to  appreciate 
folly    his    historical  position,    not 
only  as    an    eminent  physiologist, 
but  as  the  restorer  of  that  great 
empire  in   the  world  of   thought 
which  claims  as  its  founders  the 
glorious  names  of  Locke  and  Hume. 
It  might   indeed  be  said  of  Mr. 
Darwin  what  was  once  Said  of  the 

VOL.  VII. — ^NO.  XLII.      NEW  SERIES, 


restorer  of  another  empire,  '  II  n'est 
pas  parvenu,  il  est  arriv6.'  The 
philosophical  empire  of  Locke  and 
Hume  had  ^Edlen  under  the  blows 
of  Kant's  OrUidsm  of  Pv/re  Reason. 
But  the  successors  of  Kant — ^Pichte, 
Schelling,  and  Hegel — disregarding 
the  checks  by  which  Kant  had  so 
carefully  defined  the  legitimate  ex- 
ercise of  the  rights  of  Pure  Reasou, 
indulged  in  such  flights  of  tran- 
scendent fancy,  that  a  reaction  be- 
came inevitable.  First  came  the 
violent  protest  of  Schopenhauer, 
and  his  exhortation  to  return  to  the 
old  fundamental  principles  of  Kant's 
philosophy.  These,  owing  to  their 
very  violence,  passed  unheeded. 
Then  followed  a  complete  disorgani- 
sation of  philosophic  thought,  and 
this  led  in  the  end  to  a  desperate 
attempt  to  restore  the  old  dynasty 
of  Locke  and  Hume.  During  the 
years  immediately  preceding  the 
publication  of  Darwin's  Origin  of 
Species  (i860)  and  his  Descent  of 
Man,  the  old  problems  which  had 
been  discussed  in  the  days  of  Berke- 
ley, Hume,  and  Kant,  turned  up 
again  in  full  force.  We  had  to  read 
again  that  sensuous  impressions 
were  the  sole  constituent  elements 
of  the  human  intellect ;  that  general 
ideas  were  all    developed  sponta- 


z  z  2 


660 


Lectures  on  Mr,  Darwin's  Philosophy  of  Language,  [June 


neonslj  from  single  impressions ; 
that  the  onlj  difference  between 
sensations  and  ideas  was  the  faint- 
ness  of  the  latter ;  that  what  we 
mean  by  substance  is  only  a  collec- 
tion of  particular  ideas,  muted  by 
imagination,  and  comprehended 
by  a  particular  name;^  and  that 
what  we  are  pleased  to  call  onr 
mind,  is  but  a  delusion,  though  who 
the  deluder  is  and  who  the  deluded, 
would  seem  to  be  a  question  too 
indificreet  to  ask. 

But  the  principal  assault  in  this 
struggle  came  from  a  new  quarter. 
It  was  not  to  be  the  old  battle 
over  again,  we  were  told;  but  the 
fight  was  to  be  carried  on  with 
modem  and  irresistible  weapons. 
The  new  philosophy,  priding  itself, 
as  all  philosophies  have  done,  on  its 
positive  character,  professed  to  de- 
spise the  endless  argumentations  of 
the  schools,  and  to  appeal  for  evi- 
dence to  matter  of  iact  only.  Our 
mind,  whether  consisting  of  material 
impressions  or  intellectual  concepts, 
was  now  to  be  submitted  to  the 
dissecting  knife  and  the  micro- 
scope. We  were  shown  the  nervous 
tul^,  afferent  and  efferent,  through 
which  the  shocks  from  without  pass 
on  to  the  sensitive  and  motive  cells; 
the  commissural  tubes  holding  these 
cells  together  were  laid  bare  before 
us;  the  exact  place  in  the  brain 
was  pointed  out  where  the  messages 
from  without  were  delivered;  and 
it  seemed  as  if  nothing  were  wanting 
but  a  more  powerful  lens  to  enable 
us  to  see  with  our  own  eyes  how, 
in  the  workshop  of  the  brain,  as  in 
a  photographic  apparatus,  the  pic- 
tures of  the  senses  and  the  ideas  of 
the  intellect  were  being  turned  out 
in  endless  variety. 

And  this  was  not  all.  The  old 
stories  about  the  reasoning  of  ani- 
mals, so  powerfully  handled  in  the 
school  of  Hume,  were  brought  out 
again.  Innumerable  anecdotes  that 
had  been  told  from  the  time  of 


Aelian  to  the  days  of  Beimaras, 
were  told  once  more,  in  order  to 
show  that  the  intellect  of  animalB 
did  not  only  match,  but  that  in 
many  cases  it  transcended  the 
powers  of  the  human  intellect.  One 
might  have  imagined  oneself  hy- 
ing again  in  the  days  of  La  Mettiie, 
who,  after  havingpublished  his  work, 
lfa»,  a  Machine^  followed  it  up  by 
another  work,  BrateSy  more  than 
Machines.  It  is  true  there  were 
some  philosophers  who  protested 
energetically  against  reopening  that 
question,  which  had  been  closed  hj 
common  consent,  and  which  certain- 
ly ought  not  to  have  been  reopened 
by  positive  philosophers.  For  if  there 
is  a  terra  incognitaYrhich  excludes  all 
positive  knowledge,  it  is  the  mind 
of  animals.  We  may  imagine  any- 
thing we  please  about  the  inner  life, 
the  motives,  the  foresight,  the  feel- 
ings and  aspirations  of  animals — ^we 
can  know  absolutely  nothing.  How 
little  analog  can  help  us  in  inter- 
preting their  acts  is  best  proved  by 
the  fact,  that  a  philosopher  like 
Descartes  could  bring  himself  to 
consider  animals  as  mere  machines, 
while  Leibniz  was  unwilling  to 
deny  to  them  the  possession  of  im- 
mortal souls.  We  need  not  wonder 
at  such  discrepancies,  considering 
thenature  of  the  evidence.  Whatcan 
we  know  of  the  inner  life  of  a  mol- 
lusc ?  We  may  imagine  that  it  lives 
in  total  darkness,  that  it  is  hardly 
more  than  a  mass  of  pulp ;  but  we 
may  equally  well  imagine  that,  being 
free  from  all  the  disturbances  pro- 
duced by  the  impressions  of  the 
senses,  and  out  of  the  reach  of  all 
those  causes  of  error  to  which  man 
is  liable,  it  may  possess  a  much  truer 
and  deeper  insight  into  the  essence 
of  the  Absolute,  a  much  fuller  ap- 
prehension of  eternal  truths  than 
the  human  soul.  It  may  be  so,  or 
it  may  not  be  so,  for  there  is  no 
limit  to  an  anthropomorphic  inter- 
pretation of  the  life  of  animals.  But 


*  Hume,  Dreatise  on  Human  Nature,  book[i.  sec.  i.  p.  33. 


1873]  Lectures  on  Mr.  Darwin'' a  PhilosopJiy  of  Lang^itagc, 


661 


the  tacit  understanding,  or  rather 
the  clear  compromise,  established 
among  the  philosophers  of  the  last 
century,  and  declaring  the  old  battle- 
field, on  which  so  much  useless  ink 
bad  been  shed  over  the  question 
of  the  intellect  of  animals,  to  be  for 
ever  neutralised,  ought  hardly  to 
have  been  disturbed,  least  of  all  by 
those  who  profess  to  trust  in  nothing 
bat  positive  fact. 

Nor  do  I  think  that  philosophers 
would  have  allowed  the  reopening 
of  the  flood-gates  t)f  animal  anbhro* 
pomorphism,  if  it  had  not  been  for 
the  simultaneous  rise  of  Mr.  Dar- 
win's theories.  If  it  can  be  proved 
that  man  derives  his  origin  genea- 
logically, and,  in  the  widest  sense 
of  the  word,  historically,  from  some 
lower  animal,  it  is  useless  to  say 
another  word  on  the  mind  of  man 
being  different  from  the  mind  of 
animals.  The  two  are  identical, 
and  no  argument  would  be  re- 
quired any  longer  to  support  Hume's 
opinions ;  they  would  henceforth 
rest  on  positive  facts.  This  shows 
the  immense  importance  of  Mr. 
Darwin's  speculations  in  solving, 
once  for  all,  by  evidence  that  admits 
of  no  demurrer,  the  long-pending 
questions  between  man  and  animal, 
and,  in  its  ^rthcr  consequences, 
between  mind  and  matter,  between 
spiritualism  and  materialism,  be- 
tween Berkeley  and  Hume ;  and  it 
flhows  at  the  same  time  that  the 
final  verdict  on  his  philosophy  must 
be  signed,  not  by  zoologists  and 
physiologists  only,  but  by  psycho- 
logists also,  nay,  it  may  be,  by 
German  metaphysicians. 

Few  men  who  are  not  zoologists 
and  physiologists  by  profession  can 
bare  read  Mr.  Darwin's  books  On 
the  Origin  of  Species  and  On  the 
Descent  of  Man  with  deeper  interest 
than  I  haye,  and  with  a  more  in- 


tense admiration  of  his  original- 
ity, independence,  and  honesty  of 
thought.  I  know  of  few  books  so 
useful  to  the  student  of  the  Science 
of  Language,  in  teaching  him  the 
true  method  for  discovering  simi- 
larity beneath  diversity,  the  general 
behind  the  individual,  the  essential 
hidden  by  the  accidental ;  and  help- 
ing him  to  understand  the  possibility 
of  change  by  natural  means.  There 
may  be  gaps  and  flaws  in  the  genea- 
logical pedigree  of  organic  life,  as 
drawn  by  Mr.  Darwin  and  his*  fol- 
lowers ;  there  may  be  or  there  may 
not  be  a  possibility  of  resisting 
their  arguments  when,  beginning 
with  a  group  of  animals,  boldly 
called  'organisms  without  oi^ns,** 
such  as  the  Bathyhiiis  HaecJceliif 
they  advance  step  by  step  to  the 
crown  and  summit  of  the  animal 
kingdom,  and  to  the  primus  inter 
primates^  man. 

This  is  a  point  to  be  settled  by 
physiologists;  and  if  Carl  Vogt  may 
be  accepted  as  their  recognised  re- 
presentative and  spokesman,  the 
question  would  seem  to  be  settled,  at 
least  so  far  as  the  savants  of  Europe 
are  concerned.  *  No  one,'  he  says, 
'at  least  in  Europe,  dares  any 
longer  to  maintain  the  independent 
and  complete  creation  of  species.'* 
The  reservation,  *  at  least  in  Eu- 
rope,' is  meant,  as  is  well  known, 
for  Agassiz  in  America,  who  still 
holds  out,  and  is  bold  enough  to 
teach,  *  that  the  different  species  of 
the  animal  kingdom  furnish  an  un- 
expected proof  that  the  whole  plan 
of  creation  was  maturely  weighed 
and  fixed,  long  before  it  was  carried 
out.'*  Professor  Haeckel,  however, 
the  fiery  apostle  of  Darwinism  in 
Germany,  speaks  more  diffidently 
on  the  subject.  In  his  last  work  on 
Kalkschwdmme  (p.  xii.),  just  pub- 
lished, he  writes:   *The  majority,. 


Haeckel,  Naturliehe  Schopfungggesehiehte,  p.  165. 

'Penonne,  en  Europe  au  moins,  n'oeo  plus  soutenir  la  creation  ind^pendante  et 
<de  toutes  pieces  des  esp^ces.'    Quoted  by  Danrin,  in  his  Descent  of  Man,  vol.  i.  p.  i. 
*  See  Ihurand,  Origines,  pp.  77,  78. 


662 


Leciwres  on  Mr.  BarvmCs  PhUoaophy  of  Language. 


[June 


and  among  it  some  &moiis  biolo- 
gists of  the  first  class,  are  still  of 
opinion  that  the  problem  of  the 
origin  of  species  has  only  been  re- 
opened by  Darwin,  but  hy  no  means 
solved.* 

But,  however  that  may  be,  and 
'whatever  modification  Mr.  Dar- 
vmi's  system  may  receive  at  the 
hands  of  professed  physiologists, 
the  hononr  of  having  cleared  the 
Angean  stable  of  endless  species,  of 
having  explained  many  things  which 
formerly  seemed  to  require  the  in- 
terference of  direct  creation,  by  the 
slow  action  of  natural  causes,  of 
having  made  us  see  the  influence 
exercised  by  the  individual  on  the 
family,  and  by  the  family  on  the  in- 
dividual, of  having  given  us,  in  fact, 
a  few  really  new  and  fresh  ideas, 
will  always  remain  his  own. 

In  saying  this,  however,  I  do  not 
wish  to  imply  assent  to  Mr.  Darwin's 
views  on  the  development  of  aU 
species  ;  I  only  wish  to  say  that,  in 
the  presence  of  such  high  autho- 
rities, one  ought  to  refrain  from 
expressing  an  opinion,  and  be  satis- 
fied to  wait.  I  am  old  enough  to 
remember  the  equally  authoritative 
statements  of  the  most  eminent 
naturalists  with  regard  to  the  races 
of  man.  When  my  own  researches 
on  language  and  the  intellectual 
development  of  man  led  me  to  the 
conclusion  that,  if  we  had  only 
sufficient  time  (some  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  years)  allowed  us,  there 
would  be  no  difficulty  in  giving  an 
intelligible  account  of  the  common 
origin  of  all  languages,  I  was  met 
witn  the  assurance  that,  even  hypo- 
iheticaUy,  such  a  view  was  impos- 
sible, because  the  merest  tyro  in 
anatomy  knew  that  the  different 
races  of  man  constituted  so  many 
species,  that  species  were  the  result 
of  independent  creative  acts,  and 
that  the  black,  brown,  red,  yellow, 
and  white  races  could  not  possibly 


be  conceived  as  descended  from  one 
source.  MenlikePrichaidand  Hum- 
boldt, who  maintained  the  possi- 
bility of  a  common  origin^  were 
accused  of  being  influenced  by 
extraneous  motives.  I  myself  was 
charged  with  a  superstitious  belief 
in  the  Mosaic  ethnology.  And 
why?  Simply  because,  in  the 
Science  of  I^guage,  I  was  a  Dar- 
winian before  Darwin  ;  simply  be- 
cause I  had  protested  against  sden- 
tificasstrongly  asagainst  theologi«d 
dogmatism;  simply  because  I  wish- 
ed to  see  the  question  of  the  possi- 
bility of  a  common  origin  of  lan- 
guages treated,  at  least,  as  an  open 
question.*  And  what  has  happ^ied 
now?  All  the  arguments  about 
hybridity,  infertility,  local  centres, 
permanent  types,  are  swept  away 
under  the  powerftJ  broom  of  de- 
velopment, and  we  are  told  thai 
not  only  the  diflerent  varieties  of 
man,  but  monkeys,  horses,  cats, 
and  dogs,  have  all  one,  or  at  the 
utmost  four  progenitors ;  nay,  that 
*no  living  creature,  in  Europe  at 
least,  dares  to  affirm  the  indepen- 
dent creation  of  species.'  Under 
these  circumstances  it  seems  but 
feir  to  follow  the  old  Greek  rule  of 
abstaining,  and  to  wait  whether  in 
the  progress  of  physical  research 
the  arguments  of  the  evolutionists 
will  really  remain  unanswerable  and 
unanswered. 

The  two  points  where  the  system 
of  Mr.  Darwin,  and  more  particu- 
larly of  his  followers,  seems  most 
vulnerable  to  the  general  student, 
are  the  beginning  and  the  end- 
With  regard  to  the  beginning  of 
organic  life,  Mr.  Darwin  himself  has 
exercised  a  wise  discretion.  He 
does  not,  as  we  saw,  postulate  one 
primordial  form,  nor  has  he  eve" 
attempted  to  explain  the  first  be- 
ginnings of  organic  life.  He  is 
not  responsible,  therefore,  for  the 
theories  of  his  disciples,  who  either 


*  See  <  The  Possibility  of  a  Common  Origin  of  Langimge/  in  my  letter  to  Bunsen  '  On 
the  Tuzanian  Languages,'  published  in  Bonsen's  ChriaHanUy  and  Mankind,  1854. 


1873]  Ledures  on  Mr.  BarvMa  PhUosopTiy  of  Language. 


663 


try  to  bridge  over  the  chasm  be- 
tween inorganic  and  organic  bodies 
by  mere  'Who  knows?'  or  who 
fall  back  on  scientific  mythology; 
for  to  speak  of  self-generation  is  to 
speak  mythologically. 

Mr.  Herbert  Spencer  writes  thns 
in  answer  to  Mr.  Martinean,  who 
had  dwelt  on  the  existence  of  this 
chasm  between  the  living  and  the 
not-liying  as  a  fatal  d^cnlty  in 
the  way  of  the  general  doctrine  of 
evolution :  '  Here,  again,  our  ig- 
norance is  employed  to  play  the 
part  of  knowledge :  the  fact  that 
we  do  not  know  distinctly  how  an 
alleged  transition  has  taken  place, 
is  transformed  into  the  fact  that  no 
transition  has  taken  place.' 

The  answer  to  this  is  clear.  Why 
allege  a  transition,  if  we  do  not 
know  anything  about  it  ?  It  is  in 
alleging  such  a  transition  that  we 
raise  our  ignorance  to  the  rank  of 
knowledge.  We  need  not  say  that 
a  transition  is  impossible,  if  impos- 
sible means  inconceivable ;  but  we 
ought  not  to  say  either  that  it  is 
possible,  unless  we  mean  by  pos- 
sible no  more  than  conceivable. 

Mr.  Spencer  then  continues: 
*  Merely  noting  this,  however,  I 
go  on  to  remark  that  scientific  dis- 
covery is  day  by  day  narrowing 
the  chasm.  Not  many  years  since 
it  was  held  as  certain  that  chemical 
compounds  distinguished  as  or- 
ganic could  not  be  formed  arti- 
ficially. Now,  more  than  a  thousand 
organic  compounds  have  been  form- 
ed artificially.  Chemists  have  disco- 
vered the  art  of  bmlding  them  up 
from  the  simpler  to  the  more  com- 
plex ;  and  do  not  doubt  that  they  will 
eventually  produce  the  most  com- 
plex. Moreover,  the  phenomena 
attending  isomeric  change  give  a 
clue  to  those  movements  which  are 
the  only  indications  we  have  of 
life  in  its  lowest  forms.  In  various 
colloidal  substances,  including  the 
albumenoid,  isomeric  change  is 
accompanied  by  contraction  or  ex- 
pansion, and  consequent  motion; 


and  in  such  primordial  types  as 
the  Protogenes  of  Haeckel,  which 
do  not  di^er  in  appearance  from 
minute  portions  of  albumen,  the 
observed  motions  are  comprehen- 
sible as  accompanying  isomeric 
changes  caused  by  variations  in 
surrounding  physical  actions.  The 
probabihty  of  this  interpretation 
will  be  seen  on  remembering  the 
evidence  we  have,  that  in  the 
higher  organisms  the  functions  are 
essentially  effected  by  isomeric 
changes  from  one  to  another  of  the 
multitudinous  forms  which  protein 
assumes.' 

This  is,  no  doubt,  very  able 
pleading  on  the  part  of  an  advo- 
cate, but  I  doubt  whether  it  would 
convince  Mr.  Spencer  himself,  as  a 
judge.  I  see  no  narrowing  of  the 
chaism  between  inorganic  and  or- 
ganic bodies,  because  certain  sub- 
stances, called  organic,  have  lately 
been  built  up  in  the  laboratory. 
These  so-called  organic  substances 
are  not  living  bodies,  but  simply  the 
secretions  of  living  bodies.  The 
question  was  not,  whether  we  can 
imitate  some  of  the  productions 
turned  out  of  the  laboratory  of  a 
living  body,  but  whether  we  can 
build  up  a  living  body. 

Secondly,  unless  Mr.  Spencer  is 
prepared  to  maintain  that  life  is 
nothing  but  isomeric  change,  the 
mere  fact  that  there  is  an  apparent 
similarity  between  the  movements 
of  the  lowest  of  living  bodies  and 
the  expansion  and  contraction  pro- 
duced in  not-living  substances  by 
isomeric  change,  carries  no  weight. 
Even  though  the  movements  of  the 
Protogenes  Haeckelii  were  in  ap- 
pearance the  same  as  those  produced 
in  chemical  substances  by  isomeric 
change,  no  one  knows  better  than 
Mr.  Spencer,  that  life  is  not  merely 
movement,  but  that  it  involves 
assimilation,  oxidation  and  repro- 
duction, at  least  reproduction  by 
fission.  No  chemist  has  yet  pro- 
duced albumen,  much  less  a  mo- 
neresi    and  till  that  is  done  we 


664t 


Lectures  on  Mr,  Darwin^ a  Philosophy  of  Langtuige.  [Jane 


have  as  mucli  light  to  protest 
against  the  hypothetical  admission 
of  a  transition  from  no-life  into  life 
as  Mr.  Spencer  wonld  hare  to  pro- 
test against  the  assertion  that  such 
a  transition  is  impossible. 

By  the  frequent  repetition  of 
such  words  as  generatio  sponta/neoj 
autogony,  plasmogony,  TJrzeugung^ 
and  all  the  rest,  we  get  accustomed 
to  the  sound  of  these  words,  and  at 
last  imagine  that  they  can  be  trans- 
lated into  thought.  But  the  Science 
of  Language  teaches  us  that  it  is 
always  dangerous  to  do  violence  to 
words.  Self-generation  is  self- 
contradictory  ;  for  as  long  as  we  use 
generation  in  its  original  sense,  it  is 
impossible  that  the  object  of  genera- 
tion should  be  the  same  as  the  sub- 
ject. Why,  therefore,  use  the  word 
generation  ?  We  should  never 
venture  to  say  that  a  man  was  his 
own  father  or  his  own  son ;  and  if 
anyone  believes  that  the  production 
of  life  is  possible  by  means  of  purely 
mechanical  combinations,  a  new 
word  should  be  coined  for  this  new 
idea.  What  is  really  intended,  is  a 
complete  reformation  of  the  two 
concepts  of  organic  and  inorganic 
substance,  of  lifeless  and  living 
bodies.  The  two  are  no  longer  to  be 
consideredas  mutually  exclusive,  but 
as  co-ordinate,  and  both  subordinate 
to  some  higher  concept.  Life  may 
hereafter  be  discovered  as  the  result 
of  a  chemical  combination^  of  given 
substances ;  a  peculiar  mode  offeree 
or  being,  dependent  on  ascertainable 
conditions,  and  analogous  to  heat 
and  electricity.  Or  it  may  be  proved 
that  millions  of  years  ago  the  chemi- 
cal state  of  the  earth  was  different, 
And  that  what  isimpossible  now  in  our 
laboratories  was  possible  then  in  the 
primeval  laboratory  of  nature.  But^ 
for  the  present,  it  seems  to  me  a 
violation  of  the  ^indamental  laws  of 
scientific  research,  were  we  to  use 
fiuch  an  hypothesis  as  a  real  explana- 


tion of  the  problem  of  life,  or  were  we 
to  attempt  to  use  aulogony  as  a  real 
word.  The  origin  of  life  is  as  un- 
known to  us  as  it  was  to  Zoroaster, 
Moses,  or  Yasish^^ ;  andMr.  Darwin 
shows  a  truly  Kantian  spirit  in  ab- 
staining from  any  expression  of 
opinion  on  this  old  riddle  of  the 
world.  . 

But  while  with  regard  to  the 
first  point,  viz.  the  beginning  of 
life,  Mr.  Darwin  would  seem  to 
hold  a  neutral  position,  we  shall 
see  that  with  regard  to  the 
second  point,  viz.  the  develop- 
ment of  some  higher  animal  into 
nmn,  Mr.  Darwin  is  responsible 
himself.  He  feels  convinc^  that, 
if  not  lineally,  at  all  events  laterally, 
man  is  the  descendant  of  an  ape. 
Much  stress  has  lately  been  laid  on 
this,  as  a  kind  of  salve  to  onr 
wounded  pride,  that  man  need  not 
consider  himself  as  the  lineal  de- 
scendant of  any  living  kind  of  ape.' 
We  might,  indeed,  if  we  had  aoj 
feelings  of  reverence  for  our  an- 
cestors, hope  to  discover  their  fossil 
bones  in  the  tertiary  strata  of  South- 
em  Asia  and  Africa,  but  we  need 
not  be  afraid  of  ever  meeting  them 
face  to  face,  even  in  a  South  African 
congregation.  I  confess  I  do  not 
see  that  this  constitutes  any  real 
difference,  nay,  the  statement  that 
man  is  only  laterally,  not  lineallj, 
descended  from  a  catarrhine  ape, 
seems  to  me  to  rest  on  a  complete 
confusion  of  thought. 

Supposing  the  first  ancestor  of 
all  living  beings  to  have  been  a 
Moneres,  as  Haeckel  tells  us,  and 
that  this  moneres  developed  into 
an  Ainoebaj  and  that  the  Amo&ba^ 
after  passing  through  sixteen^  more 
stages  of  animal  life,  emerged  as  a 
Prosimia^  a  half-ape,  which  Prosimia 
became  a  Mefwcerca,  or  tailed  ape, 
then  an  Anthropoid  ape,  like  the  go- 
rilla, then  a  Pithecanthropus  or  an 
ape-man,  till  at  last  the  ape-man  (a 


•  Strauss,  p.  171.  »  Haeckel,  p.  577. 

•  lb.  p.  578. 


1873]  Lectures  on  Mr,  Darwin's  Philosophy  of  Language, 


665 


purely  mythological  being)  begat  a 
man  ;  surely,  in  that  case,  man  is 
the  lineal  descendant  of  an  ape, 
though  his  first  ancestor  was  the 
small  speck  of  protoplasm,  called  a 
Moneres,  that  has  not  yet  reached 
even  the  dignity  of  a  cell.^  The 
admission  of  hundreds  and  thou- 
sands of  intermediate  links  between 
the  gorilla  and  man  would  not 
make  the  smallest  difference,  as 
long  as  the  genealogical  continuity 
is  not  broken.  Even  if  we  repre- 
sented to  ourselves  the  genealogical 
tree  of  the  animal  family  as  a  real 
tree,  sending  out  by  genmiation 
leaves  and  branches,  representing 
the  different  species  of  animals  from 
the  amoeba  to  the  ape,  and  deve- 
loping its  leader  into  man,  we 
should  gain  nothing ;  for  if  the  pri- 
mordial moneres  is  our  common 
ancestor,  all  his  descendants  are 
brothers ;  all  have,  strictly  speaking, 
some  molecule  of  that  living  sub- 
stance which  existed  in  the  first 
living  individual;  all  are  liable, 
therefore,  to  the  capricious  working 
of  an  unsuspected  atavism. 

Nor  do  I  see  any  necessity  for 
softening  the  true  aspect  of  Dar- 
win's theory,  or  disguisii^  its  con- 
sequences. The  question  is  not 
whether  the  belief  that  animals  so 
distant  as  a  man,  a  monkey,  an 
elephant,  and  a  humming  bird,  a 
snake,  a  frog,  and  a  fish  could  all 
have  sprung  from  the  same  parents 
is  monstrous  ;'^  but  simply  and 
solely,  whether  it  is  true.  If  it 
is  true,  we  shall  soon  learn  to  di- 
^st  it.  Appeals  to  the  pride  or 
humility  of  man,  to  scientific  cou- 
rage or  religious  piety,  are  all 
equally  out  of  place.  If  it  could 
bo  proved  that  our  bodily  habitat 
had  not  been  created  in  all  its  per- 
fection from  the  first,  but  had  been 
allowed  to  develop  for  ages  before 
it  became  fit  to  hold  a  human  soul, 
should  we  have  any  right  to  com- 


plain ?  Do  we  complain  of  the  in- 
justice  or  indignity  of  our  having 
individually  to  be  bom  or  to  die  ? 
of  our  passing  through  the  different 
stages  of  embryonic  hie,  of  our  being 
made  of  dust,  that  is,  of  exactly  the 
same  chemical  materials  from  which 
the  bodies  of  animals  are  built  up  P 
Fact  against  fact,  argument  against 
argument,  that  is  the  rule  of 
scientific  warfare,  a  warfare  in 
which  to  confess  oneself  convinced 
or  vanquished  by  truth  is  often  fiar 
more  honourable  than  victory. 

But  while  protesting  against  these 
sentimental  outcries,  we  ought  not 
to  allow  ourselves  to  be  intimi- 
dated by  scientific  clamour.  It 
seems  to  me  a  mere  dogmatic  asser- 
tion to  say  "  that  it  would  be  un- 
scientific to  consider  the  hand  of  a 
man  or  a  monkey,  the  foot  of  a 
horse,  the  flipper  of  a  seal,  the 
wing  of  a  bat,  as  having  been 
formed  on  the  same  ideal  plan ! 
Even  if  *  their  descent  from  a  com- 
mon progenitor,  together  with  their 
adaptation  to  diversified  conditions/ 
were  proved  by  irrefragable  evi- 
dence, the  conception  of  an  ideal 
plan  would  remain  perfectly  legi- 
timate. If  this  one  member  could 
be  so  modified  as  to  become  in 
course  of  time  a  wing,  a  flipper,  a 
hoof,  or  a  hand,  there  is  nothing 
unscientific,  nothing  unphiloso- 
phical  in  the  idea  that  it  may  from 
the  first  have  been  intended  for 
these  later  purposes  and  higher  de- 
velopments. Not  every  member 
has  become  a  hand ;  and  why  ? 
Three  reasons  only  are  admissible  ; 
either  because  there  was  for  the 
hand  a  germ  which,  under  all  cir- 
cumstances, would  have  developed 
into  a  hand,  and  into  a  hand  onl^ ; 
or  because  there  were  outward  cur- 
cumstances  which  would  have  forced 
any  member  into  the  shape  of  a 
hand ;  or  lastly,  because  there  was 
from  the   beginning  a  correlation 


•  Haeckel,  p.  x68.  »•  Darwin,  Deicent,  vol.  i.  p.  203. 

"  Descent,  vol.  i.  p.  32. 


666 


Lectures  on  Mr.  DanMs  Philosophy  of  Language, 


[June 


between  that  parficalar  member 
and  the  circumstances  to  which  it 
became  adapted.  I  can  understand 
•the  view  of  the  eyolntionist,  who 
looks  upon  an  organ  as  so  much 
protoplasm,  which,  according  to  cir- 
cnmstances,  might  assume  any  con- 
ceivable form,  and  who  treats  all 
environing  circumstances  as  facts 
requiring  no  explanation ;  but  I  am 
not  prepared  to  saj  that  Kant's 
view  is  unphilosophical  when  he 
says :  '  Every  change  in  a  substance 
depends  on  its  connection  with  and 
reciprocal  action  of  other  sub- 
stances, and  that  reciprocal  action 
cannot  be  explained,  except  through 
a  Divine  mind,  as  the  common  cause 
of  both/  ^^  At  all  events  the  con- 
ception that  all  these  modifications 
in  the  ascending  scale  of  animal 
life  are  the  result  of  natural  selec- 
tion, transcends  the  horizon  of  our 
understanding  quite  as  much  as 
the  conception  that  the  whole  crea- 
tion was  foreseen  at  once,  and  that 
what  seems  to  us  the  result  of 
adaptation  through  myriads  of 
years,  was  seen  as  a  whole  firom 
beginning  to  end  by  the  wisdom  and 
power  of  a  creative  Self.  Both 
views  are  transcendent,  both  be- 
long to  the  domain  of  faith ;  but  if 
it  were  possible  to  measure  the 
wonders  of  this  universe  by  de- 
grees, I  confess  that,  to  my  mind, 
the  self-evolution  of  a  cell  which 
contains  within  itself  the  power  of 
becoming  a  man,  or  the  admission  of 
a  protoplasm  which  in  a  given  num- 
ber of  years  would  develop  into  a 
homunculAis  or  a  Shakespeajre — ^nay, 
the  mere  formation  of  a  nucl&us 
which  would  change  the  moneres 
into  an  amoeba,  would  &r  exceed  in 
marvellousness  all  the  speculations 
of  Plato  and  the  wonders  of  (Genesis. 
The  two  extremes  of  scientific  re- 
search and  mythological  specula- 
tion seem  sometimes  on  the  point 
of  meeting ;  and  when  I  listen  to 
the  language  of  the  most  advanced 


biologists,  I  almost  imagine  I  am 
listening  to  one  of  the  most  ancient 
hymns  of  the  Veda,  and  that  we 
shaU  soon  have  to  say  again :  *  In 
the  beginning  there  was  Uie  golden 


[t  is  easy  to  understand  that  the 
Darwinian  school,  having  brought 
itself  to  look  upon  the  divers  forms 
of  living  animals  as  the  result  of 
gradual  development,  should  hare 
considered  it  an  act  of  intellectnal 
cowardice  to  stop  short  before  mac. 
The  gap  between  man  and  the 
higher  apes  is  so  very  small,  where- 
as the  gap  between  the  ape  and  the 
moneres  is  enormous.  If,  then,  the 
latter  could  be  cleared,  bow  could 
we  hesitate  about  the  former? 
Few  of  those  who  have  read  Darwin 
or  Haeckel  could  £ul  to  feel  the 
force  of  this  appeal ;  and  so  far  from 
showing  a  want  of  courage,  those 
who  resist  it  require  really  aD  the 
force  of  intellectual  convictions  to 
keep  them  from  leaping  with  the 
rest.  I  cannot  follow  Mr.  Darwin 
because  I  hold  that  this  question  is 
not  to  be  decided  in  an  anatomical 
theatre  only.  There  is  to  my  mind 
one  difficulty  which  Mr.  Darwin 
has  not  sufficiently  appreciated,  and 
which  I  certainly  do  not  feel  able  to 
remove.  There  is  between  ^e 
whole  animal  kingdom  on  one  side, 
and  man,  even  in  his  lowest  state, 
on  the  other,  a  barrier  which  no 
animal  has  ever  crossed,  and  that 
barrier  is — Language,  By  no  effort 
of  the  understanding,  by  no  stretch 
of  imagination,  can  I  explain  to 
myself  how  language  could  have 
grown  out  of  anything  which 
animals  possess,  even  if  we  granted 
them  millions  of  years  for  that  par- 
pose.  If  anything  has  a  right  to 
the  name  of  specific  difference^  it  is 
language,  as  we  find  it  in  man,  and 
in  man  only.  Even  if  we  removed 
the  iiame  of  specific  difference  from 
our  philosophic  dictionaries,  I 
should  still  hold  that  nothing  de- 


"  Zeller,  Geachiehte  der  Deutsehen  FkUosopkie,  p.  413. 


1873]  Lectures  on  Mr.  Darwin's  Philosophy  of  Language. 


667 


serves  the  name  of  man  except  what 
is  able  to  speak.  If  Mr.  Mill  '^  main- 
tains that  a  rational  elephant  could 
not  be  called  a  man,  all  depends  on 
-what  he  means  by  rational.  Bnt  it 
may  certauilj  be  said  with  equal, 
and  even  greater  truth,  that  a 
speaking  elephant  or  an  elephantine 
speaker  could  never  be  called  an 
elephant.  I  can  bring  myself  to 
imagine  with  evolutionist  philoso- 
phers that 'that  most  wonderful  of 
organs,  the  eye,  has  been  developed 
ont  of  a  pigmentary  spot,  and  the 
ear  oat  of  a  particularly  sore  place 
in  the  skin ;  that,  in  fact,  an  animal 
without  any  organs  of  sense  may 
in  time  grow  into  an  animal  with 
orgSLBS  of  sense.  I  say  I  can 
imagine  it,  and  I  should  not  feel 
justified  in  classing  such  a  theory 
as  utterly  inconceivable.  But, 
taking  all  that  is  called  animal  on 
one  side,  and  man  on  the  other,  I 
most  call  it  inconceivable  that  any 
known  animal  could  ever  develop 
language.  Professor  Schleicher, 
though  an  enthusiastic  admirer  of 
Darwin,  observed  once  jokingly,  but 
not  without  a  deep  meaning,  '  K  a 
pig  were  ever  to  say  to  me,  '^I  am  a 
pig,"  it  would  ipso  facto  cease  to  be 
a  pig.'  This  shows  how  strongly  he 
felt  that  language  was  out  of  the 
reach  of  any  animal,  and  the  exclu- 
sive or  specific  property  of  man. 
I  do  not  wonder  iluirt  Mr.  Darwin 
and  other  philosophers  belonging  to 
his  school  should  not  feel  the  diffi- 
culty of  language  as  it  was  felt  by 
Professor  Schleicher,  who,  though 
a  Darwinian,  was  also  one  of  our 
best  students  of  the  Science  of 
Liangaage.  But  those  who  know 
best  wl^t  language  is,  and,  still 
more,  what  it  presupposes,  cannot, 
however  Darwinian  they  may  be  on 
other  points,  ignore  the  veto  which, 
as  yet,  that  science  enters  against 
the  last  step  in  Darwin's  philosophy. 
That  philosophy  would  not  be  vi- 
tiated by  admitting  an  independent 


beginning  for  man.  For  if  Mr. 
Darwin  admits,  in  opposition  to  the 
evolutionist  pur  et  simple^  four  or  five 
progenitors  for  the  whole  of  the 
animal  kingdom,  which  are  most 
likely  intended  for  the  Badiaiay 
MoUusca,  Articulata,  and  Vertebratay 
there  would  be  nothing  radically 
wrong  in  admitting  a  fifth  progeni- 
tor for  man.  As  Mr.  Darwin  does 
not  admit  this,  but  declares  dis- 
tinctly that  man  has  been  developed 
from  some  lower  animal,  we  may 
conclude  that  physiologically  and 
anatomically  there  are  no  tenable 
arguments  against  this  view.  But 
if  Mr.  Darwin  goes  on  to  say  ^^  that 
in  a  series  of  forms  graduating 
insensibly  from  some  ape-like  crea- 
ture to  man  as  he  now  exists,  it 
would  be  impossible  to  fix  on  any 
definite  point  where  the  term 
'  man  *  ought  to  be  used,  he  has 
left  the  ground,  peculiarly  his  own, 
where  few  would  venture  to  oppose 
him,  and  he  must  expect  to  be  met 
by  those  who  have  studied  man, 
not  only  as  an  ape-like  creature, 
which  he  undoubtedly  is,  but  also 
as  an  un-ape-like  creature,  pos- 
sessed of  language,  and  of  all  that 
language  implies. 

My  objections  to  the  words  of 
Mr.  Darwin,  which  I  have  just 
quoted,  are  twofold:  first,  as  to 
form  ;  secondly,  as  to  substance. 

With  regard  to  the  form  which 
Mr.  Darwin  has  given  to  his  argu- 
ment, it  need  hardly  be  pointed 
out  that  he  takes  for  granted  in 
the  premiss  what  is  to  be  esta- 
blished in  the  conclusion.  If  there 
existed  a  series  graduating  insen^ 
sihly  from  some  ape-like  creature 
to  man,  then,  no  doubt,  the  very 
fact  that  the  graduation  is  insen- 
sible would  preclude  the  jpossibiHiy 
of  fixing  on  any  definite  point 
where  &e  animal  ends  and  man 
begins.  This,  however,  may  be  a 
mere  sHp  of  the  pen,  and  might  have 
been  passed  by  unnoticed,  if  it  were 


»  Logic,  i.  38. 


"  I.  235. 


668 


Lectures  on  Mr.  Dancings  Philosophy  of  Language. 


[Jane 


not  that  the  same  kind  of  arga- 
ment  occnrs  not  nnfrequentlj  in 
the  works  of  Mr.  Darwin  and  his 
followers.  Whenever  the  distance 
between  two  points  in  the  chain  of 
creation  seems  too  great,  and  there 
is  no  chance  of  finding  the  missing 
links,  we  are  told  again  and  again 
that  we  have  only  to  imagine  a 
large  number  of  intermediate 
beings,  insensibly  sloping  up  or 
eloping  down,  in  order  to  remove 
All  difficulty.  Whenever  I  meet 
with  this  line  of  reasoning,  I  cannot 
help  thinking  of  an  argument  used 
by  Hindu  theologians  in  their 
•endeavours  to  defend  the  pos- 
sibility and  the  truth  of  Divine 
revelation.  Their  opponents  say 
that  between  a  Divine  Being,  who 
they  admit  is  in  possession  of  the 
truth,  and  human  beings  who  are 
to  receive  the  truth,  there  is  a  gulf 
which  nothing  can  bridge  over; 
and  they  go  on  to  say  that,  admit- 
ting that  Divine  truth,  as  revealed, 
was  perfect  in  the  Bevealer,  yet 
the  same  Divine  truth,  as  seen  by 
human  beings,  must  be  liable  to  all 
the  accidents  of  human  frailty  and 
fallibility.  The  orthodox  Brahmans 
grow  very  angry  at  this,  and,  ap- 
pealing to  their  sacred  books,  they 
maintain  that  there  was  between 
the  Divine  and  the  human  a  chain 
of  intermediate  beings,  Rishis  or 
seers,  as  they  call  them ;  that  the 
first  generation  of  these  seers  was, 
say,  nine-tenths  divine  and  one- 
tenth  human;  the  second,  eight- 
tenths  divine  and  two-tenths  hu- 
man ;  the  third,  seven-tenths  divine 
and  three-tenths  human ;  that  each 
of'  these  generations  handed  down 
revealed  truth,  till  at  last  it  reached 
the  ninth  generation,  which  was 
one-tenth  divine  and  nine-tenths 
human,  and  by  them  was  preached 
to  ordinary  mortals,  being  ten- 
tenths,  or  altogether  human.  In 
this  way  they  feel  convinced  that 
the  gulf  between  the  Divine  and 
the  human  is  safely  bridged  over ; 
<«id  they  might  use  the  very  words 


of  Mr.  Darwin,  that  in  this  series 
of  forms  graduating  insensibly  from 
the  Divine  to  the  human,  it  is  im- 
possible to  fix  on  any  definite  point 
where  the  term  *  man  '  ought  to 
be  used. 

This  old  fisJlacy  of  first  imagining 
a  continuous  scide,  and  then  point- 
ing out  ite  indivisibility,  affects 
more  or  less  all  systems  of  philo- 
sophy  which  wish  to  get  rid  of 
specific  distinctions.  That  falkcy 
lurks  in  the  word  *  Development,' 
which  is  now  so  extensively  used, 
but  which  requires  very  carefd 
testing  before  it  should  be  allowed 
to  become  a  current  coin  in  philo- 
sophical transactions.  The  admis- 
sion of  this  insensible  graduation 
would  eliminate,  not  only  the  differ- 
ence between  ape  and  man,  but 
likewise  between  black  and  white, 
hot  and  cold,  a  high  and  a  low 
note  in  music  :  in  fact,  it  would  do 
away  with  the  possibility  of  all 
exact  and  definite  knowledge,  bj 
removing  those  wonderful  lines  and 
laws  of  nature  which  change  the 
Chaos  into  a  Kosmos,  the  Infinite 
into  the  Finite,  and  which  enable 
us  to  count,  to  tell,  and  to  know. 

There  have  always  been  philo- 
sophers who  have  an  eye  for  the 
Infinite  only,  who  see  All  in  One, 
and  One  in  All.  One  of  the  great- 
est sages  of  antiquity,  nay,  of  the 
whole  world,  Herakleitos  (460  B.C.), 
summed  up  the  experience  of  his 
life  in  the  famous  words,  warro 
Xupii  Kul  ohiev  fiiretf  '  All  is  moving, 
and  nothing  is  fixed,'  or  as  we 
should  say,  '  All  is  growing,  all  is 
developing,  all  is  evolving.'  Bat 
this  view  of  the  universe  was  met, 
it  may  be  by  anticipation,  by  the  fol- 
lowers of  Pythagoras.  When  Py- 
thagoras was  asked  what  was  the 
wisest  of  all  things,  he  replied, 
*  Number,'  and  next  to  it,  *  He  who 
gave  names  to  all  things.'  How 
should  we  translate  this  enigmatical 
saying  P  I  believe,  in  modem  philo- 
sophical language,  it  would  ran 
like  this :  '  True  knowledge  is  xm- 


1873]  Lectures  on  Mr.  BaruMa  Fhilosojphy  of  Language. 


669 


possible  without  definite  generalisa- 
tion or  concepts  (that  is,  number), 
and  without  definite  signs  for  these 
concepts  (that  is,  language).' 

Tbe  Herakleitean  view  is  now 
again  in  the  ascendant.  All  is 
changing,  all  is  deyeloping,  all  is 
evolving.  Ask  any  evolutionist 
philosopher  whether  he  can  conceive 
any  two  things  so  heterogeneous 
that,  given  a  few  millions  of  years 
and  plenty  of  environment,  the  one 
cannot  develop  into  the  other,  and 
I  believe  he  will  say.  No.  I  do  not 
argue  here  against  this  line  of 
thought ;  on  the  contrary,  I  believe 
that  in  one  sphere  of  mental  aspira- 
tions it  has  its  legitimate  place. 
What  I  protest  against  is  this,  that 
in  the  sphere  of  exact  knowledge 
we  should  allow  ourselves  to  be 
deceived  by  inexact  language.  'In- 
sensible graduation '  is  sel^contra- 
dictory.  Translated  into  Enghsh, 
it  means  graduation  without  gra- 
duation, degrees  without  degrees,  or 
something  which  is  at  the  same  tbne 
perceptible  and  imperceptible.  Mil- 
lions of  years  will  never  render  the 
distance  between  two  points,  how- 
ever near  to  each  other,  impercepti- 
ble. K  the  evolutionist  philosopher 
asks  for  a  few  millions  of  years,  the 
specialist  philosopher  asks  for  eyes 
that  will  magnify  a  fewmillion  times, 
and  the  Bank  which  supplies  the  one 
will  readily  supply  the  other.  Exact 
science  has  nothing  to  do  with  in- 
sensible graduation.  It  counts 
thousands  of  vibrations  that  make 
our  imperfect  ears  hear  definite 
tones ;  it  counts  millions  of  vibra- 
tions that  make  our  weak  eyes  see 
definite  colours.  It  counts,  it  tells, 
it  names,  and  then  it  knows;  though 
it  knows  at  the  same  time  that 
beyond  the  thousands  and  beyond 
the  millions  of  vibrations  there  is 
that  which  man  can  neither  count,  < 
nor  tell,  nor  name,  nor  know,  the 
Unknown,  the  Unknowable — ay, 
the  Divine. 


But  if  we  return  to  Mr.  Darwin's 
argument,  and  simply  leave  out  the 
word  'insensibly,'  which  begs  the 
whole  question,  we  shall  then  have 
to  meet  his  statement,  that  in  a 
series  6f  forms  graduating  from 
some  ape-like  creature  to  man  as  he 
now  is,  it  would  be  impossible,  to  fix 
on  any  definite  point  where  the  term 
'  man '  ought  to  be  used.  This  state- 
ment I  meet  by  a  simple  negative. 
Even  admitting,  for  argument's 
sake,  the  existence  of  a  series  of 
beings  intermediate  between  ape 
and  man — a  series  which,  as  Mr. 
Darwin  repeatedly  states,  does  not 
exist  >^ — I  maintain  that  the  point 
where  the  animal  ends  and  man 
begins  could  be  determined  with 
absolute  precision,  for  it  would  be 
coincident  with  the  beginning  of 
the  Badical  Period  of  language^ 
with  the  first  formation  of  a  general 
idea  embodied  in  the  only  form  in 
which  we  find  them  embodied,  viz. 
in  the  roots  of  our  language. 

Mr.  Darwin  was,  of  course,  not 
unprepared  for  that  answer.  Ho 
remembered  the  old  pun  of  HobbeSy. 
Homo  animalroMonale,  quia  orationale 
(Man  is  a  rational  animal,  because 
he  is  an  orational  animal),  and  he 
makes  every  efibrt  in  order  to  elimin- 
ate language  as  something  unattain- 
able by  the  animal,  as  something  pecu- 
liar to  man,  as  a  specific  difference 
between  man  and  beast.  In  every 
book  on  Logic,  language  is  quoted 
as  the  specific  difference  between 
man  and  all  other  beings.  Thus 
we  read  in  Stuart  Mill's  Logic :  *^ 
*  The  attribute  of  being  capable  of 
understanding  a  language  is  a  pro^ 
prium  of  the  species  man,  since^ 
without  being  connoted  by  the  word, 
it  follows  from  an  attribute  which 
the  word  does  connote,  viz.  from 
the  attribute  of  rationality.' 

It  is  curious  to  observe  how  even 
Mr.  Darwin  seems,  in  some  places^ 
fully  prepared  to  admit  this.  Thus 
he  says  in  one  passage,*^ '  Articulato 


"  Descent,  i.  p.  185. 


>•  Vol.  i.  p.  180. 


"I.  p.  54. 


670 


Lectures  on  Mr.  Darwin* s  Philosophy  of  Langttage.  [Jane 


language  is  peculiar  to  man.'  In 
former  days  we  could  not  liaye 
wished  for  a  fuller  admission,  for 
peculiar  then  meant  the  same  as 
special,  something  that  constitutes  a 
species,  or  something  which  belongs 
to  a  person  in  exclusion  of  others. 
But  in.  a  philosophy  which  looks 
upon  All  living  beings  as  developed 
^m  fonx  or  five  primordial  cells, 
there  can,  in  strict  logic,  exist  foxur 
or  fiye  really  and  truly  peculiar 
characters  only,  and  therefore  it  is 
clear  that  pecuHar,  when  used  by 
Mr.  Darwin,  cannot  mean  what  it 
would  have  meant  if  employed  by 
others. 

As  if  to  soften  the  admission 
which  he  had  made  as  to  articulate 
language  being  peculiar  to  man, 
Mr.  Darwin  continues:  'But  man 
uses,  in  common  with  the  lower 
animals,  inarticulate  cries  to  express 
his  meaning,  aided  by  gestures,  and 
the  moyements  of  the  muscles  of 
the  face.'  No  one  would  deny  this. 
There  are  many  things  besides, 
which  man  shares  in  common  with 
animals.  In  fact,  the  discovery 
that  man  is  an  animal  was  not  made 
yesterday,  and  no  one  seemed  to  be 
disturbed  by  that  discovery.  Man, 
however,  was  formerly  called  a 
*  rational  ammal,*  and  the  question 
is,  whether  he  possesses  anything 
peculiar  to  himself,  or  whether  he 
represents  only  the  highest  form  of 
perfection  to  which  an  animal,  under 
favourable  circumstances,  may  at- 
tain. Mr.  Darwin  dwells  more  fully 
on  the  same  point,  viz.  on  that  kind 
of  language  which  man  shares  in 
common  with  animals,  when  he 
says,  *This  holds  good,  especially 
with  the  more  simple  and  vivid 
feelings,  which  are  but  little  con- 
nected with  our  higher  intelligence. 
Our  cries  of  pain,  fear,  surprise, 
anger,  together  with  their  appro- 
priate actions,  and  the  murmur  of 
a  mother  to  her  beloved  child,  are 
more  expressive  than  any  words.* 

No  doubt  they  are.  A  tear  is 
more  expressive  than  a  sigh,  a  sigh 


is  more  expressive  than  a  speech, 
and  silence  itself  is  scMnefcimes  more 
eloquent  than  words.  Bat  all  this 
is  not  language,  in  the  true  sense  of 
the  word. 

Mr.  Darwin  himself  feels,  eri- 
dently,  that  he  has  not  said  all ;  he 
struggles  manftdly  with  the  dif- 
ficulties before  him ;  nay,  he  reaHj 
represents  the  case  agamst  himself 
as  strongly  as  possible.  '  It  is  not 
the  mere  power  of  articulation,'  he 
continues,  Hhat  distinguishes  man 
&om  other  animals,  for,  as  everyone 
knows,  parrots  can  talk ;  but  it  is 
his  large  power  of  connecting  defi- 
nite sounds  with  definite  ideas.* 

Here,  then,  we  might  again  ima- 
gine that  Mr.  Darwin  admitted  all 
we  want,  viz.  that  some  kind  of 
language  is  peculiar  to  man,  and 
distinguishes  man  finom  other  ani- 
mals ;  that,  supposing  man  to  be,  np 
to  a  certain  pointy  no  more  than  an 
animal,  he  perceived  that  what  made 
man  to  differ  from  all  other  a^^TM>-^<f 
was  something  nowhere  to  be  found 
except  in  man,  nowhere  indicated 
even  in  the  whole  series  of  living 
beings,  beginning  with  the  Bathyhius 
HascJcelii,  and  ending  with  the  tail- 
less ape.  But,  no;  there  follows 
immediately  after,  the  finishing  sen- 
tence, extorted  rather,  it  seems  to 
me,  than  naturally  flowing  &om  his 
pen,  '  This  obviously  depends  on  the 
development  of  the  mental  fiicnl- 
ties.' 

What  can  be  the  meaning  of  this 
sentence  ?  If  it  refers  to  the  mental 
faculties  of  man,  then  no  doubt  it 
may  be  said  to  be  obvious.  But  if 
it  is  meant  to  refer  to  the  mental 
faculties  of  the  gorilla,  then,  whether 
it  be  true  or  not,  it  is,  at  all  events, 
so  far  from  being  obvious,  that  the 
very  opposite  might  be  called  so — ^I 
mean  the  fact  that  no  development 
of  mental  faculties  has  ever  enabled 
one  single  animal  to  connect  one 
single  definite  idea  with  one  single 
definite  word. 

I  confess  that  after  reading  again 
and  again  what  Mr.  Darwin  has 


1873]  Lectures  on  Mr.  Darwin's  Philosophy  of  Langtiage. 


671 


written  on  the  subject  of  language, 
I  cannot  understand  how  he  could 
bring  himself  to  sum  up  the  sub- 
ject as  foUowB :  '  We  have  seen  that 
the  faculty  of  articulate  speech  in 
itself  does  not  offer  any  insuperable 
objection  to  the  belief  that  man  has 
been  developed  firom  some  lower 
animal '  (p.  62). 

Now  the  fact  is  that  not  a  single 
instance  has  ever  been  adduced  of 
any  animal  trying  or  learuing  to 
speak,  nor  has  it  been  explained  by 
any  scholar  or  philosopher  how  that 
barrier  of  language,  which '^  divides 
man  from  all  animals,  might  be 
effectually  crossed.  1  do  not  mean 
to  say  that  there  are  no  arguments 
which  might  be  urged^  either  in 
favour  of  animals  possessing  the 
gifib  of  language,  but  preferring  not 
to  use  it,  1^  or  as  tending  to  show  that 
living  beings,  to  use  the  words  of 
Demokritbs,  speak  naturally,  and  in 
the  same  manner  in  which  they 
congh,  sneeze,  bellow,  bark,  or  sigh. 
Bat  Mr.  Darwin  has  never  told  us 
what  he  thinks  on  this  point.  He 
refers  to  certain  writers  on  the 
origin  of  language,  who  consider 
that  the  first  materials  of  language 
are  either  interjections  or  imitations ; 
but  their  writings  in  no  wise  support 
the  theory  that  animals  also  could, 
either  out  of  their  own  barkings 
and  bello  wings,  or  out  of  the  imito,- 
idve  sounds  of  mocking-birds,  have 
elaborated  anything  iSce  what  we 
mean  by  language,  even  among  the 
lowest  savages. 

It  may  be  in  the  recollection  of 
some  of  my  hearers  that,  in  my  Lec- 
tures on  the  Science  of  Language, 
when  speaking  of  Demokritos  and 
some  of  his  later  followers,  I  called 
his  theory  on  the  origin  of  language 
the  Bow-wow  theory,  because  I  felt 
certain  that,  if  this  theory  were 
only  called  by  its  right  name,  it 
would  require  no  further  refutation. 
It  might  have  seemed  for  a  time,  to 
judge  firom  the  protests  that  were 


raised  against  that  name,  as  if  there 
had  been  in  the  nineteenth  century 
scholars  holding  this  Demokritean 
theory  in  all  its  crudity.  But  it 
required  but  very  little  mutual 
explanation  before  these  scholars 
perceived  that  there  was  between 
them  and  me  but  little  difference, 
and  that  all  which  the  followers  of 
Bopp  insist  on  as  a  sine  qud  non  of 
scholarship  is  the  admission  of 
roots,  definite  in  their  form,  from 
which  to  derive,  according  to  strict 
phonetic  laws,  every  word  that 
admits  of  etymological  analysis, 
whether  in  En^ish  and  Sanskrit^  or 
in  Arabic  and  Hebrew,  or  in  Mongo- 
lian and  Finnish.  For  philological 
purposes  it  matters  little,  as  1  said 
in  1866,  what  opinion  we  hold  on 
the  origin  of  roots  so  long  as  we 
agree  that,  with  the  exception  of  a 
number  of  purely  mimetic  expres- 
sions, all  words,  such  as  we  find 
them,  whether  in  English  or  in 
Sanskrit,  encumbered  with  prefixes 
and  suffixes,  and  mouldering  away 
under  the  action  of  phonetic  decay, 
must,  in  the  last  instance,  be  traced 
back,  by  means  of  definite  phonetic 
laws,  to  those  definite  primary 
forms  which  we  are  accustomed  to 
call  roots.  These  roots  stand  like 
barriers  between  the  chaos  and  the 
kosmos  of  human  speech.  Who- 
ever admits  the  historical  character 
of  roots,  whatever  opinion  he  may 
hold  on  their  origin,  is  not  a  Demo- 
kritean, does  not  hold  that  theory 
which  I  called  the  Bow-wow  theory, 
and  cannot  be  quoted  in  support  of 
Mr.  Darwin's  opinion  that  the  cries 
of  animals  represent  the  earliest 
stage  of  the  language  of  man. 

If  we  speak  simply  of  the 
materials,  not  of  the  elements,  of 
language  —  and  the  distinction 
between  these  two  words  is  but  too 
often  overlooked — then,  no  doubt, 
we  may  not  only  say  that  the 
phonetic  materials  of  the  cries  of 
animals  and  the  languages  of  man 


**  See  Wuidt,  Ntnachen'  und  Iherseekj  yol.  ii.  p.  265. 


672 


Lectures  on  Mr,  BarwirCs  Philosophy  of  Language,  [Jane 


are  the  same,  but,  following  in  the 
footsteps  of  evolntionist  philoso- 
phers, we  might  trace  the  involnn- 
tarj  exclamations  of  men  back  to 
the  inanimate  and  inorganic  world. 
I  quoted  formerly  the  opinion  of 
Professor  Heyse,  who  appealed  to 
the  fact  that  most  sabstances,  when 
Btmck  or  otherwise  set  in  motion, 
show  a  power  of  reaction  mani- 
fested by  their  various  rings,  as 
throwing  light  on  the  problem  of 
the  origin  of  language;  and  I  do  not 
think  that  those  who  look  upon 
philosophy  as  a  *  knowledge  of  the 
highest  generalities '  should  have 
treated  Professor  Heyse  with  so 
much  contempt. 

But  neither  those  who  traced  the 
material  elements  of  language  back 
to  interjections  and  imitations,  nor 
those  who  went  fetrther  and  traced 
them  back  to  the  ring  inherent  in 
all  vibrating  substances,  ought  to 
have  imagined  for  one  moment  that 
they  had  thus  accounted  for  the 
real  elements  of  language.  We  may 
account  for  the  materials  of  many 
things,  without  thereby  accounting 
for  what  they  are,  or  how  they  came 
to  be  what  they  are.  If  we  take, 
for  instance,  a  number  of  flintSi 
more  or  less  carefully  chipped  and 
shaped  and  sharpened,  and  if  we 
were  to  say  that  these  flints  are  like 
other  flints  found  by  thousands  in 
fields  and  quarries,  this  would  be  as 
true  as  that  the  materials  forforming 
the  words  of  our  language  are  the 
same  as  the  cries  of  animals,  or,  it 
may  be,  the  sounds  of  bells.  But 
would  this  explain  the  problem 
which  we  wish  to  explain  ?  Cer- 
tainly not.  If,  then,  we  were  to  go 
a  step  farther,  and  say  that  apes 
had  been  seen  to  use  flints  for 
throwing  at  each  other,* ^  that  they 
could  not  but  have  discovered 
that  sharp-edged  flints  were .  the 
most  effective,  and  would  therefore 
have  either  made  a  natural  selection 


of  them,  or  tried  to  imitate  them— 
that  is  to  say,  to  give  to  other  flints 
a  sharp  edge— what  would  anti- 
quaries say  to  such  heresies  ?  And 
yet  I  can  assure  them  that  to  say 
that  no  traces  of  human  workmaa- 
ship  can  be  discovered  in  these 
flints,*^  that  they  in  no  wise  prore 
the  early  existence  of  man,  or  ^t 
there  is  no  insuperable  objectiaii 
to  the  belief  that  these  flints  were 
n:iade  by  apes,  cannot  sound  half  bo 
incongruous  to  them,  as  to  a  man 
who  knows  what  language  is  made 
of  being  told  that  the  first  grammati- 
cal edge  might  have  been  imparted 
to  our  woids  by  some  lower  ani- 
mals,  or  that,  the  materials  of 
language  being  given,  everything 
else,  from  the  neighing  of  a  horse  to 
the  lyric  poetry  of  Goethe,  wa^  a 
mere  question  of  development 

It  would  not  be  £air,  however,  to 
disguise  the  BEiot  that  in  his  riew 
that  animals  possess  language,  Mr. 
Darwin  has  some  very  powerfal 
allies,  and  that  in  quarters  where 
he  would  least  expect  to  find  them. 
Archbishop  Whately  writes :  *Man 
is  not  the  only  a^Tiimft]  that  can 
make  use  of  language  to  express 
what  is  passing  in  his  mind,  and 
can  understand  more  or  less  what  is 
so  expressed  by  others.' 

But  even  with  bishops  and  arch- 
bishops a^dnst  me,  I  do  not  despair. 
I  believe  I  have  as  high  an  opinion 
of  the  faculties  of  fl-nimalu  as  Mr. 
Darwin,  Archbishop  Whately,  or 
any  other  man — ^nay,  I  may  per- 
haps claim  some  credit  for  myself 
for  having,  in  my  Lectures  delivered 
in  1862,  vindicated  for  the  higher 
animals  more  than  ever  was  vindi- 
cated for  them  before. 

But  after  reading  the  most  elo- 
quent eulogies  on  the  intellectual 
powers  and  social  virtues  of  animals 
— of  which  we  have  had  a  great 
deal  of  late — ^I  always  feel  that 
all  this  and  even  much  more  miglit 


"  •  The  Pavian8  in  Eastern  Africa.*    See  Caspari,  Urgeaehichte,  i  p.  244. 
"  See  Whitley's  Sesearches  on  Mints  near  Spiennes,  in  Belgium, 


1873]  Lectures  oii  Mr,  Bai'win'a  Philosojphy  of  Language, 


673 


bo  perfectly  true,  and  that  it  would 
yet  in  no  way  affect  the  relative 
position  of  man  and  beast. 

Let  us  hear  the  most  recent 
panegyrist:  *To  become  man! 
Who  should  believe  that  so  many, 
not  only  laymen,  but  students  of 
nature,  believe  in  God  becoming 
man,  but  consider  it  incredible  that 
an  animal  should  become  man,  and 
that  there  should  be  a  progressive 
development  from  the  ape  to  man  ? 
The  ancient  world,  and  even  now 
the  highest  among  the  Eastern  na- 
tions, thought  and  think  very  differ- 
ently on  this  point  The  doctrine 
ef  metempsychosis  connects  man  and 
beast,  and  binds  the  whole  world 
together  by  a  mysterious  cord. 
Judaism  alone,  with  its  hatred  of 
nature  deities,  and  duaJistic  Christi- 
anity, have  made  this  rift  between 
man  and  beast.  It  is  remarkable 
how  in  our  own  time  and  among  the 
most  civilised  nations  a  deeper  sym- 
pathy for  the  animal  world  haa  been 
roused,  and  has  manifested  itself  in 
the  formation  of  societies  for  pre- 
venting cruelty  towards  animals, 
thus  showing  that  what,  on  one 
side,  is  the  result  of  scientific  re- 
search, viz.  the  surrendering  of  the 
exclusive  position  of  man  in  nature, 
as  a  spiritual  being,  is  received  at 
the  same  time  as  a  general  senti- 
ment. 

•Public  opinion,  however,  and 
what  I  may  call  the  old  orthodox 
natural  science,  persist  nevertheless 
in  considering  man  and  beast  as  two 
separate  worlds  which  no  bridge 
can  ever  connect,  were  it  only  be- 
cause man  is  man  in  so  far  only  as 
he  from  the  beginning  possesses 
something  which  the  beajst  has  not 
and  never  will  have.  According  to 
the  Mosaic  account,  Grod  created  the 
beasts,  as  it  were,  in  a  lump  ;  but  in 
the  case  of  man,  He  first  formed  his 
body  of  the  dust  of  the  ground  and 
breathed  into  his  nostrils  the  breath 
of  life,  and  man  became  a  Hving 
soul.  This  living  soul  of  the  old 
Jewish  writers  has  afterwards  been 

VOL.  VIT. — NO.  XLII.  NEW  SERIES. 


changed  by  Christianity  into  an  im« 
mprtal  soul,  a  being  different  in 
kind  and  dignity  from  such  other 
common  souls  as  might  be  allowed 
to  beasts.  Or,  the  soul  of  man  and 
beast  being  admitted  to  be  the  same, 
man  was  endowed  in  addition  with 
a  spirit,  as  the  substantial  principle 
of  the  higher  intellectual  and  moral 
facfulties  by  which  he  is  distin- 
guished from  the  beast. 

'  Against  all  this,'  the  writer  con- 
tinues, *  we  have  now  the  fact  of  na- 
tural science  which  can  no  longer  be 
ignored,  viz.  that  the  faculties  of 
beasts  differ  from  those  of  man  in 
degree    only,    and    not    in    kind. 
Voltaire  said  truly,  "Animals  have 
sensation,     imagination,     memory, 
also  desires  and   movements,  and 
yet  no  one  thinks  of  claiming  for 
them  an  immaterial  soul.      Why 
should  we,  for  our  small  surplus  of 
these    faculties    and  acts,   require 
such  a  soul  ?  "     Now  the  surplus  on 
the  side  of  man  is  not  indeed  so 
small  as  Voltaire's  rhetoric  repre- 
sents it ;   on  the  contrary,   it    is 
enormous.     But    for    all    that,    it 
is    a   plus    only,    it   is   not  some- 
thing new.     Even  with  animals  of 
the  lower  orders    it    would    take 
volumes,    as     Darwin      says,     to 
describe    the    habits    and    mental 
powers  of  an  ant.     The  same  with 
bees.     Nay,  it  is  remarkable  that 
the    more     closely     an    observer 
watches  the  life  and  work  of  any 
class  of  animals,  the  more  he  feels 
inclined  to  speak  of  their  under- 
standing. The  stories  about  the  me- 
mory, the  reflection,  the  faculties 
of  learning  and  culture  in  dogs, 
horses,  and  elephants  are  infinite ; 
and  even  in  so-called  wild  animals 
similar  qualities  may  be  detected. 
Brehm,  speaking  of  birds  of  prey, 
says :   "  They  act  after  having  re- 
flected ;  they  make  plans  and  carry 
them  out."     The  same  writer  says 
of  thrushes:  "They  perceive  quickly 
and  judge  correctly ;  they  use  all 
means  and  ways  to  protect  them- 
selves." Those  varieties  which  have 

3A 


674 


Leciv/res  on  Mr,  Darunn*8  Philosophy  of  Language. 


[June 


grown  up  in  the  quiet  and  undis- 
turbed forests  of  the  North  are 
easily  taken  in ;  but  experience  soon 
makes  them  wise,  and  those  who 
have  once  been  deceived  are  not 
easily  cheated  a  second  time  (there- 
in they  certainly  differ  from  man). 
Even  among  men,  whom  they  never 
trust  completely,  they  know  well 
how  to  distinguish  between  the 
dangerous  and  the  harmless ;  they 
allow  the  shepherd  to  approach 
more  nearly  than  the  hunter.  In 
the  same  sense  Darwin  speaks  of 
the  incredible  degree  of  acuteness, 
caution,  and  cleverness  on  the  part 
of  the  fiirry  animals  of  North  Ame- 
rica, as  being  chiefly  due  to  the 
constant  snares  and  wiles  of  the 
hunter. 

*Mr.  Darwin  tries  particularly 
to  show  in  the  higher  animals  the 
beginnings  of  moral  sentiments 
also,  which  he  connects  with  their 
social  instincts.  A  kind  of  sense 
of  honour  and  of  conscience  can 
hardly  fail  to  be  recognised  in  no- 
bler and  well-bred  horses  and  dogs. 
And  even  if  the  conscience  of  dogs 
has  not  unjustly  been  traced  back 
to  the  stick,  it  may  well  be  asked 
whether  the  case  is  very  different 
with  the  lower  classes  of  man. 
Those  instincts  in  animals  which 
refer  to  the  education  of  their 
young,  to  the  care,  trouble,  and 
sacrifices  on  their  behalf,  must  be 
considered  as  the  first  germs  of 
higher  moral  faculties.  Here,  as 
Goethe  says,  we  see  indicated  in 
the  animal  the  bud  of  what  in  man 
becomes  a  blossom.' 

So  far  the  panegyrist ;  in  reply 
to  whom  I  can  only  say  that,  with- 
out doubting  any  of  the  extraordi- 
nary accounts  of  the  intellect,  the 
understanding,  the  caution,  the 
judgment,  the  sagacity,  acuteness, 
cleverness,  genius,  or  even  the  social 
virtues  of  animals,  the  rules  of  posi- 
tive philosophy  toi*hid  us  to  as- 
sert anything  about  their  instincts 
or  intellectual  faculties.  We  may 
allow  ourselves  to  be  guided  by  our 


own  fancies  or  by  analogy,  and  we 
may  guess  and  assert  very  plausibly 
many  things  about  the  inner  life  of 
animals ;  but  however  strong  our 
own  belief  may  be,  the  whole  sub- 
ject  is  transcendent,  i.e.  beyond  the 
reach  of  positive  knowledge.  We 
all  admit  that,  in  many  respect^ 
the  animal  is  even  superior  to  man. 
Who  is  there  but  at  one  time  or 
other  has  not  sighed  for  the  wings 
of  birds  ?  Who  can  deny  that  l£e 
muscles  of  the  lion  are  more  power- 
ful, those  of  the  cat  more  pliant, 
than  ours?  Who  can  doubt  that 
the  eagle  possesses  a  keener  vision, 
the  deer  a  sharper  hearing,  the  dog 
a  better  scent  than  man?  Who 
has  not  sometimes  envied  the  bear 
his  fur,  or  the  snail  its  house? 
Nay,  I  am  quite  prepared  to  go 
even  farther,  and  if  metaphysicians 
were  to  tell  me  that  our  senses  only 
serve  to  distract  the  natural  intui- 
tions of  the  soul,  that  our  organs  of 
sense  are  weak,  deceptive,  limited, 
and  that  a  mollusc,  being  able  to 
digest  without  a  stomach  and  to 
live  without  a  brain,  is  a  more  per- 
fect, certainly  a  more  happy,  being 
than  man,  I  should  bow  in  silence ; 
but  I  should  still  appeal  to  one 
palpable  fact — 'viz.  that  whatever 
animals  may  do  or  not  do,  no  ani- 
mal  has  ever  spoken. 

I  use  this  expression  advisedly, 
because  as  soon  as  we  speak  of  lan- 
gaage,  we  open  the  door  to  aU  kinds 
of  metaphor  and  poetry.  If  we 
want  to  reason  correctly,  we  must 
define  what  we  mean  by  language. 
Now  there  are  two  totally  distinct 
operations  which  in  ordinary  par- 
lance go  by  the  same  name  of  lan- 
guage, but  which  should  be  distin- 
guished most  careftdly  as  Emotion^ 
al  and  Rational  language.  The 
power  of  showing  by  outward  signs 
what  we  feel,  or,  it  may  be,  what 
we  think,  is  the  source  of  emotional 
language,  and  the  recognition  of 
such  emotional  signs,  or  the  under- 
standing of  their  purport^  is  no  more 
than  the  result  of  memoiy,  aresos- 


1873]  Lectures  on  Mr.  BarwirCa  Phihsajphy  of  Langvage, 


675 


citation  of  painfril  or  pleasant  im- 
pressions connected  with  such  signs. 
That  emotional  language  is  cer- 
tainlj  shared  in  common  by  man 
and  animals.  If  a  dog  barks,  that 
may  be  a  sign,  according  to  circum- 
stances, of  his  being  angry  or 
pleased  or  surprised.  Every  dog 
speaks  that  kmguage,  every  dog 
understands  it,  and  other  animals 
too,  such  as  cats  or  sheep,  and  even 
children,  learn  it.  A  cat  that  has 
once  been  frightened  or  bitten  by 
a  barking  dog  will  easily  under- 
stand the  sound,  and  run  away,  Kke 
any  other  so-called  rational  being. 
The  spitting  of  a  cat,  again,  is  a 
sign  of  anger,  and  a  dog  that  has 
once  had  his  eyes  scratched  by  a 
cat  would  not  be  slow  to  under- 
stand that  feline  dialect,  whenever 
he  hears  it  in  close  proximity.  The 
purring  of  a  cat  has  a  very  different 
meaning,  and  it  may  be,  as  we  have 
been  told,  like  the  murmuring  of 
a  mother  to  her  beloved  child.  The 
subject  of  the  emotional  language 
of  animals  and  man  is  endless,  but 
we  must  leave  it  to  the  pen  of  the 
poet  rather  than  of  the  philosopher.*' 
What,  then,  is  the  difference 
between  emotional  language  and 
ra  t  Uma  I  language  ?  The  very  name 
shows  the  difference.  Language, 
such  as  we  speak,  is  founded  on 
reason,  reason  meaning  for  philo- 
sophical purposes  the  faculty  of 
forming  and  handling  geneitd 
concepts ;  and  as  that  power 
manifests  itself  outwardly  by  articu- 
late language  only,  we,  as  positive 
philosophers,  have  a  right  to  say 
that  animals,  being  devoid  of  the' 
only  tangible  sign  of  reason  which 
we  know,  viz.  language,  may  by  us 
be  treated  as  irrational  beings — 
irrational,  not  in  the  sense  of  devoid 
of  observation,  shrewdness,  calcula- 
tion, presence  of  mind,  reasoning 
in  the  sense  of  weighing,  or  even 


genius,  but  simply  in  the  sense  of 
devoid  of  the  power  of  forming  and 
handling  general  concepts. 

The  distinction  here  made  between 
emotional  and  rational  language 
may  seem  fanciful  and  artificial  to 
those  who  are  not  acquainted  with 
the  history  and  origin  of  language, 
but  they  have  only  to  consult  the 
works  of  modem  physiologists  and 
medical  men  to  convince  themselves 
that  this  distinction  rests  on  what 
even  they  would  admit  to  be  a  most 
solid  basis.  Dr.  Hughlings  Jackson, 
in  some  articles  pubHshed  in  the 
Medical  Times  and  Gazette  for 
December  14  and  21, 1867,  speaking 
of  the  disease  of  a  particular  part  of 
the  brain,  says  :  '  This  disease  may 
induce  partiid  or  complete  defect  of 
intellectual  language,  and  not  cause 
corresponding  defect  of  emotional  or 
inteijectional  language.  The  typical 
patient  in  this  disease  misuses  words 
or  cannot  use  words  at  all,  to  ex- 
press his  thoughts  ;  nor  can  he 
express  his  thoughts  by  writing,  or 
by  any  signs  sufficiently  elaborate  to 
serve  instead  of  yoc&L  or  written 
words ;  nor  can  he  read  books  for 
himself.  But  he  can  smile,  laugh, 
cry,  sing,  and  employ  rudimentary 
signs  of  gesticulation.  So  far  as 
these  means  of  communication  serve, 
therefore,  he  is  able  to  exhibit  his 
feelings  to  those  around  him.  He 
can  copy  writing  placed  before  him, 
and,  even  without  the  aid  of  a  copy, 
sign  his  own  name.  He  understands 
what  is  said  to  him,  is  capable  of 
being  interested  in  books  which  are 
read  to  him,  and  remembers  incidents 
and  tales.  Sometimes  he  is  able  to 
utter  a  word  or  words,  which  he 
cannot  vary,  and  which  he  must 
utter  if  he  speak  at  all,  no  matter  on 
what  occasion.  When  excited,  he 
can  swear,  and  even  use  elaborate 
formulsB  of  swearing**  (as,  for 
example,   "God  bless    my    life"), 


**  Soe  Darwin,  Descent^  vol.  i.  pp.  53,  54. 

••  Dp.  Ghiirdnep,  TTie  Function  of  Articulate  Speech,  1866,  p.  17. 


3  A  2 


676 


Lectures  an  Mr.  Banmn^s  Philosophy  of  Language.         [June 


which  have  come  by  habit  to  be 
of  only  interjectional  valae,**    Bat 
he  cannot  repeat  such  words  and 
phrases    at  his    own    wish    or  at 
the   desire    of    others.      And    as 
he  is  able  to  copy  writing,  so  he 
can,   when    circumstances  dictate, 
as  it  were,  to  him,  give  utterance  to 
phrases  of  more  special  applicability. 
Thus,  a  child  being  in  danger  of 
&Iling,   one   speechless  patient,   a 
woman,  was  surprised  into  exclaim- 
ing, "Take  care."     But  in  this,  as 
in  every  other   case,   the    patient 
remains  perfectly  incompetent    to 
repeat  at  pleasure  the  phrase  he  has 
just  used  so  appropriately,  and  has 
so  distinctly  uttered.  .  .  .  It  would 
seem  that  the   part  of  the  brain 
affected  in  such  cases  is  that  which 
is    susceptible     of     education    to 
language,    and    which     has    been 
aiter  i£e  birth  of  the  patient  so 
educated.    The  effect  of  the  disease, 
in  relation  to  speech,  is  to  leave  the 
patient  as  if  he   had  never  been 
educated  at  all  to  language,  and 
had  been  bom  without  the  power  of 
being  so  educated.    The  disease  in 
question  is  an  affection  of  but  one 
side,  the  left  side,  of  the  brain.'  And 
again: '  Disease  of  a  particular  region 
of  the   left  cerebral  hemisphere  is 
followed  by  a  complete  or  partial 
loss  of  power  in  the  namm^  process, 
and  by  consequent  inability  to  speak, 
even    when   all   the  machinery  of 
voice  and  articulation  recogpiised  in 
anatomy  remains  unchanged.' 

The  whole  of  this  subject  has  of 
late  been  very  fully  examined,  as 
may  be  seen  in  Dr.  Bateman's  book 
•on  Aphasia ;  and  though  one  may 
feel  doubtful  as  to  the  minute  con- 
<5lusions  which  Dr.  Broca  has  drawn 
from  his  experiments,  so  much  seems 
to  me  established :  If  a  certain  por- 
tion of  the  brain  on  the  left  side  of 
the  anterior  lobe  happens  to  be 
Affected  by  disease,  the  patient  be- 
comes unable  to  use  rational  lan- 


guage ;  while,  unless  some  other 
mental  disease  is  added  to  aphasia, 
he  retains  the  faculty  of  emotioiial 
language,  and  of  communicaiiDg 
with  others  by  means  of  signs  and 
gestures. 

In  saying  this,  I  shall  not  be 
suspected,  I  hope,  of  admitting  that 
the  brain,  or  any  part  of  the  brain, 
secretes  rational  language,  as  the 
liver  secretes  bile.  My  only  object 
in  referring  to  these  medicsd  ohser- 
vations  and  experiments  was  to 
show  that  the  distinction  between 
emotional  and  rational  language  is 
not  artificial,  or  of  a  purely  logical 
character,  but  is  confirmed  by  the 
palpable  evidence  of  the  brain  in  its 
pathological  affections.  No  man  of 
any  philosophic  culture  will  look  on 
the  brain,  or  that  portion  of  the 
brain  which  interferes  with  rational 
language,  as  the  seat  of  the  facoltj 
of  speech,  as  little  as  we  place  ik 
faculty  of  seeing  in  the  eye,  or  the 
faculty  of  hearing  in  the  ear.  That 
without  which  anything  is  impos- 
sible is  not  necessarily  that  by  which 
it  is  possible.  We  cannot  see  withont 
the  eye,  nor  hear  without  the  ear; 
perhaps  we  might  say,  we  cannot 
speak  without  the  third  convolution 
of  the  left  anterior  lobe  of  the  brain; 
but  neither  can  the  eye  see  without 
us,  the  ear  hear  without  us,  the  third 
convolution  of  the  left  anterior 
lobe  of  the  brain  speak  without  ns. 
To  look  for  the  £a.cult^  of  speech  ia 
the  brain  would,  in  fact,  be  hardlj 
less  Homeric  than  to  look  for  the 
soul  in  the  midriff. 

This  distinction  between  em^- 
tumal  and  rational  language  is, 
however,  of  great  importance,  be- 
cause it  enables  us  to  soe  clearly 
in  what  sense  man  and  beast  maj 
be  said  to  share  the  gift  of  lan- 
guage in  common,  and  in  what 
sense  it  would  be  wrong  to  say  so. 
Interjections,  for  instance,  which 
constitute   a  far    more    important 


^  In  another  paper  Dr.  Jackson  describes  an  oath  extremely  well  as  '  a  phrase  which 
emotion  has  filched  from  the  intellect/ 


1873]  Lectures  on  Mr.  Darmn^a  Philosophy/  of  Language. 


677 


element  in  conyersation  than  in  li- 
terary composition,  are  emotional 
language,  and  they  are  used  by 
beasts  as  well  as  by  men,  particu- 
larly by  a  man  in  a  passion,  or  on  a 
low  scale  of  civilisation.  But  there 
is  no  language,  even  among  the 
lowest  savages,  in  which  the  vast 
majority  of  words  is  not  rational. 
If,  therefore,  Mr.  Darwin  (p.  35) 
says  that  there  are  savages  who 
have  no  abstract  terms  in  uieir  lau- 
^age,  he  has  evidently  overlooked 
the  real  difference  between  rational 
and  emotional  language.  We  do 
not  mean  by  rational  language,  a 
language  possessing  such  abstract 
terms  as  whiteness,  goodness,  to 
have  or  to  be ;  but  any  language  in 
which  even  the  most  concrete  of 
words  are  founded  on  general  con- 
cepts, and  derived  from  roots  ex- 
pressive of  general  ideas. 

There  is  in  every  language  a  cer% 
tain  layer  of  words  which  may  be 
called  purely  emotional.  It  is  smaller 
or  larger  according  to  the  genius  and 
histoty  of  each  nation,  but  it  is  never 
quite  concealed  by  the  later  strata 
of  rational  speech.  Most  interjec- 
tions, many  imitative  words,  belong 
to  this  class.  They  are  perfectly 
clear  in  their  character  and  origin^ 
and  it  could  never  be  maintained 
that  they  rest  on  general  concepts. 
But  if  we  deduct  that  inorganic 
sti-atum,  all  the  rest  of  language, 
whether  among  ourselves  or  among 
the  lowest  barbarians,  can  be  traced 
back  to  roots,  and  every  one  of  these 
roots  is  the  sign  of  a  general  concept. 
This  is  the  most  importnnt  dis- 
covery of  the  Science  of  Language. 

Take  any  word  you  like,  trace  it 
back  historically  to  its  most  primi- 
tive form,  and  you  will  find  that 
besides  the  derivative  elements, 
which  can  easily  be  separated,  it 
contains  a  predicative  root,  and  that 
in  this  predicative  root  rests  the 
connotative  power  of  the  word. 
Why  is  a  stable  called  a  stable? 
Because  it  stands.  Why  is  a  saddle 
called  a  saddle  ?   Because  you  sit  in 


it.  Why  is  a  road  caUed  a  road  ? 
Because  we  ride  on  it.  Why  is 
heaven  called  heaven?  Because  it 
is  heaved  on  high.  In  this  manner 
every  word,  not  excluding  the  com- 
monest terms  that  must  occur  in 
every  language,  the  names  for  father, 
mother,  brother,  sister,  hand  sjid  foot, 
&c.,  have  been  traced  back  histori- 
cally to  definite  roots,  and  every  one 
of  these  roots  expresses  a  ^eneraZ  con- 
cejpt.  Unless,  therefore,  Mr.  Darwin 
is  prepared  to  maintain  that  there 
are  languages  which  have  no  names 
for  father  and  mother,  for  heaven  and 
earth,  or  only  such  words  for  those 
objects  as  cannot  be  derived  from 
predicative  roots,  his  statement  that 
there  are  languages  without  abstract 
terms  falls  to  the  ground.  Everyroot 
is  an  abstract  term,  and  these  roots, 
in  their  historical  reality,  mark  a 
period  in  the  history  of  the  human 
mind — ^they  mark  the  beginning  bf 
rational  speech. 

What  1  wish  to  put  before  you  as 
clearly  as  possible  is  this,  that  roots 
such  BB  da,  to  give,  sthd,  to  stand, 
gd,  to  sing,  the  ancestors  of  an  un- 
numbered progeny,  differ  from  in- 
terjectional  or  imitative  sounds  in 
exactly  the  same  manner  as  general 
concepts  differ  from  single  impress 
sions.  Those,  therefore,  who  stiH 
think  with  Hume  that  general  ideas 
are  the  same  thing  as  single  impres- 
sions, only  &inter,  and  who  look 
upon  this  fainting  away  of  single 
impressions  into  general  ideas  as 
something  that  requires  no  explana- 
tion,  but  can  be  disposed  of  by  a 
metaphor,  would  probably  take  the 
same  view  with  regard  to  the 
changes  of  cries  and  shrieks  into 
roots.  Those,  on  the  contrary,  who 
hold  that  general  concepts,  even 
in  their  lowest  form,  do  not  spring 
spontaneously  from  a  tabula  rasa,, 
but  recognise  the  admission  of  a  co- 
operating Self,  would  look  upon  the 
roots  of  language  as  irrefragable 
proof  of  the  presence  of  human 
workmanship  in  the  very  elements 
of  language,  as  the  earliest  manifes- 


678 


Lectures  on  Mr,  BarwirCs  Philosophy  of  Language. 


[Jane 


tAtion  of  human  intellect,  of  which 
no  trace  has  ever  been  discovered 
in  the  animal  world. 

It  will  be  seen  from  these  remarks 
that  the  controTcrsy  which  has 
been  carried  on  for  more  than  two 
thousand  years  between  those  who 
ascribe  to  language  an  onomato- 
poeic origin,  and  those  who  derive 
language  from  roots,  has  a  much 
deeper  significance  than  a  mere 
question  of  scholarship.  If  the 
words  of  our  language  could  be 
derived  straight  from  imitative  or 
interjectional  sounds,  such  as  how 
wow  or  pooh  pooh,  then  I  should 
say  that  Hume  was  right  against 
Kant,  and  that  Mr.  Darwin  was 
right  in  representing  the  change  of 
animal  into  human  language  as  a 
mere  question  of  time.  If,  on  the 
contrary,  it  is  a  fact  which  no 
scholar  would  venture  to  deny,  that, 
after  deducting  the  purely  onoma- 
topoeic portion  of  the  dictionary, 
the  real  bulk  of  our  language  is 
derived  from  roots,  definite  in  their 
form  and  general  in  their  meaning, 
then  that  period  in  the  history  of 
language  which  gave  rise  to  these 
roots,  and  which  I  call  the  Radical 
Periodf  forms  the  frontier — be  it 
broad  or  narrow — between  man  and 
beast. 


That  period  may  have  been  of 
slow  growth,  or  it  may  have  been 
an  instantaneous  evolution :  we  do 
not  know.  Like  the  beginnings  of 
all  things,  the  first  beginnings  of 
language  and  reason  transcend  the 
powers  of  the  human  understanding, 
nay,  the  limits  of  human  imagina- 
tion. But  after  the  first  step  has 
been  made,  after  the  human  mind, 
instead  of  being  simply  distracted 
by  the  impressions  of  the  senses, 
has  performed  the  first  act  of  ab- 
straction, were  it  only  by  making 
one  and  one  to  be  two,  everything 
else  in  the  growth  of  language  be- 
comes as  intelligible  as  the  growth 
of  the  intellect ;  nay,  more  so.  We 
still  possess,  we  stiU  use,  the  same 
materials  of  language  which  were 
first  fixed  and  fashioned  by  the 
rational  ancestors  of  our  raoe. 
These  roots,  which  are  in  realitj 
our  oldest  title-deeds  as  rational 
beings,  still  supply  the  living  sap  of 
the  millions  of  words  scattered  over 
the  globe,  while  no  trace  of  them, 
or  anything  corresponding  to  them, 
has  ever  been  discovered  even 
amongst  the  most  advanced  of 
catarrbine  apes. 

Tl\e  problem  that  remains  to  be 
solved  in  our  last  Lecture  is  the 
origin  of  those  roots. 


1873] 


679 


PEASANTRY  OF  THE  SOUTH  OF  ENGLAJSTD. 
BY    A   WYKEHAMIST. 


[second 

THE  agitations  of  all  the  toiling 
classes  of  the  community  have 
been  so  prominently  before  the 
public  of  late,  that  it  must  be  evident 
to  all  that  we  are  in  a  transition 
state.  Such  epochs  occur  in  the 
domestic  history  of  every  nation. 
Three  have  already  occurred  in 
England,  -which  are  marked  by 
broad  lines,  and  which  are  easy  to 
be  discerned.  We  are  now  for  the 
fourth  time  fulfilling  the  prophecy 
of  the  poet : 
The  old  order  changeth,  yielding  place  to 

new, 
And  God  fulfils  Himself  in  many  ways. 

There  was,  first,  the  state  of 
master  and  slave ;  secondly,  the 
lord  and  serf;  thirdly,  in  the  fif- 
teenth century,  payment  as  wages 
took  the  place  of,  feudal  service,  and 
a  money  contract  *  cash  nexus '  be- 
came the  order  of  the  day.  But 
now  in  the  last  few  years  trades 
unions  and  agricultural  unions  have 
formed  clubs  seeking  a  share  in  the 
profits  of  capital,  either  by  co- 
operative stores  and  farms,  or  by  a 
participation  in  the  pecuniary  re- 
sults of  the  industries  in  which  they 
are  engaged.  The  voices  of  men, 
ivhen  heard  as  they  have  been  lately, 
encourage  their  fellows  to  speak;  and 
certainly  that  is  not  the  case  now 
which  Sir  A.  Helps  wrote  (in  1844, 
in  the  Claims  of  Labour)  :  *  The 
poor,  the  humble,  your  dependants 
will  oflen  be  afraid  to  ask  their  due 
from  you;  be  therefore  the  more 
mindful  of  it  yourself.' 

In  the  feudal  times  England  had 
little  commerce,  and  the  manu- 
facturing spirit  which  pervades  our 
northern  counties  had  not  sprung 
into  existence.  We  are  still  de- 
pendent on  the  bone  and  sinew 
of  our  people,  but  partly  through 
manufactures  and  partly  through 
the  cultivation   of   the   land.      In 


ARTICLE.] 

early  times  England  existed  only 
by  agriculture.  In  one  of  the 
earliest  MSS.  which  has  come  down 
to  us  from  Anglo-Saxon  times 
we  have  this  passage :  *  Every 
throne  which  standeth  upright 
standeth  upon  three  pillars — the 
priest,  the  warrior,  and  the  labourer. 
Tl\e  priest  prayeth  for  all,  the 
warrior  fighteth  for  all,  the  labourer 
tilleth  the  earth  and  worketh  for 
the  lively  hood  of  all.'  (Treatise  of 
Elfric.) 

If  therefore  this  fourth  transition 
epoch  throws  us  a  little  out  of  gear, 
let  us  take  heart  from  the  way  in 
which  things  righted  themselves 
under  changes  of  greater  magnitude. 
Look  at  England  as  she  emerged 
from  feudal  times  ;  consider  what  it 
would  be  to  be  living  and  cultivating 
land  during  the  desolating  wars  of 
the  White  and  Red  Roses  ;  look 
back  at  the  burdens  which  land 
sustained  under  the  old  poor  law ; 
look  at  the  times  of  the  riots ;  and 
then  say  that  these  times  are 
significant  rather  than  portentous^ 
and  though  we  are  passing  through 
a  crisis,  yet  it  is  one  in  which  the 
ship  obeys  the  helm,  and  we  have 
charts  and  experiences  of  many 
former  mariners  to  guide  us.  Let 
us  also  remember  that  by  doing  our 
duty  to  the  men  of  our  own  times 
we  shall  best  anticipate  revolutions 
which  may  be  looming  in  the 
future. 

It  is  very  difficult  to  place  our- 
selves so  exactly  in  the  past  with  all 
its  surroundings  as  to  feel  what 
this  country  was,  as  regards  master 
and  servant,  three  or  four  hundred 
years  ago.  But  we  shall  perhaps 
not  be  far  wrong,  if  we  define  the 
ante-Poor-Law  state  of  England  as 
very  much  what  AustrsJian  or 
American  backwoods  life  is  now. 
There  was  no  pauperism,  but  at  the 


Peasantry  of  the  South  of  England. 


[Jane 


Biune  time  there  would  be  great 
hardships  to  encounter  and  occa- 
sionally    great    privations    to  he 
endnred.    The  hnnter  may  one  day 
kill  a  fat  back  and  live  to  a  surfeit 
on  venison,  but  he  may  have  an 
interval  between  killing  two  stags 
when  he  may  be  very  short  of  food, 
and  almost  sigh  for  a  week's  credit 
at  the  village    shop  or  a  week's 
shelter  in  a  union  workhouse.   The 
excitement  which  hope  generates  in 
the  heart  of  the  colonist  enables  him 
to  bear  up  against  privations  which 
to    the  acclimatised  pauper  sSem 
unbearable.    For  no  one  would  deny 
that  the  early  settler  may  have  a 
worse  shelter  than  the  pauper's  hovel, 
and  be  for  a  time  more  pinched  for 
food  and  clothing  than  the  ditcher 
with  a  large   family  in    England. 
He  may  certainly  no  more  want  pas- 
ture for  his  cattle  than  the  patriarchs 
did.     But  with  this  rude   plenty, 
which  exists  because  civilisation  has 
not  yet  encroached  on  it,  there  may 
be  great  lack  of  many  of  the  com- 
forts    which    the    interchange    of 
nations  has  introduced  into  modem 
thickly  populated  countries.     For 
while  there  were  flocks  and  herds 
roaming  at  large,  and  runs  for  any 
number  of  cows,  so  that  milk  would 
be  plontifiil,  there  would  perhaps  be 
no  tea  and  sugar,  which  are  no  less 
necessary  than  milk  to  a  modern 
breakfast  table.    It  is  the  benefit 
of  quick  travelling  and  carriage  by 
railway  that,  while  it  takes  some 
commodities  to  the  distant  village 
from  London  and  the  seaports,  it  also 
takes  awaynative  products,  as  butter 
and  milk.    It  is  at  first  sight  strange, 
but  with  reasoning  becomes  most 
evident,  that  milk    is  nowhere  so 
difficult    to   pbtain     as    in     those 
villages  where  a  60  or  70  cow  cheese 
is  made,  or  where  a  hundred  cows 
are  milked  for  the  London  market. 
The  rent  is  high  because  the  land  is 
valuable,    and    the   farmer  strains 
every  nerve  to  make  the  most  of  his 
specialty,  be  it  Cheddar  cheese  or 
new  milk,  from  which  his  rent  and 


other  expenses  are  to  be  met.    It  is 
therefore  notorious  that  where  a 
man  only  keeps  one  or  two  cows 
milk  may  be  bought,  but  where  he 
keeps  a  hundred  none  can  be  boaght. 
The  farmer  works  up  to  agony  point 
to  excel  in  the  article  he  prides 
himself  on,  his  big  cheese  or  hit 
milk.    It  is  therefore  the  result  of 
the  natural   working  of  economie 
laws.     There  were  no  quick  milk, 
trains  running  in  the  days  of  the 
Plantagenet  kings,    and   therefore 
the  serf  had  plenty  of  milk,  which, 
as  they  say,  is  a  fine  thing  for 
children ;    but   the   swift   clippers 
which  now  bring  tea  had  not  started 
from  China,  nor  had  sugar  become 
a    commodity     saleable    at   every 
village   shop.     In  the  roll  of  the 
household  expenses  of  Richard  de 
Swinfield,  Bishop  of  Hereford,  edited 
by  the  Rev.  John  Webb,  we  find  m 
1290  rude  plenty  of  primeval  food, 
but  few  comforts — ^fifty  beeves  were 
driven  in  to  be  salted  for  the  winter 
use,   the  salt  being  brought  from 
Droitwich,  and  numbers  of  sheep 
and  pigs ;  also  five  casks  of  winecame 
from  Bristol,  and  immense  qoanti- 
ties  of  ale  were  brewed,  chiefly  by 
women.     Amongst  the  list  of  the 
spices  and  precious  things,  we  find 
a  pound  or  two  of  the  then  valuable 
article   of  sugar,   with   which  the 
Crusades  had  familiarised  Western 
Europe,  but  we  find  the  price  was 
eightpence  a  pound,  and  the  same 
sum  of  eightpence  is  entered  for 
seventy  gallons  of  strong  beer.  The 
carrying  trade    was    then   in  its 
infancy,  and  home  produce  was  as 
cheap,  because  it  could  not  be  ex- 
ported, as  foreign  produce  was  dear, 
for  a  contrary  reason.     We  must 
therefore  balance  the  excess  of  one 
commodity  against  the  want  of  an- 
other before  we  say  which  would  be 
better  oflT,  the  old  serf  or  the  modera 
labourer.    Rude  plenty  of  nature's 
products  were  at  hand,  and  no  one 
competing  for  or  claiming  them; 
they  were  as  free  as  blackberries 
in    our    hedges    or   nuts   in  onr 


187a] 


Peasantry  of  the  South  of  England, 


681 


antamnal  coppices.  Bat  beyond 
this  little  else.  It  was  colonial  life, 
with  free  pasture  of  commons  for 
cows,  pigs,  and  geese ;  fire- wood  as 
plentiAd  as  in  an  American  forest, 
and  elbow  room  as  much  as  there  is 
on  a  prairie,  but  few  comforts. 

Kon  omnis  feret  omDia  tellus. 

As  to  clothes,  thej  were  spun  at 
home.  There  was  little  money,  and 
the  lord  paid  by  what  we  should 
call  *  the  truck  system ; '  he  had 
tenets  to  whom  he  gave  common- 
age  of  eatover — ^that  is,  necessary 
run  for  the  man's  horses — in  ex- 
change for  which  the  man  was  to 
plough  and  cart  for  his  lord,  and 
serve  him  with  man  and  horse  in 
time  of  war.  There  was  also  com- 
mon right  of  turbary — to  cut  peat 
and  fuel — called  also  woocUbote  ;  and 
commonage  of  piscary — to  catch 
fish.  We  have  heard  of  the  domes- 
tic servantsin  Scotland,  in  old  times, 
bargaining  that  they  should  not 
have  salmon  more  than  three  days 
a  week,  but  the  Great  Northern 
Railway  now  prevents  their  being 
overdone  with  salmon  or  grouse. 
The  London  aldermen  save  them 
putting  that  covenant  into  their 
hirings. 

But  in  fact  it  is  luxury  which 
now  divides  classes ;  in  those  days 
wealth  could  buy  nothing,  and 
therefore  money,  which  is  only  a 
means  to  an  end,  was  valueless. 
We  find  that  all  classes  lived  much 
the  same — the  serf  boarded  with 
his  master,  and  they  had  only  the 
salt-cellar  between  them. 

Splendet  in  mensa  tenni  salinum. 

We  read  of  the  rich  having  in 
winter  only  a  grass-fed  calf,  salted 
and  fresh- water  fish.  A  man  de- 
Bcribed  his  winter  progress,  to  his 
friend,  in  this  way:  *I  am  half-way 
up  one  side  of  the  calf,  and  shall 
soon  be  coming  down  the  other.'  A 
great  falling  off  this  from  Solomon's 
'stalled  ox  and  contention  there- 
with.*   Fancy  being  invited  out  to 


dinner  with  a  Plantagenet  noble, 
and  finding  salted  veal  and  fresh- 
water fish — a  few  roach  and  dace, 
or  a  carp  that  had  spoiled  a  bottle 
of  port  wine  by  being  stewed  in 
it.  The  entrees  would  have  been 
very  acceptable  then.  The  veal 
being  salted  would,  at  all  events, 
save  the  trouble  of  bacon  or  ham 
as  an  opposite  dish.  The  serf 
certainly  was  not  made  unhappy 
by  the  smell  of  his  lord's  kitchen. 
Everywhere  there  was  rude  hos- 
pitality, a  welcome  to  all  comers, 
and  no  questions;  it  was  in  the 
epoch  before  begging  as  a  trade  had 
been  invented.  Bushes  to  sleep  on 
and  a  billet  of  wood  for  a  pillow 
enabled  hospitality  to  be  without 
stint  and  without  hypocrisy.  No 
one  was  very  rich,  no  one  had  luxu- 
ries; all  had  occasional  mischances, 
leading  to  privations,  for  crops 
might  fail,  and  there  were  no  roads. 
When  there  was  no  com  in  Canaan 
they  must  saddle  their  mules  and 
go  elsewhere  for  it.  Such  is  the 
life  of  all  newly  settled  countries. 
Longfellow's  description  (in  Evan- 
geline)  is  very  much  of  universal 
application  to  all  backwoods  and 
sheep-run  settlements ; 

Columns  of  pale  blue  smoke,  like  clouds 

of  incense  ascending, 
Bose  from  a  hundred  hearths,  the  homes 

of  peace  and  contentment. 
Thus  dwelt  tof^ether  in  love,  these  simple 

Arcadian  farmers — 
Dwelt  in  the  lore  of  God  and  of  man. 

Alike  were  they  free  from 
Fear  that  reigns  with  the  tyrant  and  envy 

the  vice  of  republics. 
Neither  locks  had  they  to  their  doors  nor 

bars  to  their  windows, 
But  their  dwellings  were  open  as  day  and 

the  hearts  of  their  owners  ; 
There  the  richest  was  poor,  and  the  poorest 
yet  lived  in  abundance. 

When  it  is  debated,  as  in  the 
present  Parliament,  whether  land 
and  tenements  should  endure  all 
the  burdens  of  taxation,  or  whether 
funded  property  should  also  con- 
tribute to  the  general  exchequer, 
the  question  comes  home — how 
came  poor  rates  to  rest  upon  land 


682 


Peasantry  of  the  South  of  Engla/nd. 


[Jane 


only  ?  By  looking  back  to  the  feudal 
times  we  find  the  answer.  Every 
lord  had  his  vassals,  living  on  his 
manor  with  their  serfs  under  them, 
living  also  on  their  subdivisions  of 
the  manor,  each  owing  service  to 
the  one  above  him ;  these  (as  there 
was  no  other  wealth  or  property 
besides  what  came  from  land)  had 
to  support  the  army — every  lord 
calling  his  clan  together  at  the 
bidding  of  prince  or  earl.  If  pro- 
perty was  to  be  defended,  it  must 
in  those  times  be  done  by  those 
who  held  the  land,  or  be  left  un- 
done. The  tenure  of  land  was  suit 
and  service  in  the  battle-field.  If 
the  population  was  to  live  in  the 
pre'Ttvarmfacturing  age,  clearly  it 
must  live  off  the  land.  As  land  be- 
came enclosed,  and  got  gradually 
into  large  &rms  and  estates,  instead 
of  small  holdings,  those  who  had 
lived  partly  by  working  for  the  lord 
and  partly  by  cultivating  their 
plots,  aided  by  the  right  of  common 
for  their  cows  and  geese,  and  the 
right  of  forest  for  their  swine  and 
for  their  wood  and  turf,  must  be 
supported  somehow.  That  by  which 
they  had  existed  was  gone,  and 
therefore  it  was  but  common  justice 
that  those  who  swallowed  up  those 
old  privileges  should  disgorge  what 
they  had  swallowed  up  in  some  other 
shape.  The  land  had  fed  and  sup- 
ported the  cottagers— clearly  the 
land  must  support  its  children.  And 
its  owners  chose  to  say,  No  more 
rights  of  common,  be  they  estover, 
piscary,  or  turbary;  we  will  employ 
you  to  work  for  us  as  your  masters ; 
and  if  you  are  feeble  or  old,  and  can- 
not work,  we  will  support  you.  Hence 
poor  rate,  at  first  attempted  by  a 
voluntary  subscription  amongst  the 
landowners;  and  when  the  volun- 
tary principle  proved  too  weak,  a 
rate  to  be  levied  on  the  land. 

Sir  Thomas  More  says,  in  his 
Utopia,  that  in  the  time  of  Henry 
VII.  the  demands  to  supply  the 
wool  trade  of  the  Netherlands  be- 
came 80  urgent,  that  vast  flocks  of 


sheep  were  introduced,  and  the 
crofts  of  the  cottiers  were  over-nm. 
The  dissolution  of  the  monasteries 
also  sent  forth  vast  households  of 
dependants  into  the  world,  vitk 
their  occupation  gone  and  nonev 
mode  of  gaining  a  livelihood  put  k 
its  place.  Hence  numerous  bodies  of 
sturdy  and  yaliant  beggars  vent 
about  demanding,  as  tibey  oonM 
earn  nothing,  that  something  should 
be  given  them.  There  were  muj 
casuaUy  with  no  casual  wards,  as  at 
present,  in  our  workhouses.  Henoe 
the  laws  against  mendicancy  were 
forced  into  existence  by  the  men- 
dicants.  But  the  severity  of  the 
laws  defeated  thoir  own  object  In 
the  reign,  therefore,  of  HeniyVIII. 
it  was  ordained  tiat  every  land- 
holder should  contribute  to  a  fond 
to  be  distributed  by  the  bishops  aad 
clergy  among  those  who  were  in 
actual  want.  This  was  the  germ 
of  that  which  in  1 60 1  became  known 
as  the  Poor  Law  Act  of  the  43rd  of 
Elizabeth.  In  1723,  the  ninth  yew 
of  Greorge  I.,  workhouses  began  to 
be  built;  and  in  1834,  in  conaj- 
quence  of  the  abuses  of  ont-door 
relief,  what  is  caJled  the  new  Poor 
Law  came  into  operation.  Thw 
those  who  formerly  Kved  on  the 
land  are  now  kept  by  the  land. 

It  is  very  interesting  to  be  ahle 
to  trace,  from  old  documents,  the 
way  in  which  small  holdings  hare 
during  the  last  two  hundrwi  years 
been  swaUowed  up  by  the  Iwger 
ones. 

One  who  had  studied  this  subject^ 
writing  in  1829,  says: 

In  the  parish  of  Clapham  in  Sussex. 
there  is  a  fann  called  Holt ;  it  contains  it* 
acres  and  is  in  the  occnpation  of  oae  tenant 
During  the  thirteenth  and  fourteenth  cen- 
turies it  seems  to  have  been  a  hamlet  a 
which  there  were  at  least  twenty-one  pro- 
prietors of  land ;  we  hare  now  lying  befee 
us  twenty-one  distinct  conveyances  of  m^ 
in  fee,  described  to  be  parcels  of  thishamW. 
These  documents  are  in  a  perfect  state  at 
preservation,  and  bear  various  dates  tnh 
1200  to  1400.  In  1400  the  number  of  pi^ 
prietors  began  to  decrease  ;  by  the  j^ 
1520  it  had  been  reduced  to  six.   !«  "" 


1873] 


Peasaniry  of  the  South  of  England. 


683 


reign  of  James  I.  the  six  were  reduced  to 
two,  and  soon  after  the  restoration  of 
Charles  II.  the  whole  became  the  property 
of  one  owner,  who  leased  it  to  one  occupier 
as  tenant.  In  1840,  near  about  100  per- 
sons existed  out  of  the  produce  of  this  piece 
of  land — now,  we  may  assume,  including 
the  fiumer's  family,  not  more  than  thirty 
or  forty  at  most,  if  indeed  so  many. 

•  Where  wealth  accumulates  and  men  decay.* 

Id  1709  we  find  the  first  notice 
of  an  application  to  Parliament  to 
enclose  and  cnltivate  commons  and 
waste  lands.  ^Many  Bills  were  from 
time  to  time  passed  with  similar 
powers,  and  at  the  time  of  the 
war  with  Napoleon  the  high  prices 
of  com  seemed  to  justify  all  land 
that  was  worth  cultivating  being 
enclosed  for  this  purpose.  A  cal- 
culation has  been  made  that  from 
the  date  of  the  first  Enclosure 
Bill  to  the  end  of  the  Peninsular 
War,  five  thousand  parishes  have 
been  brought  under  similar  Acts. 
We  find  that  during  the  war  Bills 
were  introduced  at  the  rate  of 
from  120  to  150  a  year,  and  as 
one  Bill  often  includes  a  manor 
containing  several  parishes,  we  can 
imderstand  that  very  little  valuable 
ground  remains  unenclosed.  There 
bave  been  at  times  loud  murmurs 
fix)m  those  who  saw  their  cow-run 
or  goose-run  taken  away,  which  is 
natural  enough ;  but  at  the  same 
time  opposition  clamours  have 
been  raised  to  give  the  people 
cheaper  bread  by  extending  cultiva- 
tion over  common  lands.  And  the 
same  people  who  shout  with  one 
side  of  their  mouth,  'Shame  to  take 
away  the  poor  man's  chance  of  turn- 
ing out  a  cow,*  say  with  the  other, 

*  Why  not  break  up  all  the  forests — 
the  New  Forest  for  instance?  Shame 
to  have  unproductive  land  while  the 
people  want  bread.'  In  the  same  way 
people  say,  *  Shame  to  eat  up  crops 
with  ground  game ;'  and  when  you 
have  done  away  with  ground  game 
tbey  will  say,  '  Shame  no  rabbits  for 
Bale ;  taking  away  almost  the  only 
food  within  reach  of  a  poor  man's 
purse.*    But  the  cries  of  the  public, 


like  the  street  cries,  are  not  always 
intelligible,  and  are  sometimes  con- 
tradictory, and  vox  populi  is  not 
always  vox  Dei. 

However,  when  commons  were 
enclosed,  those  who  had  common 
rights  put  in  their  claims,  and  had 
portions  assigned  to  them,  a  bit  to 
each  house.  And  the  7  th  of  the 
31st  of  Elizabeth  decrees  that  no 
house  shall  be  built  as  a  residence 
without  four  acres  being  assigned 
to  the  owner.  But  in  later  times 
cottagers  were  only  tenants,  and  not 
owners,  of  the  dwellings  they  in- 
habited, and  so  it  came  to  pass  that 
the  landed  proprietor  added  to  his 
demesne,  and  the  cottier's  cow 
had  to  take  to  the  highways  and 
byeways,  which  the  later  road  Acts 
decline  to  allow  to  the  aforesaid 
cows*  So  the  cow  had  to  be  got 
rid  of.  With  regard  to  the  times 
when  a  few  acres  were  assigned  to 
the  cottier  or  crofter,  when  land 
was  not  of  much  value,  and  when 
there  were  few  claimants  and  little 
competition  for  it,  it  was  given,  in 
Heu  of  his  right  to  turn  out  cattle 
and  cut  wood  and  turf,  to  the  cottier. 
But  as  cottiers  came  on  evil  dajs, 
or  when  the  property  at  death  was 
to  be  divided,  so  in  various  ways 
it  was  parted  with,  and  the  neigh- 
bouring proprietors,  to  whom  it  was 
worth  most,  usually  bought  it,  the 
hedges  were  thrown  down,  and  so 
we  are  gradually  approaclung  the 
days  of  joint-stock  farming  com- 
panies and  steam  ploughs.  The 
cottier  would,  as  Tusser  points  out 
in  his  Hundred  and  One  Points 
of  Husbandry,  have  been  better 
off  with  his  section  of  the  com- 
mon than  he  would  have  been 
with  his  right  to  rove  over  the 
whole ;  but  then  who  was  to  stop 
him  from  selling  it  ?  His  awaixL 
under  Enclosure  Commissioners  was 
secure  against  the  law  turning  him 
out,  but  it  was  not  secure  against 
his  own  improvidence.  If  every 
cottager  now  had  four  acres  given 
him,  how  many  would  have  it  in 


682 


Peasantry  of  the  South  of  England, 


/^ne 


only  ?   By  looking  back  to  the  feudal 
times  we  find  the  answer.     Every 
lord  had  his  vassals,  living  on  his 
manor  with  their  serfs  nnder  them, 
living  also  on  their  subdivisions  of 
the  manor,  each  owing  service  tr 
the  one  above  him ;  these  (as  the- 
was  no  other  wealth  or  prope 
besides  what  came  from  land) 
to  support  the  army — every  y 

calling   his    clan    together  ^^ 

bidding  of  prince  or  earl.  .' ^sM 

perty  was  to  be  defende  ,  ^^i/i/ng- 
in  those  times  be  dor  .--^that 
who  held  the  land,  r  ^^A  con- 
done. The  tenure  o^  v;,}^  of  crofts 
and  service  in  the  .  v|i^iity-three 
the  population  w  ,- ;^^ji/id  ceased  to 
'pre - TiianvfactuT '  ^  --'^ larger  ones  ; 
must  live  off  f  ,y  -^^  being  out  of 
came  enclos  v^^Ji^/'^is  parish  rose 
into  large  f  ;!  Vyafld  in  1 7  58  to  4*. 
of  small  J^'^/fi8oi.  In  another 
lived  pa-  r<f?^r  rates  of  1780  were 
and  p-  f^ifff^jSio  they  had  risen  to 
plots,  >^%^tfrse,  in  estimating  the 
for  t^  ^  ^  poor  rates  we  must  make 
rigb  >^  fQf.  police  and  other  coun- 
for  ^^^w'hich,  as  years  roll  on, 
SD       ^  ^n  collected  under  the  head 

^        ^h^a  only    by  putting    oneself 

>into  this  past  age,  when  com- 

jj^  were  fast  melting  away,  that 

^can  at  all  understend  William 

^bbett's  reiterated  injunctions  to 

^0  poor    man  to  keep  a  cow   if 

le  could  possibly   manage  to  buy 

one. 

We  look  through  the  eyes  of  a 
past  generation  to  understand  such 
a  passage  as  this  one  from  Thomas 
Fuller  in  1648: 

The  good  landlord  noteth  that  enclosure 
made  without  depopulating  is  injurious  to 
none.  I  mean  if  proportionable  allotments 
be  made  to  the  poor  for  their  commonage, 
and  free  and  lease  holders  have  a  consider- 
able share  with  the  lord  of  the  manor. 
Object  not  that  enclosures  destroy  tillage, 
the  staff  of  a  country,  for  it  need  not  all  be 
converted  to  pasture.  Cain  and  Abel — 
the  ploughman  and  the  shepherd— may 
part  the  enclosures  betwixt  them. 

So  also  of  this  *  Prayer  for  Land- 


werp         .  /^riner  of  Edward 
crofts  o^  * 

Tb  **  .  iline  and  all  that  themn  is, 

^JuQ  Thou  hast  given  the  poi- 

jereoi  to  the  children  of  men.     W* 

,/  pray  Thee  to  send  Thy  Holy  Spinl 

,ihe  hearts  of  them  that  possess  ti? 

.  -^ds  and  pastures  of  the  eaith;  tha: 

>j,  remembering  themBclves  to  be  Thy 

renantfl,  may  not  rack  and  stretch  out  tb* 

rents  of  their  houses  and  lands,  nor  yet  take 

unreasonable  fines  and  incomes,  after  tke 

manner  of  covetous  worldlings ;  but  so  Irt 

them  out,  that  the  inhabitants  thereof  may 

be  able  to  pay  the  rents,  and  to  lire  *ci 

nourish  their  families,  and  to  rdiere  tha 

I)oor. 

Under  the  existing  and  very 
altered  state  of  things  in  England, 
can  we  return  to  the  small  crofter 
and  cottier  with  common  righte 
which  we  trace  by  looking  hack  in 
the  history  of  England  under  Phm- 
tagenet  and  Tudor  kings?  CoM 
we  iiwe  would  ?  let  it  be  asked ;  and 
secondly,  wowW  we  if  we  eovM  ? 

In  the  first  place,  let  us  be  ac- 
quainted with  the  fiict,  that  in 
Northumberland  and  some  other 
counties  the  labourer  still  has  accom- 
modation for  his  cow,  and  that  by 
the  recent  returns  to  Govennncni 
it  is  shown  by  undeniable  arithnaetic 
that  there  are  in  Great  Britain 
124,250  holdings  of  land  t»  extesd 
from  one  to  five  acres.  As  allotmeat 
gardens  are  generally  under  half  or 
a  quarter  of  an  acre,  we  presume  that 
they  are  excluded  from  thiscalcala. 
tion.  If,  then,  there  be  so  many 
holdings  of  small  culture  as  the 
report  describes,  and  one-sixte®th 
of  the  whole  land  is  embraced 
in  holdings  of  less  than  twenty 
acres  each,  it  cannot  but  strike 
intelligent,  thinking  men,  that  there 
is  enough  in  small  plots  to  aocom- 
modate  anyone  who  has  a  spec^ 
taste  for  a  small  farm.  Here  and 
there  a  bailiff  whose  wife  is  a  dairy- 
woman  may  find  it  profitable  in  old 
age  to  occupy  such  a  croft,  and  ckc 
out  his  savings  by  keeping  a  little 
poultry  and  a  cow  and  pig,  spending 
the  days  of  his  declining  strength  in 
the  same  occupation  which  he  has 


f 


Peasantry  of  the  South  of  England. 


685 


4:. 


.X 


>3t 


^^X 

v  -> 


Bat,  as  farming 
'^  retuTOS  of 
v^n  many 
veather, 
ihe  worst 
W        .ot  pay  any 
u  a  trade  or 
wbourer  to  give 
^s  for  the  profits 
J  of  a  croft  or  a 
gk  land,  for  which 
•*  •    •,•  vvooldhavetobehired. 

^  those  who  hold  these 

^pations  are    obliged    to 
iie  other  calling  with  them, 
3  that  ofcarrier  or  dealer.  The 
of  meat  and  com  would  be 
jiterially  enhanced  if  many  of  the 
large  farms  were  cut  up  into  small 
holdings ;  and  the  labouring  class  as 
a  body  would  suffer  in  another  way 
(which  has  not  been  sufficiently  con- 
sidered by  those  who  have  advocated 
a  PBtum  to  small  holdings),  for  they 
would  be  thrown  out  of  work.     The 
larger  the  holding,  the  richer  the 
tenant;  and   the  higher   the   state 
of    cultivation,   the    more    labour 
is   employed.      The   large   farmer, 
using  machinery,  employs  perhaps 
six  or  seven  hiainds  to  a  hundred 
acres  of  arable  land ;   the  two  hun- 
dred acre  man  reduces  this  staff  of 
men  to  half;  the  hundred  acre  man 
still  reduces  it ;  the  fifty  acre  man 
has  perhaps  only  one  labourer  besides 
his  own  family;    the  twenty  acre 
man  does  all  the  work  himself,  and 
perhaps  goes  out  at  hay  time  and 
harvest  to  help  the  larger  holders  of 
land.   Consequently,  if  the  soil  were 
let  off  in  small  holdings,  the  day 
labourer  wonld  be  almost  entirely 
driven   out  of  the  country.      This 
the  writers    on  political  economy, 
most  of  whom  lusive  been  bred  m 
towns    and    have    studied    theory 
without  seeing  it  tested  by  practice, 
have  overlooked.     Let  a  man  live 
in  a  country  parish  where  there  is 
perhaps  one  500  acre  form  worked 
withall  the  appliances  of  modem  ma- 
chinery— in  fact,  a  meat-producing 
establishment — ^perhaps  two 


of  moderate  proportions,  two  small 
ones,  and  three  or  four  under  twenty 
acres.  Let  him  as  he  walks  through 
that  parish  look  at  the  men  employed 
on  each,  let  him  go  into  their  cot- 
tages and  hear  what  they  say ;  then, 
when  he  has  seen  the  results,  let  him 
go  home  and  write  down  his  con- 
clusions: after  that  he  may  safely 
take  up  Mill's  Political  IJconomy 
and  go  into  theory  to  his  heart's 
content,  seasoning  it  as  he  goes  with 
experience  and  observation. 

We  have  endeavoured  in  a  pre- 
vious article  to  show  that  a  man  and 
one  strong  lad — ^which  will  be  below 
the  average  of  the  members  able  to 
work  in  any  given  family — will  be 
worth  with  harvest  gains  at  day 
labour  60I,  a  year.  If  such  an 
average  family  spend  their  time 
on  twenty  acres  of  land,  will  the 
profit  be  Sol,  per  annum?  If  an 
arable  farmer  in  prosperous  times 
makes  iZ.  an  acre  profit,  he  will 
be  a  very  lucky  being.  How,  then, 
shall  the  cottier  without  any  of  the 
advantages  of  machinery  make  20L 
a  year  off  his  20  acres  ?  And  iol. 
a  year  would  be  considerably 
below  what  his  day  labour  would 
bring  him  in. 

Again:  the  following  very  true 
picture  of  things  as  they  are  and 
things  as  they  are  represented  is 
from  a  recent  leading  article  in  the 
Times  newspaper : 

We  see  it  stated  indignantly,  as  if  a 
charge  at  once  grievoiis  and  unanswerable, 
that  the  labourer's  family  cannot  get  milk 
and  butter  and  eggs  and  poultry  and  pork, 
and  the  other  petty  products  of  small  hus- 
bandry. He  can  get  nothing  except  from 
the  rillage  shop,  the  baker,  or  the  batcher. 
We  are  invited  to  revolutionise  property 
and  subdivide  land  in  the  interests  of  a 
more  varied  and  nutritious  diet.  Upon 
this  we  have  to  observe,  with  regret,  that 
in  extensive  districts  of  this  island — on  the 
chalk  downs  for  instance — there  are  no 
kine,  and  consequently  no  milk  or  butter  ; 
that  under  a  regime  of  small  holdings  the 
butter,  eggs,  and  poultry  go  to  the  market, 
the  skimmed  milk  to  the  pigs ;  that,  in  fact, 
the  best  of  everything,  including  the  pork, 
goes  to  pay  rent  and  other  outgoing,  and 
farms     it    is   the   merest    offal,   trash,   rinsings 


686 


Peasantry  of  the  South  of  England, 


[June 


and  sweepings  of  everything,  that  go  to 
the  children.  It  was  so  fifty  years  ago, 
and  it  is  so  now.  It  would  be  true  kind- 
ness to  put  one  of  our  dainty  philosophers 
to  board  and  lodge  for  a  week  at  a  twenty- 
acre  farm,  to  be  treated  as  one  of  the  family. 

We  cannot  put  one  hand  of  a 
clock  back  without  putting  the  other 
back  also,  so  we  cannot  have  the 
imagined  joys  of  old  feudal  times  of 
*  merry  Old  England '  without  hav- 
ing also  its  inconveniences  and 
discomforts.  But  anyone  anxious 
to  try  what  it  was,  can  go  and  begin 
in  the  prairies  and  backwoods  of  a 
new  country,  and  there  he  can  be  a 
philosopher  in  earnest — he  can  have 
the  pleasure  of  building  a  log  hut, 
and  milking  his  own  cow,  and  of 
making  his  clothes,  as  Robinson 
Crusoe  did.  He  will  be  troubled 
^  with  no  squires  or  parsons,  no  game 
laws  or  poor  rates.  There  is  un- 
doubtedly freedom  about  it ;  and  the 
very  thought,  to  one  weary  of  over- 
civilisation,  is  as  refreshing  as  a 
trout  stream  in  Norway,  or  climbing 
Mont  Blanc;  but  even  in  such 
invigorating  pursuits  one  would 
not  like  to  spend  one's  life. 

Would  we,  if  we  could,  cause  every 
loom  in  Manchester  to  stop,  that  the 
good-wife  should  spin  in  the  cottage 
porch  ?  Would  we  do  away  with  the 
com- growing  fens  of  Lincolnshire, 
that  duck  and  mallard  might  be 
plentiful  ?  or  the  turnip  culture  of 
Norfolk,  that  the  green  lane  might 
exist  to  receive  the  cottier's  cows  ? 
But  what  people  want  is  the  plums 
out  of  the  cake  of  the  Plantagenet 
and  Tudor  times  stuck  into  our  own 
civilised  pudding,  so  that  we  may 
have  tlieir  liberty  and  freedom  from 
taxation,  their  unenclosed  commons, 
(fee,  and  our  comfbrts  and  advan- 
tages of  civilisation — in  fact,  the 
advantages  of  an  old  country  and  a 
new  one  combined.  The  old  croft 
had  a  very  winding  fence  round  it, 
very  ornamental  and  unlike  Dutch 
gardening;  the  original  serf,  who 
enclosed  it  for  his  croft,  followed  the 
tortuous  windings  of  the  watercourse 
to  save  himself  trouble  in  throwing 


out  the  ditch  and  making  the  fenoe 
to  prevent  his  cow  from  wandering. 
Would  England  gain  in  the  smntotal 
of  her  wealth  if  these  were  all 
restoredas  they  used  to  exist?  M 
Mr.  Alderman  Mechi.  He  tells  ns 
the  pollard  trees  round  this  son 
of  small  enclosures  are  wortb  cm 
shilling  at  two  hundred  years  old, 
and  they  lose  five  shillings  eToy 
year  to  the  com  of  England  by  the 
injury  they  do  with  root  and  shade. 
The  tendency  of  the  age  is,  on  the 
contrary,  to  go  yet  more  in  advance, 
to  do  away  with  middle-sized  hold- 
ings, for  political  economy  shows  us 
clearly  that  large  establishmenis  can 
do  any  work  much  more  economi- 
cally than  small  ones.  And  if  small 
farmers  cannot  raise  the  wages  of 
their  men  because  they  gefc  no 
profits  out  of  which  to  do  it,  our 
hope  is  in  large  farms  with  great 
capital  embarked.  If  great  capital- 
ists cannot  be  found  to  undertake 
the  work,  why  not  jainMxh 
companies?  Steam  ploughs  are 
only  recently  admitted  to  be  neces- 
sary to  large  tracts  of  land ;  but  we 
have  before  us  a  paper  recently  readby 
Mr.  Fowler,  of  the  Prebendal  Fann, 
Aylesbury,  at  the  Central  Fanners* 
Club,  in  which  it  is  stated  thai 
one  firm  alone  is  taming  out  200 
sets  of  steam  tackle  annually  for 
England  and  50  for  exportation.  If 
we  can  plough  by  machinery,  reap 
by  machinery,  and  thresh  by  ma- 
chinery, are  we  not  in  an  age  the 
onward  signs  of  which  are  not  to 
be  mistaken  ?  It  is  an  age  of  prt>- 
gress,  and  an  age  not  likely  to 
listen  to  people  who  would  persuade 
us  to  go  back  to  barbaric  tools— the 
spade  and  the  flail — and  to  fields  thai 
would  consume  a  fourth  of  the  area 
of  England  in  hedges  and  ditches  to 
separate  them.  Man  as  the  mere 
labourer  is  becoming  man  the  direc- 
tor of  other  forces ;  and  though  in 
the  origin  of  threshing  machines 
the  peasantry  conceived  that  their 
craft  as  threshers  was  over,  now 
the  difficulty  is  to  find  an  old  hand 


1873] 


Peasantry  of  the  South  of  JEnigla/nd, 


687 


to  use  the  flail ;  and  tho  youth  of 
the  present  age  have  never  leamt  to 
wield  it. 

And,  in  fact,  labonrers  have 
moved  with  the  movements  of  the 
age.  The  improvements  which 
since  the  days  of  our  forefathers 
have  heen  introduced,  they  have 
shared  in.  Society,  like  the  cloud 
of  the  poet's  fancy — 

Moveth  altogether,  if  it  move  at  all. 

All  classes  have  participated  in  the 
comforts  and  conveniences  which  are 
the  result  of  more  civilised  times. 
Therefore  it  is  unjust  to  look  back 
and  sigh  for  the  freedom  of  early 
times  when  we  have  that  which 
more  than  compensates  us.  True 
that  there  is  far  greater  difference 
now  than  there  used  to  be  500 
years  ago  between  the  highest  and 
the  lowest  classes  of  society ;  that, 
however,  is  the  natural  result  of 
wealth.  When  there  were  few  things 
to  be  purchased  with  money,  the 
king  and  the  peasant  lived  very 
much  alike.  Now  the  king  can  buy 
all  that  money  can  be  exchanged 
for,  and  the  peasant  is  only  able  to 
buy  what  his  weekly  earnings  will 
afford.  When,  therefore,  the  poet 
laments  that  'the  wheel  is  silent 
in  the  vale,*  by  which  he  means 
that  every  gfood- wife  does  not  weave 
or  spin  her  own  clothes,  he  utters  a 
truth — ^but  only  one  side  of  a  truth 
— because  the  good- wife  can  with  a 
shilling  (which  she  can  earn  in  a 
day)  buy  far  more  calico  made  by 
mac^iinery  at  Manchester  than  she 
could  fabricate  in  a  week. 

This  seems  too  simple  to  need  any 
statement,  for  it  is  one  of  the  truisms 
of  civilisation.  Yet  we  speak  of  it 
because  it  is  the  custom  now  to 
dress  up  the  feudal  ages  as  Hhe  good 
old  times,'  without  stating  the  ques- 
tion of  loss  and  gain  on  either  side, 
which  is  necessaiy  to  make  a  fair 
comparison  between  those  times  and 
our  own.  We  will  give  two  simple 
illnstrations— education  andmedical 
science — to  show  that  the  peasant 


and  the  artisan  have  shared  in  the 
advantages  of  being  bom  in  the 
nineteenth  century.  In  most  parish- 
es throughout  the  kingdom,  and 
when  the  new  Education  Act  shall 
have  come  into  fall  operation  we 
shall  be  able  to  say  in  all  parishes, 
education  will  be  brought  to  the 
doors  of  every  cottage.  This  edu- 
cation will  combine  knowledge  suf- 
ficient for  the  children  of  peasants, 
and  that  discipline  which  trained 
teachers  so  well  know  how  to  in- 
stil, for  the  smallest  sum  imagin- 
able. This  is  more  than  princes 
could  command  before  the  age  of 
printing,  and  which  now  will  pro- 
bably leave  the  sons  and  daughters 
of  the  middle  classes  at  second- 
rate  boarding  schools  far  behind. 
Again,  to  speak  of  improved  medical 
science.  A  labourer  meets  with  an 
accident,  breaks  a  limb,  or  requires  • 
some  difficult  operation  in  surgery 
to  be  performed  ;  he  gets  an  order, 
and  is  moved  into  a  hospital, 
where  he  gets  better  attendance,  be- 
cause trained  nurses  and  resident 
surgeons  are  at  his  beck  and  call, 
than  the  squire  can  obtain  at  his 
country  mansion,  or  than  emperors 
could  have  had  a  hundred  years  ago. 
Let  these  things  be  borne  in  mind 
by  those  who  say  that  the  rich  have 
a  monopoly  of  all  the  practical  out- 
come of  science  and  of  art. 

One  thing,  however,  and  that  a 
most  important  one,  seems  to  have 
passed  from  us  with  the  days  that 
are  gone — a  thing  which  we  pro- 
bably shall  never  recover,  but  which, 
if  we  could  regain  it,  would  do  much 
to  reunite  the  employers  and  the 
employed.  We  mean  that  mutual 
reverence  and  affection  which  the 
master  had  for  the  servant  and  the 
servant  for  the  master  in  feudal 
times.  The  present  is  an  age  of 
*  eye-service  as  men-pleasers.'  The 
feeling  which  used  to  eidst,  akin  to 
that  of  parent  and  child,  has  been 
broken  up,  partly  by  faults  on  either 
side,  but  chiefly  by  the  'cash 
nexus'   tie,  which  loosed  the  ties 


686 


Peasantry  of  the  South  of  England, 


and  sweepings  of  everything,  that  go  to 
the  children.  It  was  so  fifty  years  ago, 
and  it  is  so  now.  It  would  be  true  kind- 
ness to  put  one  of  our  dainty  philosophers 
to  board  and  lodge  for  a  week  at  a  twenty- 
acre  farm,  to  be  treated  as  one  of  the  family. 

We  cannot  put  one  hand  of  a 
clock  back  without  putting  the  other 
back  also,  so  we  cannot  have  the 
imagined  joys  of  old  feudal  times  of 
*  merry  Old  England*  without  bar- 
ing also  its  inconveniences  ar 
discomforts.  But  anyone  anxj  / 
to  try  what  it  was,  can  go  and  } 
in  the  prairies  and  backwood  ^ 

new  country,  and  there  he  o  j^_ 

philosopher  in  earnest — ^he  ^  yy^^ 
the  pleasure  of  building  ilf 'you 
and  milking  his  own  '  ^^^  ^  j 
making  his  dothes,  ^oney  o'n  Sa- 
Cnisoe  did.  He  w  ^^^  ^^  c^ash 
with  no  squires  or 


,     X.  In  the  days  of 

^""1*°^,^^^  7 -*  tJ^ere   was    no 
doubtedly  freed^ 


•  men  were 


station* 


veiT  thought,    -^  manor  for  genera- 
vihsation,     ^  ^^^^  ^f  clanship 


ci 

trout  strear 

Mont  Bl! 


.^m  father  to  son  for  sue- 
"Jarations.  Mr.W.  R.  Greg 
mvigora  /^^gcribed  the  reasons  why 
^^w      /^often  good  feeling  between 

1  -^if  and  serf  in  these  words  : 

loon?     t^ 

coo     i  ^  ^'        ^P^^  ^^  master's   land, 
'jxi  his  house;  the  same  families  served 
P^     >^e  chiefs  from  generation  to  genera- 
C     ^  fciU  they  became  a  portion  of  them ; 
^'were  identified  with  their  interests — 
^ook  of  their  pride — shared  their  for- 
ces, and  we^e  illuminated  by  their  splen- 
dor.    In  this  relation,    amid  much  that 
iras  rude  and  brutal  there  was  also  much 
that  was  touching  and  affectionate.     On 
the  part  of  the  vassal  hereditary  attachment 
and  sublime  devotion  ;   on  the  part  of  the 
master   sentiments  of  regard — ^he  looked 
upon  his  vassals  as  a  secondary  class  of 
children,  whom  it  was  his  pride  to  cherish 
4tnd  Xjo  foster,  as  well  as  to  govern. 

The  historian  who  has  done  most 
to  illustrate  the  domestic  history  of 
this  period  quotes,  in  confirmation 
of  this  good  fellowship,  the  oaths  of 
the  freeman  and  of  the  villain.  The 
oath  of  the  latter  runs  in  these 
words : 

The  villain  when  he  shall  do  fealty  to  his 
lord   shall  hold  his  right  hand  over  the 


out  the  ditch  ar 
to  prevent  h^' :/ 
Would  Enrf> 
of  her  r      /  •' 
restore.  •  .  / 
Mr.    ;  ':' 
the 


/ 


[June 


500,  my  lord, 

/       onto  you  shall  be 

il  owe  you  feaJtr 

A  of  you  in  Tilias- 

jr  damage  will  1  see 

A.  will  defend  and  wan 

So  help  me  God  andall 


i?'rancis  Palgrave,  in  the 
jn  to  an  Anglo-Saxon  kiuir, 
^eso  words: 

.d,  I  will  be  faithful  and  true  to  thee. 

whom  thou  dost  lore,  I  will  love  ;  til 

^at  thou  dost  shun,  I  will  shun;  ser^r 

wittingly  or  willingly  will  I  do  aught  tbt 

is  hurtful  to  thee. 

If  it  were  possible  (now  that 
circumstances  have  brought  the  re- 
lation of  employers  and  employed 
before  the  world)  that  better  feel- 
ings could  be  planted  and  made  to 
grow  on  either  side,  feelings  akin 
to  those  which  existed  in  the  old 
feudal  times  between  the  best  speci- 
mens of  master  and  serf,  much  might 
be  done.  Irritating  demands  n^e 
irritated  combinations  of  masters, 
and  vice  versa. 

The  bystander  often  has  power  to 
use  conciliatory  words,  whidi  the 
parties  interested  cannot  use,  and  to 
say  things  of  them  which  they  can- 
not  say  of  themselves ;  hence.  Lord 
Bacon  has  wisely  observed  that  it  is 
one  of  the  offices  of  friendship  to 
provide  a  person  who  can  so  speak. 
The  press  and  the  pulpit  might  as 
bystanding  agencies,  do  a  great 
deal  to  concilmte  parties. 

We  do  not  think  the  LaboureR 
Union  will  do  much  for  the  pea- 
santry by  way  of  direct  results. 
But  indirectly  it  may  do  much. 
and  has  done  much.  We  know 
many  whom  it  has  already  weaned 
from  the  public-house.  It  rouses 
men  out  of  their  lethargy ;  it  leai^ 
them  to  look  into  their  state  and 
compare  it  with  that  of  others.  Then 
follow  the  questions  asked  by  waj 
of  self-examination  :  If  this  is  my 
present  state,  must  it  be  always  mj 
state  ?  K  no  one  else  will  help  me, 
can  I  not  help  myself?  We  have 
ourselves  heard  this  sort  of  ques- 


V 


Peasayiiry  of  the  South  of  England, 


689 


"^ 


M*grafcion,  emigra- 

^ens,  and  the 

^    remedies 

^e  fields. 

^and 


^^74. 


V4 


"^'^IIV   * 


'♦  :^, 


«rv:<^z<* 


^x^^* 


'^*^^' 


yer, 

began 

jhalk  on 

jQst  sawed 

m  beer  since 

A  old.    He  put 

.illing   a   day  for 

.rs  as  a  basis  of  his 

,  ^  '  and  reckoning  interest 

.ed  500Z.  what  he  should 

.  ed.    But  as  he  very  quietly 

We  will  put  it  at  a  shilling  a 

/,  but  when  the  fit  was  on  me  a 

shilliDg  a  day  had  nothing  to  do 

with  it.'     He  has  been  six  months 

a  total    abstainer,   and    hopes    to 

keep  so. 

There  is  a  fear  lest  the  labouring 
wa?i,  being  made  too  much  of,  inter- 
viewed, got  hold  of  by  papers,  by 
agitators  working    on    that    little 
knowledge  which  Pope  pronounced 
to  be  so  dangerous  a  thing,  should 
be  unsettled.     There  is  fear  lest  a 
morbid   feeling   should   spring   up 
amongst  the  labouring  classes ;  and 
from  hearing  so  much  about  the 
hardships   of  labour,    they  should 
begin  to  tbink  labour  itself  to  be  a 
degradation.     If  the  Catechism  of 
the  Established  Church  should  be 
driven  out  of  rate  schools,  we  hope 
this  passage   will    be  taught  still 
in  cottages,    'to  learn  and  labour 
trnly  to  get  my  own  living,  and  to 
do  my  duty  in  that  state  of  life  unto 
which  it  shall  please  God  to  call 
me.* 

Many  things  combine  to  make 
this  unhealthy  morbid  feeling  take 
root  in  people's  minds.  Look  at 
the  love  of  tawdry  dress  amongst 
female  servants ;  the  cheap  flashy 
but  poor  goods  bought  now,  instead 
of  serviceable  wearing  articles;  look 
at  the  nonsense  that  is  talked  about 

YOL.  VU. — NO.  XLII.      NEW  SERIES. 


it  being  degrading  for  a  labourer's 
wife  (who,  having  been  up  at  five 
o'clock  of  a  fine  summer  morning, 
has  managed  her  household  affairs 
for  the  day)  to  go  out  hay-making 
or  weeding.  Why  should  not  people 
say  it  is  degrading  for  a  countess 
to  go  into  her  conservatory  if  it  is 
degrading  for  a  labouring  woman  to 
shake  out  sweet-smelling  hay?  The 
hay-field  is  her  conservatory,  and 
much  enjoyment  and  health  she 
gains.  But  to  work  in  a  factory, 
because  it  is  indoors,  that  is  not 
degrading ! 

We  are  told  education  will  make 
people  more  sensible,  and  will  coun- 
teract all  this.  But  it  is  not  yet 
proved  that  high  education  will  not 
make  people  despise  the  lowly  ofiSces 
of  life.  *  If  you  are  a  lady  and  I  am 
a  lady,  who  is  to  milk  the  cows  ?' 
says  the  old  Spanish  proverb.  What 
time  William  of  Wykeham  and 
other  like  wise  and  benevolent  men 
founded  schools  with  money  to  sup- 
port a  number  of  poor  scholars, 
things  were  different.  Clerks  were 
wanted  in  ages  when  kings  used  to 
sign  their  mark  of  a  cross  instead  of 
writing,  but  clerks  are  not  wanted 
now.  Nothing  is  so  injurious  to  a 
man  as  to  fit  him  for  a  clerk  without 
finding  him  a  situation.  He  is  not 
wanted  in  England — all  learned  pro- 
fessions are  full;  and  the  agents  in 
the  colonies  write,  *  Don't  send  us 
clerks,  send  us  men  who  can  rough 
it,  and  use  a  pickaxe  and  shovel.' 
If  a  boy  of  quick  parts  was  sent 
to  a  foundation  school  four  hundred 
years  ago,  he  might  rise  to  great 
eminence,  and  was  sure  to  get  a  liv- 
ing; now  he  would  be  pretty  sure  to 
be  a  poor  gentleman,  a  briefless 
barrister,  a  clerk  out  of  office,  or  a 
curate  on  less  pay  than  the  squire's 
butler.  A  poor  woman  in  her  own 
station  of  life  becomes  a  good  cook 
or  dairywoman,  but  educate  her  outr 
of  her  sphere,  and  she  becomes— 
what?  A  second-rate  governess, 
and  answers  an  advertisement  for  a 
situation,  in  reply  to  which  applica- 

3B 


690 


Peasantry  of  the  South  of  JEiiglamd. 


[June 


tion  she  is  told  tbat  her  letter  was 
one  of  300  received  tlmt  morning. 

Bat  if  the  enquiries  which  the 
present  agitation  has  set  afloat  in 
men's  minds  leads  the  labourer  to 
rise  in  his  own  path  of  life,  it  will 
not  have  been  in  vain.  There  is 
an  improvable  future  before  every 
man;  there  are  steps  in  the  la- 
bourer's ladder  which  follow  on  one 
after  another,  if  only  he  is  deter- 
mined to  rise  by  thtdft  and  industry. 
These  feelings  want  stimulating  and 
calling  out ;  they  want  fostering  by 
hope,  for  hope  is  the  great  sweetener 
of  life,  and  show  a  man  others  pros- 
pering, even  if  it  be  only  one  or  two 
instances  of  men  rising  in  the  social 
scale,  to  manage  an  engine  at  in- 
creased wages,  to  be  a  foreman,  to 
rent  a  few  cows  as  dairyman — show 
him  these  things,  and  he  says,  '  I 
will  strive,  I  will  not  be  content  to 
dream  away  my  life,  possibly  I  shall 
succeed.'  How  many  men  are 
wanted  now  as  foremen  on  farms, 
and  how  difficult  it  is  to  find  the 
man  with  the  necessary  require- 
ments— ^few  and  simple  as  these  are, 
viz.  honesty,  good  temper,  a  little 
knowledge  of  accounts,  and  a  quiet 
forethought,  so  as  to  know  eveiy 
morning  how,  without  fuss,  to  send 
a  number  of  men  and  a  number  of 
horses  each  to  their  allotted  work. 
The  observation  of  the  seeing  eye, 
as  a  man  goes  through  his  work  in 
the  lower  grades  of  labour,  has  al- 
ready raised  many  into  the  higher 
grades  of  the  same  industry,  and 
will  raise  many  more.  We  have  the 
strongest  possible  illustration  of  this 
in  the  cowmen  in  the  South-west 
of  England.  The  hard-working 
dairyman  saves  a  few  pounds,  and 
manies  a  domestic  servant  who  has 
been  acting  as  dairjrwoman  at  the 
farm-house,  who  sdso  has  saved 
some  money.  For  these  people  as 
a  class  have  thrift  and  energy ; 
qualities,  I  admit,  fostered  by  tiie 
hope  of  rising  in  life.  The  way  is 
clear  before  them,  and  they  seldom 
fail,  but  a  is  the  fact  of  the  way  be< 


ing  clear  that  gives  the  siimnlos  to 
begin  early  to  work  and  to  saTe. 
Their  next  step  is  to  rent  a  small 
dairy,  which  requires  but  little  capi- 
tal. They  begin  at  Candlemas,  and 
want  one  quarter's  rent  in  hand,  as 
by  the  next  quarter  the  calves  and 
butter  have  come  in  to  meet  the 
expenses.  After  this  working  of 
their  small  capital,  they  in  a  few 
years  take  fanns,  and  the  writer 
knows  three  such  instance  within 
a  few  miles  of  his  residence,  of  men 
who  are  now  farming  with  energy 
and  economy  good-sized  holdings, 
whose  beginning  was  at  the  bottom 
of  the  social  ladder.  It  may  be 
noticed  in  passing  that  something 
like  the  germs  of  the  co-operative 
system  exist  in  this  system  of  rent- 
ing a  dairy.  A  farmer  hires  of  a 
landed  proprietor  a  tract  of  land; 
he  finds  capital  to  buy,  say,  twenty 
cows ;  these  cows  he  lets  out  for 
lol.  or  12L  a  year  to  an  nnder 
tenant,  who,  with  his  wife,  does  the 
dairy  work,  and  makes  butter  or 
cheese.  Here  the  three  parties  share 
the  returns,  the  landlord,  the  fanner, 
and  the  working  man. 

This  movement  has  in  it  one  ex- 
cellent element,  which  is  set  forth 
in  all  speeches  and  will  reach  the 
ears  of  thousands — it  ewmro^^i 
an  independent  spirii — ^it  sets  forth 
parish  pay  or  a  life  passed  in  the 
bondage  of  a  workhouse  as  the 
greatest  possible  degradation  which 
can  happen  to  a  free-born  English- 
man. And  herein  it  only  confirms 
the  old  spirit  which  actuated  our 
forefathers  in  the  ante-Poor-Law 
times,  who  considered  charity  given 
to  the  able-bodied  1^  the  worst  of 
crimes.  Hence  the  severe  laws 
which  were'' passed  300  years  ago 
against  the  givers  as  well  as  the 
receivers  of  unnecessary  ahns. 
Those  who  have  read  the  articles 
from  the  pen  of  Sydney  Smith  and 
other  writers  in  the  Editihur^f^ 
Betnew  of  fifty  yeara  ago  will  re- 
member how  the  system  of  out- 
door relief,  which  was  then  iife» 


1873] 


Peasantry  of  the  South  of  England, 


691 


would  render    Englishmen    worse 
than  slaves. 

Tbe  poor  law  (says  Professor  Thorold 
Rogers)  prevails  in  no  other  country  besides 
England.  Up  to  the  Irish  famine  of  1846 
it  had  not  been  adopted  in  that  island.  Up 
to  the  diskiption  of  the  Scotch  Kirk,  and  the 
scarcity  of  the  same  epoch,  it  was  existent 
in  Scotland  only  in  a  veiy  modified  form. 
Even  now  in  both  these  countries  it  is  ad- 
ministered with  a  wise  severity.  As  a  con- 
sequence the  ill-fed  Irish  labourer  and  the 
thrifty  Scotch  peasant  are  incomparably 
more  enterprising  and  alert  than  ^e  Eng- 
lish farm  labourer;  though  the  Irish  have 
never  colonised  independently,  and  the  Low- 
land Scotch  are  of  the  same  race  as  ourselves. 
[PoliL  Ecan.  p.  126.) 

The  old  English  theory  was  that 
only  the  '  impotent  beggar '  should 
be  relieved.  To  distmgaish  him, 
from  the  able-bodied,  a  certificate, 
signed  with  the  seal  of  the  parish 
which  was  his  home,  was  given  him, 
as  a  hawker's  license  would  be 
given  now-a-days.  We  know  how 
severe  was  the  punishment  which 
the  laws  of  that  age  ordained  for 
the  able-bodied  if  he  degraded 
himself  into  a  sturdy  tramp.  And 
the  original  Poor  Law  of  the  43rd  of 
Elizabeth  carried  out  much  of  the 
spirit,  and  only  in  later  times 
were  these  safeguards  against  idle- 
ness removed.  In  1782  many  of 
them  were  abolished  by  what  is 
known  as  Gilbert's  Act,  and  the 
same  fatal  policy  was  brought  to 
a  climax  in  1815  by  East's  Act, 
by  which  out- door  relief  was  made 
legal  to  all  poor  alike.  If  anyone 
doubts  this,  let  him  peruse  the  first 
two  chapters  of  Professor  Fawcett's 
admirable  lectures  on  Political  Eco- 
nomy, delivered  in  1870.  And  who 
shall  say  that  the  Poor  Law  is  not 
too  lenient  now  in  some  of  its  pro- 
visions ?  for  the  Board  in  London 
this  spring  has  sent  circulars  to  all 
the  unions  to  insist  on  a  supply  of 
hot  and  cold  water  being  always 
xeady  for  tramps  who  ask  for  a 
night's  lodging  m  the  casual  ward. 
If  any  gentleman  cannot  afford  to 
provide  a  tepid  bath-room  in  his 
own  house,  he  has  only  to  become  a 


casual  tramp  and  he  can  be  sup- 
plied at  the  ratepayers'  expense. 
True  that  in  theory  the  present  law 
prohibits  out-door  relief  and  orders 
the  workhoustf  test,  but  in  fact  this 
cannot  always  be  carried  out;  it 
must  be  left  to  the  discretion  of 
the  guardians,  for  if  you  break  up 
a  poor  man's  home  and  his  landlord 
lets  his  cottage  to  another,  how  is 
he  ever  to  get  back  to  a  settled 
abode,  and  what  is  to  become  of  his 
furniture  ?  But  in  obstinate  cases 
of  laziness  the  workhouse  test  is 
the  only  alternative.  Still,  many 
ratepayers  are  indignant  at  the 
ord^  to  build  tepid  baths,  as  it 
certainly  will  not  reduce  strolling 
vagabondism  to  write  up, '  Hot  and 
cold  baths  to  be  had  here  at  the 
lowest  price  and  on  the  shortest 
notice  :  towels,  soap,  and  atten- 
dants provided  by  order  of  the 
Poor  Law  Board,'  a^d  yet  the 
order  of  this  spring  to  xmion 
masters  amounts  to  this.  So  did 
not  our  forefathers.  For  the  old 
guilds  took  care  to  apprentice 
&therless  children  to  a  trade.  They 
also  ordained  that  no  man  should 
legally  enter  into  marriage  until  he 
could  show  himself  competent  to 
do  some  work,  and  in  all  ways 
decreed  that  idleness  was  the  worst 
of  sins,  and  that  unless  any  man 
would  labour  neither  should  he  eat. 

Oh,  modem  amendments  on  the 
43rd  of  QueenBess,with  what  count- 
less woes  have  you  surrounded  the 
dwellings  of  rate-paying  mortals  ! 
How  have  ye  driven  the  last  feeling 
of  honest  independence  out  of  the 
hearts  of  the  sons  of  toil ! 

*  Be  fruitful  and  muUijply.^  For 
every  extra  child  born  two  shillings 
shall  be  given  to  the  labourer  as  an 
addition  to  his  weekly  dole.  If  the 
children  are  illegitimate  a  higher 
rate  shall  be  given,  as  the  poor 
little  ones  are  more  dependent  on 
help.  Let  only  the  marriage 
column  and  the  birth  column  be 
well  filled  in  the  local  paper,  and 
you  shall  have  a  premium  out  of  the 
3  B  a 


692 


Peasantry  of  the  South  of  England, 


[June 


rates.  The  law  of  setiJement  also 
decrees  that  you  shall  not  go  away, 
O  Hodge !  to  other  parts  of  Eng- 
land, bnt  shall  keep  your  birth 
settlement.  Why,  what  was  this 
process,  devised  by  the  wisdom  of 
legislators,  but  to  say,  *  Put  a  wire 
fence  round  the  rabbit  warren  ;  let 
them  breed,  but  not  stray  outside 
the  enclosure.  Replenish  the  earth, 
but  don't  subdue  it '  ? 

Then  it  was  clearly  to  the  in- 
terest of  every  farmer  to  say  he 
wanted  no  hands,  to  sig^  the  papers 
which  the  roundsmen  went  about 
with  to  get  the  signature  of  each 
tenant  that  he  could  not  give  work 
to  the  bearer ;  for  by  this  means  he 
will  get  plenty  of  hands  at  a  wage 
of  four  snillings  a  week,  to  be  sup- 
plemented by  six  shillings  more 
n>om  the  parish  rates.  True,  men  so 
hired  cared  not  how  little  work  they 
did ;  but  the  employer,  driven  by 
the  system  to  do  as  others  did,  took 
them,  and,  paying  little  directly 
but  much  indirectly,  was  satisfied. 
So  that,  though  excess  of  popula- 
tion  was  consuming  him  in  rates, 
it  was  his  interest  to  keep  plenty  of 


surplus  labour,  and  if  he  got  men 
to  do  his  work  what  cared  he? 
Was  it  not  the  law,  and  are  not 
lawgivers  wise?  The  poor  man, 
thus  encouraged  to  apply  for  relief 
almost  as  a  legally  sanctioned  right, 
ceased  to  feel  degradation  in  being 
a  recipient  of  alms,  and  settld 
down  into  a  listless,  reckless  pauper. 
The  old  spirit  was  departed ;  in- 
dependence, as  a  virtue,  was  at  a  dis- 
count. Against  this  the  Laboureis' 
Union  islifking  up  its  voice,  and  thus 
farat  least  the  ratepayer  and  the  far- 
mer  will  give  credit  to  its  motives. 
It  is  an  uphill  game,  and  something 
may  come  of  it.  Many  men  will 
begin  to  feel  that  they  are  pointed 
at  if  they  run  for  the  parish  dofe 
the  moment  they  are  out  of  work. 
Whether,  if  the  labourers  hare 
better  wages,  they  will  save  more, 
at  all  events  wheUier  they  will  sare 
enough  to  keep  them  in  old  age, 
remains  to  be  proved.  For  we  hare 
seen  in  the  North  that  high  wages 
do  not  always  imply  money  put 
by ;  sometimes  they  mean  beer  and 
little  else. 

(7b  be  continued.) 


1873] 


693 


A  WEEK  OF  CAMP  LIFE  IN  INDIA 
By  an  English  Lady. 


rpHERE  is  a  very  general  com- 
I  plaint  among  Anglo-Indians  of 
the  want  of  interest  felt  and  expressed 
in  England  not  only  about  pnbUc 
affairs,  but  also  as  to  the  details 
and  events  of  private  Hfe  in  India. 
You  spend  years  of  your  life  among 
'  dusky  nations  living  under  strange 
stars,  worshipping  strange  gods, 
and  writing  strange  characters  &om 
right  to  left;'  and  when  you  re- 
turn to  civilised  hfe  you  are  wel- 
comed with  the  undemonstrative, 
comprehensive  *How  are  you,  old 
fellow  ? '  after  which,  you  are  ex- 
pected to  drop  into  your  old  place 
as  though  you  had  never  left  it, 
and  at  once  put  yourself  au  courant 
with  all  the  newspaper  talk  of  the 
day.  As  for  taking  any  interest  in 
the  country  where  so  many  years  of 
your  life  have  been  passed,  or  in  the 
questions  which  have  filled  your 
mind  while  there,  that  is  out  of  the 
question  ;  and  the  uninitiated  would 
be  almost  tempted  to  suppose  that 
your  Indian  career  was  a  sort  of 
Botany  Bay  experience,  of  which  it 
would  be  painJ^l,  not  to  say  dis- 
creditable to  speak,  and  that  the 
kindest  thing  for  your  friends  to  do 
is  to  ignore  all  that  time  spent  out- 
side the  pale  of  society. 

After  the  first  feeling  of  surprise, 
the  Anglo-Indian  acquiesces  in  this 
state  of  things.  After  all,  is  it  not 
natural  ?  He  is  engaged  in  spread- 
ing the  *  blessings  of  civiHsation,'  and 
he  works,  like  the  old  Beformers, 
with  zeal  and  a  deep-rooted  faith 
that  he  is  doing  a  real  and  lasting 
good  to  the  unwiUing  people  upon 
whom  he  is  grafting  the  new  order 
of  things.  When  he  returns  to  rest 
from  his  labours,  he  finds  himself 
thrown  among  men  whose  minds 
are  tossed  with  doubts  as  to  whether 
indeed  this  boasted  '  civilisation '  is 
anything  but  a  curse,  and  whether 
the  evils  it  carries  in  its  train  are 
not  far  more  poisonous,  fiur  more 


deadly  to  a  nation's  Hfe,  than  those 
it  has  striven  to  supplant.  The  air 
is  full  of  '  social  questions ;'  every- 
where he  is  surrounded  by  symp- 
toms of  revolution  in  the  world  of 
thought,  and  his  experiences  can 
throw  light  neither  on  the  one  nor 
on  the  other.  For  he  has  been  occu* 
pied  in  building  up,  and  now  sud- 
denly finds  himself  in  a  world  where 
the  men  around  him  are  only  strive 
ing  to  pull  down. 

And  yet  it  is  difficult  to  believe 
but  that  there  must  be  many  English 
homes  where  there  is  one  vacant 
chair  always  waiting  for  '  our  son 
or  daughter  in  India,'  in  which  an 
account  of  an  unfamiliar  aspect  of 
life  there  would  not  be  wholly  un- 
acceptable. I  speak  of  the  camp 
life  which  forms  so  large  a  portion 
in  the  yearly  routine  of  almost 
every  Civil  Servant's  life,  and  is 
shared  by  his  wife  and  children. 

This  little  account  will  be  do- 
mestic, superficial,  and  cursory,  as 
the  views  which  a  woman  takes  of 
everything,  fix)m  poUtics  to  cookery, 
are  natuiully  supposed  to  be,  and 
it  will  concern  itself  mainly  with 
the  Europeans,  and  with  the  natives 
only  as  far  as  those  latter  come  in 
contact  with  their  rulers. 

I  had,  to  start  with,  a  vague  im- 
pression that  'camp  life'  meant 
going  out  into  the  country  for 
change  of  air,  combined  with  a 
Httle  sporty  and  without  any  ulterior 
object ;  and  when,  in  answer  to  the 
question  as  to  whether  I  should 
like  a  week  of  camp  Ufe,  I  answered 
eagerly  in  the  affirmative,  my 
answer  was  given  with  that  reckless 
disregard  of  the  dangers  of  the 
'  unknown '  which  is  begotten  of 
ignorance.  I  then  strove,  however^ 
to  recall  all  I  had  ever  heard  of  the 
camp  form  of  life.  The  '  all '  was 
limited  to  accounts  of  Wimbledon 
during  the  rifie  competition  days— 
'such  fun'  as  I  was  assured,  but 


G94 


A  Week  of  Gamp  Life  in  India. 


[June 


part  of  the  *  fun,'  I  remembered 
with  dread,  consisted  in  sleeping 
seven  or  eight  in  a  tiny  tent  with 
one's  feet  towards  the  tent  pole  like 
the  spokes  of  a  wheel.  I  tried  to 
glean  some  information  from  my 
host,  and  was  relieved  to  learn  that 
his  wife  had  survived  two  months 
of  camp  life,  and  '  rather  liked  it.' 

We  were  now  requested  to  re- 
duce our  luggage  within  reasonable 
limits  and  to  prepare  for  a  thirty 
miles'  drive  to  the  happy  camping 
ground.  The  month  was  December. 
Our  journey  was  accomplished  in  a 
dog  cart,  with  a  fresh  horse  for 
eveiy  five  miles,  as  was  needful  in 
view  of  the  terrible  state  of  the 
roads.  They  were  bo  bad  as  to 
render  the  statement,  *No,  I  can't 
ride,  but  I  can  sit  tight  in  a  shay,' 
no  such  very  contemptible  boast; 
but  the  first  three  miles  lay  along  the 
ffreat  Calcutta  road,  which  is,  I 
believe,  the  finest  in  the  world,  and 
runs  all  the  way  from  Peshawar  to 
Calcutta.  The  moment  we  left 
this  we  were  bumped  and  battered 
and  jolted;  now  toiling  through 
deep  sand,  now  wading  through  a 
portion  of  the  road  which  lay  under 
water,  and  then  straining  the  springs 
of  the  dog. cart  by  a  sudden  jolt 
over  a  miniature  mud  canal  which 
carried  the  water  across  from  one 
field  to  another.  Whenever  the 
instinct  of  self-preservation  lefl  me 
free  to  look  anywhere  but  on  the 
road,  I  took  in  all  the  unfamiliar 
objects  with  keen  delight.  Carts 
made  like  the  old  Roman  chariots, 
with  small,  thick,  clumsy  wheels, 
drawn  by  oxen,  and  surmounted  by 
little  howdahs  made  of  scarlet  cloth, 
with  one  or  more  natives  inside  in 
gaily  coloured  turbans  and  dresses, 
sitting  cross-legged  in  a  cramped 
position  impossible  to  Europeans; 
great  heavy-footed  camels,  with 
stupid,  ill-tempered  looking  faces, 
one  of  them  with  a  tiny  little  one 
lying  in  a  basket  on  its  mother's 
back,  and  followed  by  anothei*young 
one,  .the  most    ungainly    creature 


imaginable,  like  a  badly  made 
ostrich  on  four  legs;  patriarchal 
looking  groups  of  men,  women,  and 
children,  driving  flocks  of  bullocks 
and  goats,  and  looking  as  Abraham 
and  Isaac  might  have  done.  What 
is  this  these  two  long-legged  natiTes 
are  carrjring  between  them,  sus- 
pended from  a  pole  ?  It  looks  like 
a  scarlet  bonbonniere,  a  sort  of  bag 
the  bottom  of  which  is  flat,  and 
about  the  size  of  a  five  o'clock  tea- 
table.  And  it  contains  ? — a  Hindoo 
lady,  probably  on  her  way  to  pay  a 
visit,  though  howthat  bag  can  contain 
her  is  a  mystery  to  me,  nnless  in- 
deed she  is  lying  coiled  round  and 
round,  as  only  these  lithe  dark- 
skinned  daughters  can  coil  them- 
selves, and  in  this  position  thej 
sometimes  perform  long  journeys 
without  fatigue. 

One  is  disposed  at  times  to  sap- 
pose  that  their  bones  must  be 
gristle,  and  their  joints  india-robher. 
They  never  sit  in  any  position  except 
on  their  heels,  which  seems  to  afford 
them  perfect  rest,  anditis  marvellous 
to  see  the  rapidity  with  which  they 
move  np  and  down,  their  feet 
touching  each  other,  without  putting 
their  hands  to  the  ground — all  the 
strain  and  spring  being  in  their 
back  and  knees. 

The  women  attracted  me  most, 
by  their  graceful  carriage,  their 
picturesque  drapery  consisting  of  & 
full  skirt  and  a  sort  of  boumons, 
which  passes  over  the  head,  almost 
completely  veiling  the  fiuse.  These 
vary  in  coldur,  being  sometimes 
bright  blue  and  pink  and  yellow, 
the  skirt  often  bordered  with  a 
hem  of  some  other  colour,  often 
very  gaudy,  but  the  dark  skin 
harmonises  it  all.  The  most  artistic 
to  my  mind  is  the  deep  indigo  blue, 
but  it  is  more  rare  in  the  North- 
West  than  in  Southern  India,  where 
almost  all  the  lower  class  of  women 
wear  it.  It  is  pleasant  to  watch  the 
easy  grace  with  which  they  walk, 
be£u:ing  round  red  earthenware  or 
bright  copper  water-ji^rs  on  their 


1873] 


A  Week  of  Gamp  Life  m  India, 


695 


heads,  steadying  their  burden  with 
one  well-shaped,  small- wristed  dusky 
arm  stretched  up  to  its  fall  length, 
and  covered  almost  to  the  elbow 
and  sometimes  above  it  with  numbers 
of  bracelets.     These  are  sometimes 
silver,  bnt  ofbener  plated  metal  or 
red  and  green  lac.     I  once  heard  of 
a  school,  the  pnpils  in  which  were 
trained  to  walk  about  with  tumblers 
of  cold  water  on  their  heads ;  and 
when  I  saw  the  firm-footed,  easy 
grace      of    these    burden-bearing 
women,  I  regretted  that  the  practice 
was  not  universal.      The  pale-&ced 
race  may  perhaps  pride  itself  on  its 
superiority  in  the  use  of  the  contents 
of  its  headybutthese  dusky  daughters 
of  the  sun  certainly  outdo  their  more 
&voured   sisters  in  the    use   they 
make  of  the  outside  of  theirs.    They 
carry  everything  on    their  heads, 
jars  of  water,  pieces  of  cloth,  baskets 
of  vegetables,  huge  bundles  of  sugar 
cane,  ihel,  anything  and  eveiythmg, 
leaving  their  hands  free  for  any 
additional  burden. 

They  do  not  even  carry  their 
little  black  babies  in  their  arms, 
but  either  balance  them  astride  on 
their  shoulders  with  their  little 
hands  on  their  mother's  head,  or 
else  astride  on  one  hip,  encircled 
witl^  a  strong  arm. 

I  have  seen  a  woman  with  four 
water-jars  towering  on  her  head  and 
her  little  baby  on  her  hip,  walking 
along  with  springy  grace,  jingling 
her  silver  anklets  and  toe  bells  as 
she  went. 

They  sometimes  wear  large  nose 
rings  through  the  left  nostril,  or  else 
a  small  star-like  nail  passed  through 
the  nose. 

Miss  Eden  says  that  little  black 
babies  are  the  prettiest  in  the  world, 
but  I  cannot  agree  with  her,  for 
although  there  is  something  very 
attractive  in  the  bright  dark  eyes 
and  the  full,  round  black  limbs,  de- 
void of  any  covering,  stiU  they 
always  looked  to  me  misshapen. 
Whether  it  is  natural  conformation, 
or  the  result  of  their  food,  I  do  not 


know,  but  seen  enprcfil  they  display 
the  proportions  of  the  typical  aldei- 
man,  with  paunches  which  would  do 
credit  to  the  stoutest  of  Punch's 
caricatures. 

We  passed  through  dreary  mud 
villagesliterally  swarming  with  these 
little  creatures,  and  over  miles  and 
miles  of  fiLat  fields  each  with  its  creak- 
ing well  worked  by  a  pair  of  slow- 
footed  bullocks,  and  green  with  the 
young  crops,  though  it  is  near 
Christmas. 

Near  the  canals  and  marshes  we 
saw  bright-coloured  king-fishers 
darting  after  their  prey,  and  the 
meditative-looking,  tender-hearted 
aarus  birds,  that  live  in  pairs,  of 
which  if  one  dies  the  other  pines 
away  until  grief  ends  its  solitary 
life. 

At  last  towards  dusk  we  caught 
sight  of  the  longed-for  white  canvas 
gleaming  between  the  trees  of  a  not 
distant  grove,  and  a  few  moments 
more  landed  us  with  a  final  jolt  on 
the  borders  of  a  scene  bewildering 
in  its  strangeness  and  its  picturesque 
detail. 

In  the  first  place,  the  sight  of  four 
large  tents,  larger  than  any  I  had 
ever  seen  except  at  a  flower  show, 
ditched  close  together,  and  flanked 
by  some  smaller  ones,  relieved  my 
mind  of  an  overwhelming  dread,  and 
left  me  to  take  in  all  the  surrounding 
details  with  a  lightened  heart. 

How  can  I  describe  all  I  saw  ?  In 
the  distance  two  huge  elephants 
flapping  their  ragged  ears  and 
leisurely  disposing  of  haycocks  of 
sugar  canes  as  though  they  had  been 
straws.  Near  these,  six  horses  with 
their  blankets  on  tied  to  some  trees, 
and  the  trusty  steed  who  had  borne 
us  over  our  final  troubles  reaping 
the  reward  of  his  labours  in  a 
vigorous  rubbing  down  and  a  hearty 
meal,  while  the  dog-cart  was  ap- 
parently resting  its  much  abused 
springs.  Then  there  were  the  great 
bullock-carts  cleverly  balanced  on 
two  heavy  wheels,  and  the  large 
white  lazy-looking  bullocks  lying 


696 


A  Week  of  Camp  Life  in  Bidia, 


[Jnne 


l^eside  them,  peacefully  chewing  the 
cud.  Boosting  on  these  same  carts 
were  the  fowls  and  guinea  fowls 
whose  food  is  daily  disputed  by  spar- 
rows, green  parroquets,  and  number- 
less little  squirrels,  not  like  ours  at 
home,  but  having  a  fluffy  resemblance 
to  small  ferrets,  scudding  hither 
and  thither  with  a  marvellous 
rapidity  of  motion,  which  they  seem 
to  derive  in  some  unaccountable 
manner  from  the  electricity  of  their 
up-turned  tails.  The  crows,  which 
abound — and  are  more  impudent 
even  than  English  crows — have  a 
Bort  of  grey  collar  and  grey  breast, 
and  exactly  resemble  the  pictures 
of  the  crow  in  bands  who  married 
Cock  Bobin  and  Jenny  Wren,  in  the 
children's  story  book.  There  is  no 
lack  of  animal  life,  for  three  dogs 
bark  us  a  welcome,  a  little  kitten 
scampers  about  with  a  tail  which 
emulates  those  of  the  squirrels,  two 
cows  are  being  milked,  and  there  is 
a  patriarchal-looking  flock  of  goats 
and  kids. 

A  bright  flre  sends  its  tall  flames 
licking  up  hungrily  towards  the 
tree  it  cannot  reach,  but  only  lights 
up  from  beneath,  and  round  it  are 
various  little  holes  in  the  ground 
filled  with  charcoal,  over  which 
enigmatical  little  copper  vessels  are 
boiHng,  watched  and  stirred  by 
the  black  cook  sitting  on  his  heels, 
and  engaged  in  preparing,  with 
means  which  would  have  filled  a 
French  chef  with  despair,  a  dinner 
of  which,  when  served,  that  same 
French  chef  would  not  have  felt 
ashamed. 

Glancing  round,  my  eye  then  fell 
on  the  pantry  department,  where 
ihe  crockery  for  dinner  was  laid 
out  in  regular  piles,  the  glasses  all 
cleaned  and  ranged,  and  the  'butler' 
busy  trimming  the  reading  lamps. 
The  next  department  in  order  was 
the  laundry,  and  here  the  washer- 
man, comfortably  squatted  in  front 
of  his  ironing  sheet  and  blanket,  sur- 
rounded by  piles  of  damp  clothes, 
was  leisurely  passing  a  huge  iron 


filled  with  charcoal  over  the  limp- 
looking  linen. 

The  white-robed  ayah  flits  in  and 
out  of  the  tents,  finding  a  home  for 
our  various  possessions,  and  thiikr 
we  soon  retire. 

A  delightful  picture  of  comfoit 
which  greeted  our  eyes  as,  drawing 
aside  the  screen  of  the  doorway,  w« 
entered  the  '  parlour.'  Imagine  a 
large  room  twenty  feet  square,  of 
double-lined  canvas,  with  a  closed- 
in  verandah  running  all  round ;  tlie 
floor  carpeted  with  a  pretty  striped 
cotton  drugget;  two  large  tables, tb 
one  laid  for  dinner,  the  other  covered 
with  books  and  writing  materials; 
chairs  of  all  kinds,  cane,  bamboo, 
wood,  and  finally  a  bright  fire  crack- 
ling and  blazing  in  the  open  stove. 
As  I  looked  in  upon  this  warm, 
bright  scene,  so  different  from  mj 
anticipations,  my  last  fears  as  to 
*  roughing  it '  melted  away,  and  it 
was  borne  in  upon  nay  EuropcaE 
spirit  that  comfort  of  every  kind 
is  thoroughly  understood  in  India, 
and  practised  as  it  is  only  practised 
by  the  wealthiest  of  the  wealthy  in 
England.  Comfort  is  a  word  of 
England's  coining,  and  in  the 
remote  land  of  their  exile  her  chil- 
dren  do  not  belie  their  origin. 

Our  'bedrooms '  were  equally  spa- 
cious, and  contained  large  comfort- 
able beds,  a  dressing  table,  two  chairs^ 
a  large  wooden  tub,  and,  I  may  even 
add,  a  bath-room,  for  the  enclosed 
verandah  which  runs  round  the  tent 
serves  as  such,  and  when  a  march 
is  completed,  the  water-carrier  toils 
from  tent  to  tent  bending  under  the 
weight  of  his  heavy  sheep-skin  filled 
with  water  from  a  neighbouring 
well. 

A  shooting  expedition  had  been 
arranged  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
our  next  encampment,  and  thither 
we  repaired  on  the  following  morn- 
ing— a  party  of  six  on  horseback, 
the  spare  tents,  the  cookiug  ap- 
paratus, the  elephants,  and  the 
flocks  and  herds  having  been  sent 
on  during  the  night. 


1873] 


A  Week  of  Gamp  Life  in  India, 


697 


We  liad  a  refreshing  scamper 
across  coimtry  for  about  twelve  miles, 
and  then,  haying  dnly  equipped 
themselves  for  wading  and  shooting, 
three  of  our  party  started  off  on 
foot.  Our  hostess,  mine  host — ^who 
preferred  dry  feet  and  a  smaller 
bag — and  I,  scaled  one  of  the 
elephants  by  means  of  a  ladder, 
seated  ourselves  in  the  howdah,  and 
started  in  search  of  our  day's  sport. 
I  had  a  recollection  of  a  former 
ride  on  an  elephant  in  the  Zoological 
Grardens,  pexformed  in  the  days  of 
early  youth,  a  source  of  infinite 
pride,  pleasure,  and  delight,  com- 
bined with  a  secret  terror  of  the 
huge  monster  who  so  meekly  obeyed 
the  words  and  blows  of  the  driver 
seated  below  ns  on  his  head.  I  con- 
fess to  having  experienced  little  of 
the  delight,  but  also  little  of  the 
terror,  of  those  happy  hours  of 
childhood,  but  every  now  and  again, 
when  the  huge  monster  gave  vent 
to  an  unearthly  trumpeting  sound, 
which  vibrated  through  its  great 
carcase,  I  wondered  what  our  posi- 
tion would  be  should  this  remnant 
of  the  antediluvian  world  suddenly 
take  it  into  his  head  to  resent  the 
blows  and  proddings  dealt  out  so 
liberally  with  a  sickle  by  his  driver, 
and  assert  his  power. 

We  waded  through  fields  of  sugar- 
canes,  the  elephant  uprooting  great 
sheaves  of  his  favourite  food  with 
his  trunk,  and  dusting  his  great 
cushiony  feet  with  the  portions  he 
considered  as  unfit  for  food.  Then 
we  went  slushing  through  the  marsh, 
and  the  little  snipe  started  up  all 
round  us.  They  were  very  shy, 
but  at  length  we  got  into  a  *  hot ' 
comer,  and  did  great  slaughter, 
filling  our  bag  veiy  respectably,  and 
adding  quail,  black  partridge,  and 
duck  on  our  way  back. 

Two  or  three  days  succeeded  each 
other  much  in  the  same  fashion, 
and  then,  for  the  first  time,  I  dis- 
covered that  sport  and  change  of 
air  were  by  no  means  the  aim  and 
object  of  camp  life,  and  that,  the 


Christmas  week  holidays  having 
come  to  an  end,  it  was  absolutely  ne- 
cessary that  our  host  should  be  at  a 
certain  town  thirty-six  miles  off  on  the 
day  but  one  following.  There  was 
to  be  a  great  meeting  of  landowners 
— ^zemindars — ^to  receive  their  new 
rates  of  Government  assessment 
from  him.  Camp  life,  in  fact,  forms 
a  part  of  the  round  of  duties  of  the 
greater  portion  of  the  Covenanted 
Civil  Service,  who  go  about  trying 
cases  in  their  district,  making  ac- 
quaintance with  the  people,  and 
acquiring  an  intimate  laiowledge  of 
the  condition  of  the  country. 

We  looked  forward  with  a  certain 
amount  of  pleasure  to  being  specta- 
tors of  a  meeting  of  several  hundred 
natives,  and  the  event  did  not  dis- 
appoint our  expectations,  for  a  more 
picturesque  scene  I  have  seldom 
witnessed. 

For  miles  before  we  arrived  at 
the  scene  of  action,  we  kept  passing 
what  looked  like  native  outposts  on 
guard,  save  that  there  was  no  nni- 
formity  in  their  appearance.  As 
we  passed  they  saluted  us,  touching 
their  foreheads  vrith  their  han(£. 
and  bowing  low  over  their  saddles  ^ 
and  I  learnt  that  these  were  land- 
owners, who  would  sometimes  ride 
thirty  or  forty  miles,  and  stand  wait- 
ing for  hours,  merely  to  salute  the 
'  Sahib '  as  he  passed.  They  hope 
by  this  mute  appeal  to  soften  the 
heart  of  the  settlement  officer,  and 
to  get  their  assessment  lowered. 

The  neighbourhood  of  our  camp 
looked  like  a  large  fair.  Vehicles 
of  every  sort — commonbnllock-carts, 
some  of  them  with  a  second  storey 
on  the  top  coveredby  a  thatched  roof, 
others  with  gaily  covered  howdahs, 
dilapidated  buggies  and  dog-carts, 
were  crowded  together,  and  certainly 
no  English  or  Flemish  horse  fair 
ever  dilsplayed  such  varieties  of 
horse-flesh,  'both  in  colour  and  in 
shape.  Piebald  horses  with  pink 
noses,  skewbald  horses,  white  horses 
covered  with  large  regular  round 
spots  and  with  bklck  legs,  like  the 


698 


A  Week  of  Gamp  Life  in  India. 


[June 


Tocking-liorses  of  onr  early  youth, 
white  horses  with  bright  pink  or 
blue  legs,  dun,  roan,  cream-coloured, 
of  which  you  need  have  known  the 
special  idiosyncrasies  of  each  owner 
in  order  to  foretell  what  odd  con- 
trast in  colour  their  legs  and  tails 
would  present.  They  were  covered 
with  the  most  extraordinary  saddle- 
cloths, saddles,  and  coloured  cords, 
and  set  up  a  loud  whinnying  at  our 
approach,  which  the  natives  regard 
as  a  display  of  fine  spirit. 

Wherever  our  eyes  fell  they  be- 
held picturesque  fignres  in  coats 
like  Joseph's,  others  in  tight-fitting 
trousers  and  skirted  coats,  some  of 
quilted  cotton,  pink,  blue,  green, 
yellow,  black,  others  of  cloiii,  deli- 
cate fawn  colour,  deep  red,  indigo 
blue,  with  many-hued  turbans  to 
contrast  with  the  other  parts  of 
their  dress.  I  here  noticed  that 
the  natives  are  not  at  all  susceptible 
of  cold  as  to  their  legs,  which  are 
almost  always  among  the  lower 
classes  faUj  exposed  in  all  their 
meagre  blackness,  almost  to  the  hip ; 
for  though  it  was  bitterly  cold,  and 
many  of  tiie  men  had  thick  quilts,  they 
swathed  them  round  their  head  and 
shoulders,  leaving  their  nether  limbs 
quite  unprotected.  Probably,  since 
their  legs  are  so  thin,  there  is  no- 
thing to  feel  the  cold,  mere  bone  not 
being  susceptible  to  variations  of 
temperature. 

Having  breakfasted  we  adjourned 
to  a  large  tent,  where  the  settlement 
officer  was  seated,  surrounded  by 
some  native  clerks  and  one  or  two 
large  landowners  belonging  to  an- 
other district,  and  here  the  natives 
came  up  one  by  one  to  learn 
their  fate.  We  had  expected  some 
amusing  scenes,  as  the  natives  are 
very  demonstrative,  and  their  pay- 
ments were  in  some  cases  doubled 
and  even  trebled.  But  the  fall 
extent  of  their  misfortunes  was 
evidently  not  realised  until  the  day 
following,  as  we  foxmd  outlater,  and 
80  they  merely  bowed  and  retired 
one  by  one,  leaving  us  barely  time 


to  take  in  the  details  of  the  quaint 
dresses,  the  eager  black  feces  and 
bright  restless  eyes,  as  they  advancd, 
the  palms  of  their  hands  pressed  t<v 
gether  as  if  in  supplication,  which  is 
the  attitude  in  which  they  alwaji 
address  Europeans.  Some  of  tkem 
had  on  pretty  blue  and  red  shawls, 
not  of  course  the  richest  kind,  bot 
still  fine  and  beautifully  worked, 
but  for  the  greater  part  they  were 
dressed  as  I  have  described  abore. 

One  of  the  landowners  of  the  dis- 
trict, who  holds  a  position  somewbi 
similar  to  that  of  an  English  squire, 
and  who  is  very  loyal  to  the  Englisbf 
begged  as  a  special  favour  that  tk 
ladies  of  our  party  would  go  on  the 
following  morning  and  see  his  wir^ 
to  which  request  we  gladly  acceded. 

There  were  some  zemindars  pr& 
sent,  who  hate  the  pale-&ced  oni- 
querors  with  an  undying  hatraL 
They  sent  their  children  to  ns  with 
presents  of  fruit  ajid  sweetmeats, 
and  they  teach  these  same  children 
to  speak  of  the  English  witih  CTCiy 
filthy  word  of  abuse  in  which  their 
language  is  rich.  They  themselTes, 
though  apparently  regarding  an 
Enghshman's  shake  of  the  hand  as 
the  greatest  sign  of  honour,  care- 
fully wash  off  the  defilement  tbe 
moment  they  reach  home.  I  will 
do  nature  the  justice  to  say  tiiat 
the  two  I  saw  had  most  evil  coun- 
tenances, a  warning  which  all  who 
had  eyes  to  see  might  profit  by. 

The  following  morning  we  started 
off  on  our  visit  to  H.  K.'fl  wires. 
On  our  way  there,  at  the  spot 
where  we  changed  horses,  we  came 
upon  and  were  pursued  by  two  men 
whom  I  took  to  be  violent  and 
dangerous  maniacs.  They  yelled 
and  shouted  and  wept,  shrieked  ont 
what  to  my  untutored  ears  sonnded 
like  gibberish,  but  what  was  in  hd 
a  highly  coloured  lamentation  of  the 
evils  and  miseries  which  wonld 
surely  overtake  them  if  the  Sahib 
refused  to  listen  to  their  pnijers 
and  repeal  their  additional  assess- 
ment.   The  noise  and  damonrweio 


1873] 


A  Week  of  Oamjp  Life  in  hidia. 


699 


deafening,  and  their  gestures  so 
eminently  grotesque  that  each  burst 
of  hysterical  grief  on  their  part  was 
greeted  with  a  burst  of  laughter 
from  ns. 

At  last,  when  the  horses  were 
ready,  we  drove  off,  and  then,  with 
fi-esh  cries  of  *  Alas  !  we  are  dead, 
vre  are  dead  !'  they  cast  themselves 
down  before  the  carriage,  grovelling 
in  the  dust,  making  us  into  a  sort  of 
improvised  Juggernaut,  taking,  how- 
ever, great  care  to  leave  room  for  the 
dog-cart  to  pass  between.  After 
this,  seeing  that  our  hearts  were 
hardened,  they  rose  up  and  pursued 
their  way,  calmly  laughing  and  talk- 
ing to  each  other,  and  leaving  us 
unmolested. 

Shortly  after  this  incident  we 
arrived  at  the  house  of  H.  K.,  a 
great  dreary  brick  building,  a  he- 
terogeneous mass  of  courts  and 
square  towers,  with  a  flat  roof.  We 
drove  into  a  desolate-looking  court- 
yard, where  our  host  in  his  *  Sunday 
best,'  with  his  two  sons,  fat  black 
boys,  and  many  attendants  received 
ns. 

We  were  escorted  up  a  narrow, 
dark  stone  staircase,  into  the  prin- 
cipal room,  a  large  half-furnished, 
nnflnished  looking  place,  with  win- 
dows all  round  looking  into  the 
courtyard.  Here  we  left  the  gentle- 
men of  our  party,  and  were  escorted 
by  our  host  towards  the  apartments 
of  his  wives.  To  our  great  relief 
Mr.  S.'s  little  boy  was  allowed  to 
accompany  us.  He  speaks  Hindo- 
stanee  like  a  native,  and  as  his 
mother's  command  of  the  language 
was  limited  and  mine  confined  to 
three  words,  we  regarded  him  as  the 
interpreter  of  our  sentiments.  I 
may  as  well  state  at  once  that  this 
young  gentleman  proved  utterly 
imworthy  of  the  post  to  which  he 
was  appointed,  for,  from  the  mo- 
ment when  we  entered  the  presence 
of  the  ladies  to  the  moment  when 
we  left  it,  cajoleries,  rebukes,  sar- 
casms, proved  alike  unavailing,  and 
he  preserved  a  stolid  and  impene- 
trable silence. 


We  followed  our  host  up  and  down 
narrow  stone  staircases,  into  what 
seemed  to  be  the  holiest  of  holies, 
so  careftilly  was  it  screened  from 
view;  but  a  more  dreary-looking 
prison  I  never  saw. 

In  a  little  bare  room  open  to  the 
sky  we  suddenly  came  upon  a 
hideous,  fat,  dishevelled  woman,  half 
dressed  in  a  dirty  white  garment, 
whom  I  for  a  moment  suspected  of 
being  her  to  whom  our  visit  was 
due.  But  we  passed  her  by  with  a 
mutual  stare,  and  entered  a  sort 
of  battlemented  space  looking  over 
a  dreaiy,  grass-grown  courtyard, 
where  several  women  stood  huddled 
against  the  wall,  eagerly  looking  to- 
ward us  with  outstretched  necks. 
We  were  led  past  them  into  a  small 
dark  room,  with  no  windows  and 
only  the  one  door  by  which  we 
entered,  and  which  was  filled  by  a 
large  round  table  covered  with  an 
English  table  eover,  and  seven  great 
arm-chairs,  also  English,  in  solemn 
order.  Three  of  the  women,  taking 
off  their  shoes,  entered  after  us; 
we  all  took  our  seats,  and  then  fol- 
lowed a  silent  pause,  in  which  we 
all  surveyed  each  other  with  shy 
curiosity. 

At  length  Mrs.  S.  bravely  sum- 
moned up  courage  to  break  the 
silence,  and  with  a  supreme  effort 
started  a  conversation  with  our 
host  during  which  I  surveyed  his 
belongings. 

Next  to  me  sat  a  fat,  ugly 
woman,  H.  K.'s  cousin,  holding  on 
her  knee  his  youngest  child,  an  ugly 
little  creature,  fat  and  black.  It 
was  dressed  in  green  and  gold,  with 
long  petticoats  to  its  feet,  and  ieb  sort 
of  loose  dressing-gown  lined  with 
pink  silk  over  that,  and  a  tight 
little  green  silk  *  pork-pie,*  embroi- 
dered with  gold,  on  its  head. 

Next  in  order  came  the  favourite 
wife,  young  and  pretty,  with  a 
sweet  face,  Egyptian  in  type,  beau- 
tiful dark  eyes,  an  aquiHne  nose, 
and  a  full,  well-cut  mouth,  dis- 
fig^ed  by  daubs  of  red  from  the 
betel    nut  which    they  constantly 


700 


A  Week  of  Camp  Life  in  India, 


[June 


chew,  and  wliicli  is  the  colour  of 
yermilion.  She  was  splendidly 
dressed  in  a  thick  mauve-coloured 
sUk,  the  skirt  being  bordered  at  the 
bottom  with  green  and  gold,  and  a 
sort  of  half  jacket  of  the  same  on 
the  body.  Her  head  and  the  upper 
part  of  her  figure  were  veiled  in  a 
deUcate  gauzy  material,  also  mauve- 
coloured,  with  a  hem  of  gold  em- 
broidery round  it.  She  was  literally 
smothered  in  jewellery,  rough  in 
workmanship,  but  veiy  effective. 
A  sort  of  necklace  of  gold,  pearls, 
and  uncut  stones  hung  over  her 
forehead,  surmounted  by  her  veil 
(the  prettiest  possible  head-dress), 
from  her  ears  depended  long  ear- 
rings which  touched  her  shoulders, 
and  round  her  neck  were  number- 
less strings  of  pearls  and  precious 
stones,  which  fell  in  one  mass  to 
her  waist. 

Her  arms  also  were  covered  nearly 
up  to  the  elbow  \  and  on  asking  to 
examine  her  bracelets,  I  was  allowed 
to  do  so.  As  I  took  the  warm,  soft, 
little  hand  in  mine,  I  wondered 
whether  after  aU  a  black  skin  is  not 
preferable  to  a  white  one,  the  colour 
is  so  rich  and  deep. 

Next  to  this  attractive  little 
creature  sat  the  other  wife,  the 
mother  of  the  two  boys,  an  old 
woman,  so  fat  and  so  u^ly  that 
a  glance  at  her  was  enough.  She 
was  very  plainly  dressed,  and  wore 
no  jewels,  and  I  wondered  how 
she  liked  her  deposition,  and  also 
whether  the  jewels  had  been  hers, 
and  how  she  bore  the  transfer  of 
them  from  her  portly  person  to  that 
of  her  younger  rival. 

The  movement  of  withdrawal 
which  we  now  made  was  the  signal 
for  a  ceremony  with  which  I  could 
have  dispensed.  The  young  wife 
prodnced  a  bottleofattah  of  roses, 
out  of  which  she  poured  a  yellow, 
oily-looking  substance  like  marrow 
fat.  As  the  pure  perfume  is  so 
expensive,  they  poundup  sandalwood 
and  mix  with  it;  though  how  that 
mixture  can  produce  anything  so 


greasy,  I  do  not  understand.  Slie 
held  out  her  hand  and  anointed  oar 
palms  with  the  greasy  compound, 
after  which  she  also  put  some  on 
our  handkerchiefs.  The  scent  iro 
overpowering  and  sickening,  aLd 
for  days  afterwards  we  could  nct 
get  rid  of  it ;  it  seemed  to  cling  to 
everything  we  touched,  or  eta 
looked  at. 

A  large  white  handkerchief  was 
next  brought  forth,  and  ont  of  % 
knot  tied  in  one  comer  Mrs.  E 
K.  the  younger  took  some  silver 
rupees  and  a  gold  mohnr  and 
handed  them  to  Harry,  who  salaam'd. 
but  was  desired  by  his  mother  to 
return  them,  which  he  did— re- 
luctantly. I  was  sorry  too,  for  I 
coveted  the  gold  mohur,  it  is  8ach 
a  handsome  coin. 

We  then  rose,  relieved  that  our 
visit  was  at  an  end,  and  with  many 
bows  andsalaams  and  hand-shakings 
we  turned  away  and  left  our  less 
fortunate  sisters  to  their  dreazy  life. 
They  pass  their  days  squatted  on 
pieces  of  cloth  in  the  dreary  rooms 
or  out  on  the  roof,  with  no  interesi 
or  occupation  save  the  occasional 
visit  from  or  to  a  relation.  I  hear 
that  they  are  some  of  them  be^- 
ning  to  feel  the  want  of  a  different 
life,  and  have  asked  to  be  allowed 
to  learn  to  sing  and  draw ;  and  the 
wife  of  one  Bajah,  who  is  cleTcrer 
than  her  sisters,  and  whose  husband 
is  devoted  to  her,  transacted  some 
of  his  business  for  him  during  a 
recent  illness,  and  even  received  the 
visits  of  men.  But  they  say  tha: 
the  social  revolution  will  be  a  very 
slow  one,  and  that  our  dusky  sisters 
will  have  to  wait  a  long  time  for 
their  *  rights.'  I  felt  very  sad  for 
them  when  we  walked  out  free  and 
happy  into  the  bright  sunshine. 

H.  K.  mounted  his  horse  and 
accompanied  us  to  the  boundaty 
of  his  property,  expressing  gre*' 
pleasure  in  our  visit.  He  said  it 
would  raise  him  in  the  estimation 
of  all  the  country  round,  and  that  we 
had  conferred  a  great  honour,  Ac.  Ac 


1873] 


A  Week  of  Oamp  Life  in  India. 


701 


Mr.  S.  interpreted  my  admiration 
of  the  young  wife's  jewels,  and 
be  said  that  had  he  known  of  our 
proposed  visit  sooner,  she  should 
have  worn  many  more,  as  she  pos- 
sessed a  great  quantity ;  and  1  in- 
wardly wondered  where  she  would 
have  worn  them,  as  there  did  not 
appear  to  he  room  for  another  orna- 
ment on  her  little  person. 

After  many  highly- coloured 
speeches  he  galloped  away  and  left 
as,  and  we  wondered  what  impres- 
sion we  had  made  on  our  hostesses. 
Mrs.  S.  was  in  her  riding-habit, 
in  which  dress  they  generally  take 
Englishwomen  for  men ;  and  I  had 
on  warm  serge  and  fur  clothes,  which 
I  dare  say  they  thought  looked  dull 
and  unfestive. 

This  was  the  last  noteworthy 
event  in  our  week  of  camp  life,  our 
last  pleasant  day.  For  there  is — 
shall  I  confess  it  ? — a  *  darker  side,' 
and  that  we  soon  experienced. 

The  weather  suddenly  became 
bitterly  cold;  cold,  clear,  frosty 
nights  were  followed  by  days  in 
which  a  keen  wind  searched  out 
every  chink  and  opening  in  our 
tents,  and  whistled  in,  drying  up 
our  skins,  covering  everything  with 
dust,  and  making  our  lives  a  burden 
to  us.  It  is  true  we  had  a  stove, 
but  as  we  marched  every  day,  it 
followed  us  slowly  on  a  bullock-cart, 
and  only  came  up  with  us  late  in  the 
afternoon,  and  till  then  we  sat 
shivering,  wrapped  in  shawls  and 
blankets,  vainly  striving  to  keep 
warm.  I  had  not  time  to  experi- 
ence it,  but  I  can  quite  imagine 
that  after  a  few  weeks  the  con- 


stant moving    becomes   monotouo 
ously  wearisome. 

However,  on  the  third  day  of  this 
disagreeable  change  of  weather,  our 
expedition  came  to  an  end,  and  we 
entered  the  town  which  was  our 
destination  in  such  a  cloud  of  dust 
as  I  hope  never  to  see  again.  The 
town  was  obscured  by  what  seemed 
to  us  like  a  dense  November  fog, 
and  which  proved  in  fact  to  be  a 
dust  cloud,  from  which  we  emerged 
nearly  stifled,  with  our  mouths, 
noses,  ears,  and  eyes  full,  and  pow- 
dered over  from  head  to  foot  like 
millers. 

The  drawback  to  camp  life  is  the 
being  so  completely  dependent  on 
the  weather;  but  the  four  winter 
months  are  usually  cool  and  sun- 
shiny, and  the  days  of  great  cold 
and  of  biting  wind  are  rare,  and  it 
only  rains  for  a  few  days  at  Christ- 
mas. For  the  rest  of  the  time  one 
may  count  on  fine  weather ;  and  so 
it  must  be  acknowledged  that  two 
or  three  months  of  this  fresh,  cool, 
open-air  life  forms  a  pleasing  variety 
to  the  other  months  in  the  s&tions 
down  on  the  plains,  where  the  heat 
is  so  great  that  even  the  birds  pant 
with  their  beaks  open. 

I  am  painfully  aware  that  there 
is  a  paucity  of  events  and  stirring 
incidents  in  this  little  account  of  a 
week  of  camp  life ;  but  then  In- 
dian life  is  for  the  most  part  made 
up,  like  English  life,  of  minor 
details,  which  are  trifling  in  them- 
selves, but  which  in  the  aggre- 
gate make  a  wonderftil  difference — 
the  diflerence  between  '  exile  '  and 
*  home.' 


702 


[Jun 


ON  THE  EXTENSION  OF  RAILWAYS  IN  AMERICA. 


EVERYONE  who  has  directed 
particular  attention  to  the 
United  States  has  no  doubt  already 
heard  enough,  and  perhaps  too 
much,  of  their  everlasting  '  unpre- 
cedented material  progress  ;'  for  it 
is  an  unpleasant  characteristic  of 
the  less  agreeable  kind  of  Ameri- 
cans, that  they  are  very  apt  to 
ram  their  prosperity  down  your 
throat. 

There  is  a  story  of  a  Yankee 
persistently  adopting  this  mode  of 
treatment  to  a  dear,  irascible  British 
Tory  of  the  old  school,  till  the 
latter,  exasperated  beyond  endur- 
ance, snarled  out,  '  It's  a  thousand 
pities,  sir,  that  Christopher  Colum- 
bus ever  discovered  your  d d 

country.' 

At  the  risk  of  having  this  im- 
polite observation  repeated,  it  may 
be  again  asserted  that  in  some 
respects  their  progress  really  is 
very  astounding.  We  have  become 
gradually  so  used  to  big  figures  in 
the  past  five-and-thirty  years,  that 
we  have  to  put  ourselves  back  in 
recollection  or  imagination  to  1840 
to  be  properly  impressed  with 
the  fact  that  America  then  had 
17,000,000  people,  and  2,000  milesof 
railroad,  buUtat  a  cost  of  1 4,000,000^ 
Now  there  are  40,000,000  people, 
and  70,000  miles  of  railroad,  cost- 
ing over  550,000,000^,  operated  by 
some  400  separate  companies  or 
organisations,  whose  total  earnings 
in  the  year  187 1  were  8o,ooo,oooZ. 
It  is  a  curious  and  noteworthy  fact, 
that  this  railroad  mileage  is  as  nearly 
as  possible  the  same  as  the  toteJ 
European  mileage  for  300,000,000 
X>eople,  so  that  in  this  respect  the 
young  republic  has  shot  far  ahead 
of  the  'efiete  old  monarchies  and 
empires.'  How  George  Stephenson 
would  turn  in  his  coffin  if  it  could 
be  revealed  to  him  that  the  world 
has  already  spent  nearly  two  thou- 


sand millions  sterling  in  developing 
lus  application  of  steam  power;  a 
greater  sum  than  all  i^e  National 
Debts  of  all  the  world  of  his  dajl 

American  railroad  authorities 
state  that  8,500  miles  of  additioiul 
.new  road  ^vnll  be  built  this  year 
(1873),  and  one  of  them  gives  a 
further  glimpsa  into  the  fdtare, 
saying,  '  there  are  35,000  miles  more 
in  various  stages  of  incipiencr.' 
Therefore  there  would  seem  to 
be  a  visible  supply  of  113,000 
miles  of  'track.'  Leaving,  how- 
ever,  the  flowery  paths  of  fatuit 
imaginings,  we  may  take  it  as 
fact  that  in  the  four  past  year« 
(1869-72  inclusive)  25,000  miles 
of  new  road  have  been  completed, 
inclusive  of  main  and  braudi  liiie& 
and  sidings. 

Estimating  the  actual  cost  of 
these  at  ,^35,000  per  mile,  there 
must  have  been  a  bond  fide  expen- 
diture of  cash  on  these  new  under- 
takings of  ^875,000,000,  or,  at  ex- 
change 133,  150,000,0002.  There 
will  be  a  fhrther  expenditure  this 
year  of  6o,ooo,ooo2.y  innlriTig  a 
total  of  2io,ooo,oooZ.  Now  tins  is 
a  very  large  transfer  from  floating 
to  fixed  capital  in  so  short  a  space 
of  time.  Our  largest  expenditure 
in  England  on  railroads  was  in 
the  four  years  1846-9  inclusive, 
when  the  total  was  143,000,0002., 
or  an  average  of  36,000,000!.  a 
year ;  and  the  largest  sum  in  any 
one  year  was  in  1848-9, 43,000,0002. 
We  know  that  the  financial  negotia- 
tions for  this  then  unprecedentedlj 
large  expenditure  precipitated  on 
us  the  panic  of  1847.  -^^  -^^ 
rica  has  not  advanced  to  this  ouihj 
gradually,  nor  by  unrestricted  de- 
velopment of  her  resources  withoat 
other  strain  on  her  capital  or  credit, 
for  in  the  eight  years  immediatelj 
preceding  1869,  the  United  States 
Government  iJone   had   borrowed 


1873] 


On  the  Extension  of  Hallway  a  in  America, 


703 


5io,ooo,oooZ.  for  war  expenditnres, 
not  to  mention  further  very  large 
borrowings  bj  individual  States 
and  municipalities  for  the  same 
purposes. 

In  fa«t,  never  before  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  world  has  there  been 
borrowing  on  the  scale  on  which 
America  has  borrowed  during  the 
past  twelve  years.  It  would  be 
very  interesting  to  have  accurate 
figures  of  the  amounts  taken  by 
Europe.  Estimates (Jiffer widely;  but 
perhaps  of  all  descriptions  of  securi- 
ties 3oo,ooo,oooZ.  or  4oo,ooo,oooZ. 
would  not  be  out  of  the  way  for 
Europe's  present  holding.  It  must 
therefore  be  a  very  important  ques- 
tion to  large  numbers  of  persona 
on  this  side  the  Atlantic  what  the 
exact  nature  of  their  investment  is. 

There  can  be  very  little  doubt 
about  the  present  safety  of  the 
Grovemment  bonds;  and  we  shall, 
therefore,  confine  ourselves  to  a 
glance  at  the  railways  only. 

And  in  this  matter  we  must  be 
very  careful  accurately  to  define  to 
ourselves  the  true  meaning  of  terms. 
Speaking  broadly,  our  railways  in 
England  have  been  built  by  the 
stockholders,  and  have  then  been 
mortgaged  for  one-third  of  their 
cost  to  the  debenture  stockholders. 
The  position  of  the  latter,  therefore, 
is  almost  absolutely  secure.  There 
is  some  reason  to  apprehend  that 
many  English  investors  in  the  first 
mortgage  bonds  of  American  rail- 
roads, reasoning  from  analogy,  sup- 
pose that  these  bonds  are  in  all 
cases  a  kind  of  equivalent  to  our 
debenture  stocks.  It  is  of  course 
perfectly  well  known  to  those  who 
have  cared  to  look  into  the  subject, 
that  there  is  in  America  no  Govern- 
ment control  over  the  relations  be- 
tween the  cost  of  railroads  and  the 
mortgages  upon  them.  Some  roads 
are  mortgaged  avowedly  for  more 
than  their  cost ;  others  fully  up  to 
their  cost ;  others  again  for  only  a 
small  per-centage    of   their    cost. 


Therefore  whereas  some  bonds  are 
merely  an  equivalent  of  a  stock, 
where  the  holder  takes  all  the  risk 
of  building  the  road,  but  is  limited 
in  his  profit  to  a  high  fixed  rate  of 
interest,  other  bonds  are  as  desirable 
investments  for  trust  funds  as  can 
well  be  imagined.  It  is  very  natural 
that  the  Americans  should  wish  to 
keep  to  themselves  aU  the  future 
increment  of  profit  on  their  rail- 
roads ;  and  if  a  bondholder  is  aware 
that  he  is  paying  the  total  cost  of 
the  road,  and  is  getting  in  exchange 
a  very  high  rate  of  interest  for  his 
money,  there  does  not  seem  to  be 
any  decided  objection  to  a  system  so 
carried  out.  There  are  worse  ten 
per  cent,  risks  dealt  ineveiy  day  on 
the  London  Stock  Exchange.  But 
then  it  is  very  necessaiy  that  such 
investor  or  speculator  should  have 
entirely  reliable  statements  of  the 
real  cost  of  the  undertakings  to 
guide  him.  He  may  be  willmg  to 
pay  the  full  amount  actually  dis- 
bursed for  building  and  equipping 
a  road,  but  he  will  not  wish  in  addi- 
tion to  pay  gigantic  profits  in  ad- 
vance to  the  contractors  or  pro- 
moters :  not,  at  any  rate,  without 
the  evidence  of  such  payments  ap- 
pearing plainly  on  tbe  face  of  the 
accounts.  He  will  bear  in  mind  the 
following  words  on  the  subject  from 
the  New  York  Railway  Jov/mali 
'Peculation  and  knavery  have  in- 
cessantly laid  heavy  booty  on  capital 
used  in  construction  in  its  transit 
from  a  floating  to  a  permanent  con- 
dition, and  that  this  roguery  has 
contributed  largely  to  swell  the 
cost  of  our  American  railroads  there 
can  be  no  possible  doubt.'  A  curious 
and  instructive  illustration  of  the 
writer's  meaning  may  be  found  in 
a  comparison  of  the  cost  of  different 
Hues  in  the  same  States.  In  Mr. 
Poor's  valuable  Bailroad  Manual 
for  1872-3,  which  in  the  absence  of 
any  official  statistics  is  the  most 
reliable  source  of  information,  we 
find  such  instances  as  the  following : 


704 


On  the  Extension  tf  Bailways  tn  America, 


II 


one 


state 

Miles 

Total  stated  Cost 

stated  Cost 
per  Mile 

Total  Mortgage   ' 

1 

Illinois  .        .        .  < 

Wisconsin       •        .  < 
Minnesota       •        .  < 
Iowa       .       .       .  | 
Kansas    .        .        .  / 
MissoiTBi .        •        .  1 
ViBGINIA  .          ,         .  ( 
Gbobgia  .        •        •  ^l 
Ohio        .        .        .  / 

No.  I 
No.  2 
No.  3 

869 
419 
219 

$ 
21,500,000 
17,000,000 
11.300,000 

$ 
24,700 
40,600 
51,800 

g 

4,500,000 
4,500,000 
7,000,000 

No.  i 
No.  2 

80 
65 

2,000,000 
3.500,000 

25.000 
53.800 

1,400,000 
1,500,000 

No.  I 

No.  2 

122 

283 

4,500,000 
15,000,000 

36,900 
53.000 

Not  given 
16,206,500 

No.  I 
No.  2 

118 
99 

3,700,000 
5,000,000 

31,400 
50,500 

1,600,000 
800,000 

No.  I 
No.  2 

;it 

5.700,000 
24,700,000 

37.000 
53.300 

5,700.000 
12,700,000 

No.  I 
No.  2 

27s 

3S3 

8,600,000 
24,800,000 

31.300 
70,300 

5,800,000 
9,200,000 

No.  I 
No.  2 

^ 

5,000,000 
18,000,000 

24,600 
42,100 

2,600,000 
1 1,400,000 

No.  1 
No.  2 

259 
202 

4,100,000 
7,250,000 

16,000 
35.900 

680,000 
3.750.000 

No.  I 
No.  2 

261 

570 

1 1,500,000 

Not  stated 

44,000 
103,500 

3,800,000 
59,100,000 

In  the  last-mentioned  instance  I 
have  snbstitnted  the  mortgage  per 
mile  for  the  cost  per  mile,  and  we 
may  be  sure  the  latter  did  not 
exceed  the  former.  The  above  are 
a  few  examples  that  might  be 
mnltiplied  in  pretty  nearly  every 
State  in  the  Union ;  but  for  our 
present  purposes  it  is  sufficient  to 
draw  attention  to  the  fact  that  the 
cost  of  one  line  is  often  double 
the  cost  of  another  line  in  the  same 
State,  and  to  the  still  more  pregnant 
fiict  that  we  can  find  a  railroad 
built  and  equipped  in  Georgia  by 
stockholders  at  a  cost  of  ;^  12,500 
per  mile,  and  another  road  in  the 
far  West  built  and  equipped  by 
bondholders  at  a  stated  cost  of 
1^136,700  a  mile,  with  a  funded  debt 
of  over  ^^90,000  a  mile. 

We  can  fiirther  find  1 3  companies 
(inclusive  of  the  above-mentioned) 
with  an  aggregate  of  4,824  miles 
railroad  stated  to  cost  ^^348,000,000 
on    which    the    total    mortgages 


or  fonded  debts  amount  to 
j^3 00, 000,000 :  an  average  stated 
cost  of  ^72,100  a  mile,  and  an 
average  ftmded  debt  of  ^62,200  a 
mile.  The  interesting  question 
arises,  did  these  roads  in  the  aggre- 
gate cost  ,$72,000  per  mile  or 
jj[6 2,000,  or  was  it  not  a  very  much 
less  sum  than  either  ?  No  donbfc 
the  sums  stated  were  actually  paid 
to  some  one — perhaps  to  a  Credit 
Mobilier,  acting  as  intermediaiy 
between  the  railroad  company  and 
the  contractors,  and  composed  of 
the  same  shareholders — ^but  how 
much  went  to  pay  for  actual  con- 
struction of  road  and  equipment  at 
first  hand  ?  The  nearest  approxi- 
mation to  an  answer  to  this  question 
is  the  assertion  in  America  tbat  the 
average  expenditure  on  Western 
railways  ought  not  to  exceed 
ij^35>ooo  per  mile  for  building  and 
equipping,  including  those  witi 
very  difficult  gradients.  We  have 
seen  above  a  first-class  line  of  S69 


1873] 


On  the  Extension  of  BaUways  in  America, 


705 


miles     built     and     equipped    for 
$z^*joo  per  mile.     We  can  find 
others  in  Georgia  at  ;^  16,000,  and 
plenty  more  in  various  States  at 
J^20,ooo  and  ^25,000,  and  again  we 
see  them  running  up  to  ^70,000 
and  ;$[ 1 00,000  per  mile.    In  some  of 
these  latter  a  lively  business  must 
evidently  have  been  done  by  the 
contractors  and  promoters  in  dis- 
counting    and     pocketing    future 
profits  at  the  expense  of  the  bond- 
holder.    Let  us,  however,  take  an 
instance     of   a     road     apparently 
built  entirely  with  the  proceeds  of 
bonds.     Here  we  find  one  in  the 
Sonth-west  326  miles,  with  no  re- 
turn of  cost,  bonded  for  £6,520,000, 
or  ;^2  0,000  per  mile.     Total  stock 
£820,000  !     In  its  first  5  years  of 
existence,  in  what  must  be  termed 
a  still  uninhabited  region,  the  road 
has  with  an  average  of  128  miles 
open  earned  nett  £602,000  annually, 
or  £4,700  per  mile.     The  interest 
on  the  mortgage  at  7  per  cent,  would 
he    £1,400   per  mile.      Therefore 
a  profit  of  £422,000    per  annum 
must  have  gone  into  the  pockets  of 
the  holders  of  £820,000  stock.     If 
the    road    has    done   this    in  the 
'  green  '  stage  of  its  existence,  what 
will  it  not  do  in  the  *dry,'  when 
the  country  it  traverses  becomes 
really  poprdated  P  Its  bonds,  princi- 
pal andinterest  (7percent.),  payable 
in  gold,  are  quoted  in  New  York  90 
currency  asked.     That  is  to  say,  at 
present  rate  of  exchange,  128  for 
currency,   a  bond   of  £1,000  can 
be    bought    for    158Z.,  paying    an 
annual  interest  of  142. ;  principal 
redeemable  in  189 1,   when  £1,000 
gold  will  produce  203  Z.   Here,  then, 
is  interest  at  the  rate  of  9  per  cent. 
per  annum  on  the  investment^  and 
a  mUxL  of  45Z.  on  158Z.,  or  about 
28^  per  cent,  on  redemption,  sup- 
posing   the  bonds  to  be  paid  at 
matnrity.     Only  50  per  cent,   of 
the   gross  ^  receipts  has  been  con- 
Bumed  in    the  working  expenses 
of  this  road,  whereas    60  to    70 
per    cent,    is    the    ordinary  con« 

TOT.  VII. — IBIO.  XLII.     NIW  SIBRS. 


sumption  in  the  Northern  and 
Western  roads,  averaging  nearly 
65  per  cent,  all  through. 

The  promoters  of  the  road  bid 
high  for  money,  and  they  show 
their  hand  in  the  accounts.  They 
do  not  profess  to  have  subscribed 
any  stock  i^rther  than  the  few 
hundred  thousand  dollars  above- 
mentioned.  But  they  show  that 
the  nett  earnings  per  mile  are  al- 
ready far  more  than  sufficient  to 
pay  the  interest  on  the  mortgage 
per  mile ;  and  anyone  buying  such 
bonds  thoroughly  understands  that 
he  is  backing  the  continued  pro- 
sperity of  the  new  road — a  fair  risk 
in  such  a  country,  for  which  he  is 
well  paid.  At  any  rate,  if  he  does 
not  so  understand  his  position,  it  is 
his  own  carelessness  in  not  investi-^ 
gating  the  accounts. 

This  is  one  instance  of  a  fair  ap-^ 
plication  of  the  new  American  prin» 
ciple  of  railroad  building.  The* 
figures  here  seem  to  correspond 
with  the  facts  ;  and  there  are  many 
more  in  the  same  category.  As  we- 
have  seen  above,  there  are  others 
that  are  simply  incomprehensible 
as  regards  stated  cost.  Generalis- 
ing on  ihe  mass  of  these  new 
American  undertakings,  we  may 
say  with  the  old  Latin  Ime,  *  There 
are  good  ones,  a  considerable  num- 
ber of  doubtful  ones,  and  many  bad 
ones.'  Apart  altogether  from  any 
question  of  morality,  it  is  a  most 
&tally«mistaken  policy  for  a  country 
like  America^  that  must  for  years 
continue  to  be  a  great  borrower  from 
Europe  on  the  securitv  of  new  rail- 
roads, to  flood  us  with  bonds  in  so 
many  cases  representing  more  than 
any  actual  money  expended  on 
the  undertakings.  It  lowers  the 
tone  of  all  her  securities,  and,  if 
persisted  in,  will  in  very  truth  at 
last  kill  the  goose  that  lays  the 
golden  eggs.  America  has  been 
living  and  growing  for  years  onher 
great  borrowing  powers ;  and  as 
long  as  she  does  it  with  fair  decency^ 
Europe  will  only  be  too  delighted  to 

30 


706 


On  the  Esstension  of  Bailways  in  America. 


[June 


sectire  the  outlet  for  snperabmidant 
capital  at  tempting  rates  of  in- 
terest. But  Europe  can  afford 
to  hold  her  hand  uidess  the  securi- 
ties are  trustworthy :  America  can- 
not afford  even  a  temporary  lull  in 
the  European  demand  for  bonds: 
such  demand  ceasing,  a  most  un- 
pleasant commercial  and  financial 
picture  presents  itself  to  the  mind's 
eye — *  Over  Niagara — and  after  ? ' 
Already  to  the  accustomed  eye  the 
craft  seems  working  dangerously 
near  the  rapids. 

Ultimately,  even  the  heaviest 
bonded  road,  running  as  a  trunk 
line  east  and  west,  may  be  expected 
to  pay  its  interest,  the  growth  is  so 
marvellous ;  but  a  very  disagreeable 
hiatus  may  be  conceived  in  the 
meantime. 

Turning  from  these  new  roads  to 
the  older  and  better  established,  we 
find  a  mass  of  bonds  as  safe  for  in- 
vestment as  any  securities  in  the 
world.  We  take,  as  instances,  from 
Mr.  [Poor's  book  27  roads,  with  an 
aggregate  of  14,660  miles,  whose 
total  cost  is  stated  at  ^613,000,000 
(an  average  of  ^41,800  per  mile), 
and  whose  total  funded  debt  is 
;Ji  2 1 5,000,000  (anaverage  of  ^14,800 
per  mile). 

Besides  these,  there  are  millions 
of  dollars  of  bonds  whose  relation 
to  the  cost  of  the  roads,  though  not 
quite  so  favourable  as  the  above, 
practically  makes  them  very  safe 
for  investment.  In  fact,  it  is  quite 
an  exception  with  roads  built  even 
ten  years  ago  to  find  the  exagger- 
ated mortgages  of  recently  built 
roads,  and  in  most  cases  it  would 
now  be  impossible  to  duplicate  the 
former  roads  at  the  old  stated 
cost. 

The  conclusion  of  the  whole  mat- 
ter as  regards  an  investor  is,  that  no 
general  assertion  can  with  truth  be 
made  about  these  mortg^e  bonds 
en  masse.  Each  of  the  securities 
must  be  teken  and  carefally  ex* 
amined  on  ite  own  merits,  and  it 
may  always  be  borne  in  mind  that 


the  financial  house  negotiatmg 
their  sale  is  apt  to  take  a  veiy  san- 
guine view  of  possibilities.  The 
point  to  most  of  us  in  investing  is 
not  the  certainty  of  great  retarns 
twenty-five  or  fifty  years  hence,  but 
that  we  may  count  on  a  puncU 
payment  of  our  interest  year  by 
year. 

That  said,  there  are  many  oppor. 
tunities,  by  careful  exercise  of  judg- 
ment, to  make  good  investments 
or  speculations  in  these  American 
mortgages,  old  and  new,  and  oftai 
withont  extreme  risk.  But  it  will 
probably  be  found  more  profitable 
for  each  individual  to  make  such 
ventures  on  his  own  personal  ex« 
amination  of  facte  and  figures  th&n 
to  confide  the  selection  to  a  '  bust 
company,'  unless  he  is  very  sure 
that  the  promoters  of  sach  trust 
companies  have  no  heavy  load  of 
unmarketable  securities  of  tbeii 
own  to  dispose  of  to  their  share- 
holders. It  is  a  fi^llacy  to  sappoee 
that  over  7  per  cent,  can  be  obtained 
from  American  securities  tbai  can 
be  compared  in  any  fair  way  vitb 
English  debenture  stocks. 

It  might  almost  have  been  ex- 
pected that,  looking  to  the  magnitnde 
of  the  interests  involved,  a  council 
of  American  bondholders  wonld 
have  been  organised  here  to  obtain 
trustworthy  reporte  on  the  various 
lines  from  independent  engineers, 
sent  out  for  the  purpose,  aided  bj 
independent  local  information;  bnt 
a  curious  characteristic  of  the  ordi- 
nary British  investor  is  that,  as  a 
rule,  he  will  take  very  little  trouble 
to  acquaint  himself  with  the  trne 
condition  of  his  purchases.  One 
man  buys  because  another  man 
whom  he  knows  has  bought  before 
him,  and  very  few  of  them  like  anj 
security  except  at  a  high  pricei  in- 
dependent altogether  of  its  intrinsic 
merite. 

The  Germans,  with  their  keen 
educated  eyes,  get  a  good'deal  ahead 
of  us  in  monetary  transactions. 
How  heavily  they  laid  inFive-twentj 


1873] 


On  the  Extension  of  Railways  in  America, 


707 


Bonds  in  New  York,  all  the  way 
from  the  thirties  (London  price) 
to  the  seventies.  After  that 
they  resold  them  to  John  Ball. 
They  are  now  attempting  the 
same  thing  with  the  new  railroad 
bonds. 

Probably  the  anomalous  basis  on 
which  American  exchange  is  reckon- 
ed is  a  stumbling-block  to  many 
persons  in  England  who  have  never 
had  an  opportunity  of  making 
themselves  acquainted  with  the  cal- 
culation. One  often  hears  profes- 
sional men  arguing  that  the  Ameri- 
can Funded  5  per  Cent.  Loan  at  90 
is  a  good  purchase,  because  they 
assume  (before  experience)  that  it 
will  return  them  5^  per  cent,  on 
their  investment  besides  a  gain  of 
10  per  cent,  on  redemption ;  and 
indeed  the  mistake  is  a  very  natural 
one  to  those  who  have  not  been 
brought  in  contact  with  American 
dealings,  or  who  may  have  forgotten 
or  may  never  have  heard  of  a 
Modem  Gamhist.  For  such  per- 
sons I  will  venture  to  repeat  a  very 
old  story.  The  American  dollar  was 
originally  worth  48.  6d,  The  par 
of  exchsjige  between  the  two  coun- 
tries was  naturally  so  reckoned : 
that  is,  iZ.  equalled  ^4*44.  But  the 
American  dollar  was  subsequently 
cHpped,  and  became  worth  not  quite 
48.  2d,  making  il,  equal  to  ^4'84. 
Instead,  however,  of  altering  the 
par  of  exchange  to  ^4'84,^  the  old 
par  was  maintamed,  and  the  reduc- 
tion in  the  value  of  the  dollar  was 
added  as  a  premium  upon  it,  so 
that  the  daUy  quotations  of  Ameri- 
can 60  days'  sight  exchange,  which 
we  see  in  ibe  papers  from  8  per  cent, 
to  10  per  cent,  premium  (or  108  to 
1 10),  actually  mean  from  i  per  cent, 
discount  to  i  per  cent,  premium. 
The  quotations  of  American  dollar 
stocks  in  London  have  always  been 


reckoned  at  the  old  par  of  4^.  6d. 
It  is  therefore  obvious  that  when 
a  stock  so  quoted  is  at  90,  we 
are  practically  paying  90  four-and- 
sixpences  for  what  is  intrinsically 
worth  only  90  four-and-twopences. 
The  rate  of  exchange  in  Aoierica 
on  England  of  course  varies  from 
day  to  day,  so  that  it  is  impossible 
to  give  a  fixed  figure  to  add  to  the 
London  price  in  order  to  ascertain 
the  actual  price  with  absolute 
accuracy.  Assuming  that  ^^4*84 
is  real  par,  that  would  be  equal  to 
9  per  cent,  premium  on  the  nominal 

Ear  of  ;^4'44-  But  as  a  matter  of 
Lct  America  is  a  country  always 
importing  more  than  she  exports, 
and  therefore  is  a  debtor  to  Europe, 
so  that  short  exchange  is  more 
often  at  a  premium  than  at  real  par 
or  discount ;  and  as  bonds  payable 
at  maturity  in  America  must  be 
sent  out  there  and  proceeds  remit- 
ted to  England,  an  investor  propos- 
ing to  hold  his  bonds  till  due  must, 
if  he  wishes  accurately  to  establish 
their  cost  for  comparison  with 
home  investments,  add  to  the 
London  price  a  rate  of  exchange 
that  will  enable  him  to  have  the 
gold  dollars  sent  home  if  necessary. 
No  rate  under  11  per  cent,  pre- 
mium will  be  safe  for  him  to 
assume,  looking  to  the  chance  of 
his  bonds  being  paid  in  ordinarily 
worn  gold.  Therefore  90+11 
per  cent.  (9*90)  =  99*90,  or  par 
for  all  practical  purposes.  To 
prove  that  one-ninth  (or  11  per 
cent.)  is  not  too  much  to  add  to  the 
London  price  to  ascertain  the  real 
price,  holders  of  American  securities 
will  find  that  they  do  not  as  a  rule 
nett  48,  o6d,  per  dollar  for  their 
coupons  sold  in  London,  which  is 
the  exact  equivalent  of  iii  ex- 
change. To  take  an  actual  example 
of  the  working  of  the  rule : 


*  Since  the  above  was  in  print  the  par  of  exchange  between  America  and  England  has 
been  altered,  by  a  law  to  come  into  effect  on  January  1, 1874,  to  /4'86 ;  so  that  next  year 
we  shall  see  exchange  quoted  from  i  or  2  discount  to  i  or  2  premium. 

3  C  2 


708 


On  the  Extension  of  BaUways  in  America. 


[June 


A  /i,ooo  bond  bought  at  90 

London  price  {^,6d,  dollars) 

costs £202  10    o 

The    $ijoQO    gold    collected 

from  the  bond  in  New  York 

and   remitted  at   iii    ex. 

returns      ....    202  14    o 


Difference    .£040 

or  the  same  difference  as  between 
99*90  and  par  shown  above.'  In 
we  case  of  buying  a  currency  bond 
on  the  basis  of  the  above  Lon- 
don quotation  of  90,  an  investor 
would  add  as  before  one-ninth  for 
his  III  exchange,  making  a  real 
price  of  100,  and  then  further  add,  as 
a  per-oentage,  the  existing  premium 
on  gold,  whatever  it  might  be.  Thus, 
when  gold  is  17  per  cent,  premium, 
the  real  price  of  a  currency  bond 
bought  in  London  at  90  is  117. 
The  gold  premium  must  of  course 
be  taken  on  the  London  price  plus 
the  per-centage  of  the  New  York 
rate  of  exchange  for  sight  bills. 

It  need  scarcely  be  remarked 
that  it  is  a  matter  of  the  purest 
speculation  what  the  future  pre- 
mium on  gold  may  be,  and  there- 
fore the  sterling  vidue  of  currency 
coupons  will  be  constantly  varying. 
Taking  such  an  instance  as  we  have 
mentioned,  no  one  would  buy  a 
currency  8  per  cent,  bond  in  London 
at  90  unless  he  believed  17  per 
cent,  to  be  as  high  a  premium  as 
gold  would  be  likely  to  rule  at  on 
the  date  his  bond  matured,  and 
also  that  the  average  rate  during 
the  currency  of  his  bond  would  not 
be  over  17,  so  that  he  expects  to 
receive  8Z.  on  every  117Z.  invested, 
or  equal  very  nearly  to  a  6  per  cent, 
investment  if  the  bond  had  seven- 
teen years  to  run. 

It  follows  that  by  whatever 
premium  gold  might  be  above  17  he 


would  lose  on  the  final  redempiaon 
and  remittance  of  his  bond ;  by 
whatever  premium  gold  might  le 
below  1 7  he  would  gain.  In  Europe, 
and  especially  in  Gfermany,  there  has 
been  agooddieal  of  speculation  forihe 
fall  in  the  premium  on  gold  entered 
into  through  these  purchases  of 
currency  bonds.  That  is  to  say,  one 
of  the  great  inducements  held  out 
to  investors  has  been  that,  looking 
to  the  spread  of  a  quickly  increas- 
ing population  over  an  ever  wide' 
area  of  country,  the  paper  that  \s 
now  redundant  as  a  circulating 
medium  in  America  will  in  time 
prove  adequate  only,  and  that  its 
value  will  then  approximate  very 
closely  to  the  value  of  gold. 

This  view  would  certoinly  appear 
likely  to  be  fulfilled  bar  further  issues 
of  greenbacks  by  the  Gbvemmeni 
These  issues  are  at  present  con- 
fined by  law  to  ^400,000,000,  with 
authority  to  issue  'such  additional 
sum,  not  exceeding  ^50,000,000,  as 
may  be  temporarily  required  for  the 
redemption  of  temporary  loans.'  The 
actual  legal  tender  paper  circulation 
ha8beenashighas;^433,ooo,ooo.  It 
is  now  ^358,000,000,  but  there  have 
been  very  great  efibrts  lately  made 
to  have  that  amount  increased,  and 
the  tone  of  feeling  in  America  on 
this  subject  must  oe  very  jealously 
watched  by  those  who  are  specu- 
lating for  a  future  approximation 
in  value  between  greenbacks  and 
gold.  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to 
remark  that  the  poKcy  of  exxMrnsion 
is  abhorrent  to  all  political  econo- 
mists, and  to  all  the  thinking 
classes  in  America ;  but  expansion 
is  a  pleasant  prospect  to  all  debtors. 
Anddebtorsare  averypowerful  class 
in  America,  where  almost  every  man 
has  a  desire  to  possess  with  bor- 


'  To  tnm  dollars  into  pounds,  a  qaick  way  is  to  mnltiply  by  90  and  divide  by  4  timas 
the  premium,  as  for  example,  at  iii  exchange: 
/i,ooox  90  690,000 
90,000  divided  by  444  a  £20270 
20 


14/00 


1873] 


On  the  Extension  of  Bailways  in  America. 


709 


rowed  money  more  than  he  can 
own.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
masses,  whose  wages  do  not  ad- 
vance in  proportion  to  the  ang- 
mentalion  in  the  price  of  commodi- 
ties, consequent  on  increased  circu- 
lation, and  whose  savings  are 
mostly  in  bank  in  greenbacks, 
naturally  are  opposed  to  those 
greenbacks  being  depreciated  in 
value,  and  the  masses  in  America 
finally  rale  all  policies.  Meantime 
the  state  of  feeling  and  parties  is 
sufficiently  uncertain  to  keep  the 
premium  at  a  figure  that  is  tempting 
to  speculators. 

These  are  some  of  the  aspects  of 
the  extension  of  American  railways 
that  may  be  interesting  to  the 
comparatively  narrow  class  of  in- 
vestors in  these  securities.  But 
there  is  a  further  view  of  the  ques- 
tion. That  9,000  miles  of  new 
railroad  have  been  completed  in 
eight  new  States  and  Territories, 
with  a  population  of  only  2,800,000 
people  (or  a  mile  of  rail  to  every 
300  people),  may  be  but  a  sorry  pre- 
sent experience  for  over-sanguine 
capitalists,  but  may  at  the  same 
time  have  a  much  wider  meaning, 
and  a  wholly  beneficent  effect  over 
very  much  larger  classes  in  Europe. 
What  matters  it  to  the  labourer  on 
Wiltshire  Downs,  in  Essex  Marshes, 
or  in  Lincoln  Fens,  whether  mort- 
gages bear  a  proper  relation  to 
cost  or  not?  What  he  sees,  or 
what  he  may  see  if  anyone  will 
point  it  out  to  him,  is  the  fact 
that  some  one  has  done  the  thing 
for  him.  And  the  lines  laid  down 
on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic 
concern  him  much.  For  what  do 
railroads  mean  in  a  countiy  like 
America,  teeming  with  every  de- 
scription of  mineral,  agricultural, 
and  pastoral  product,  where  the 
surface  wealth  has  scarcely  yet 
begun  to  be  scratched?  They  mean 
in  language  seemingly  hyperbolical, 
but  in  fact  not  here  exaggerated, 
*the  potentiality  of  growing  rich 
beyond  the  dreams  of  avarice.'  Look 


how  the  wealth  has  already  grown. 
In  1790  (within  the  memory  of 
still  living  men)  the  population  of 
the  States  was  4,000,000,  and 
the  value  of  their  real  and  per- 
sonal property  was  estimated  at 
1 5o,ooo,oooZ. ;  in  1870  the  Super- 
intendent of  the  Census  returns 
population  at  38,000,000,  and  the 
true  value  of  their  real  and  per- 
sonal property  at  6,000,000,000?. ! 
And  this  means  not  only  so  many 
added  dollars,'  but  the  addition  of 
whfit  dollars  will  buy,  and  what  is 
too  hard  for  the  many  to  get  with- 
out dollars  —  a  universal  educa^ 
tion :  a  general  consumption  of 
literature  undreamed  of  in  the  Old 
World ;  a  piano  in  every  shanty ; 
the  feeling  amongst  all  those  whose 
mere  manual  labour  is  their  only 
capital,  that  they  too  are  equal  with 
all  other  men — are  a  necessity  to 
other  men — that  they  can  bargain 
with  their  employers  as  man  to 
man — that  they  are  not  for  ever  to 
remain  ignorant,  treated  to  elee- 
mosynary doles  of  coal  or  flannel 
in  ueu  of  fair  bargained  wages ; 
that  the  hope  dear  to  men — that 
of  absolute  independence — is  no 
longer  forbidden  to  them.  To  be 
sure,  it  may  be  objected  that  this  is 
only  one  side  of  the  picture,  and  a 
highly-coloured  one.  It  will  be 
said  that  the  venture  of  emigration 
is  uncertain;  that  we  are  insuf- 
ficiently informed  of  the  conditions 
of  the  labourer  in  these  new  coun- 
tries. But  do  we  require  much 
detailed  knowledge  to  arrive  at  a 
conclusion  that  a  country  possess- 
ing every  variety  of  climate,  with 
any  quantity  of  land,  much  of  it 
still  virgin  soil — 3,000,000  square 
miles  for  40,000,000  people — only 
requires  railroads  to  assure  con- 
ditions for  manual  labour  impossible 
of  attainment  in  any  old  country  P 
As  in  all  great  movements,  cases  of 
individual  suffering  in  emigration 
are  unavoidable.  An  English  la- 
bourer in  Minnesota,  sick  unto 
death  in  a  sparse-peopled  region. 


710 


On  the  Eztention  of  Bailteays  in  America. 


[Jnne 


will  no  doubt  look  back  with  a  sigh 
to  what  he  has  left  behind  him. 
Here  is  no  village  green  to  gladden 
his  dying  ejes,  nor  Lady  Bonntifal 
to  wipe  the  clammy  brow  with 
delicate  handkerchief,  nor  parish 
rates  to  baiy  him.  Death  and 
sickness  will  be  harder  to  him, 
though  it  is  astonishing  how 
tender  he  will  find  his  rough 
fellow-workers  in  the  wilderness. 
But  then  death  and  sickness  are  not 
the  prevailing  conditions  of  life. 
The  argamentis  the  old  one  of  stage 
coaches  versus  railroads;  hand- 
looms  versTis  machinery.  It  is  a 
sentimental  minority  argument. 
Lusty  young  fellows  with  lusty 
young  wives,  who  are  to  be  found 
by  thousands  among  our  labouring 
population,  are  not  likely  to  be  de- 
terred &om  bettering  themselves  by 
fear  of  sickness  or  death,  any  more 
than  they  would  refuse,  if  they  had 
enlisted  m  the  army,  to  go  to  India. 

A  harder  life,  with  a  prospect  of 
ultimately  rising  to  something 
higher  and  more  independent,  even 
accompanied  by  the  risk  of  unat- 
tended sickness,  is  surely  a  prefer- 
able prospect  to  remaining  for  ever 
on  that  dreary  old  feudal  footing 
of  the  '  benefiter '  and  the  *  bene* 
fited.'  Sarely  the  great  general  rule 
may  be  applied  to  almost  all  things 
under  the  sun  :  that  supply  will  be 
most  favourably  dealt  with  where 
demand  is  greatest.  It  is  a  mistake, 
if  it  can  be  helped,  to  form  part  of  a 
community  in  over-supply.  Much 
better  be  part  of  one  in  over-demand. 

And  if  on  the  one  hand  we  have 
conjured  up  for  a  possible  emigrant 
a  dreary  scene  from  Minnesota,  may 
we  not  on  the  other  hand  dwell  on 
the  attractions  of  California,  that 
Land  of  Promise  to  agricultural  la- 
bourers P  ^'AHbo  that  has  seen  them 
can  forget  the  white  painted  wooden 
cottages,  trellised  with  roses  which 
grow  nowJiere  else  as  they  grow 
there  ? — i}jd  children  as  plump  and 
rosy  as  tlfi  rosiest  in  our  English 
lanes ;  the-  profusion  of  the  finest 


vegetables,  fruit,  and  flowers;  tbe 
olimate  always  equable  by  the  sm; 
no  ice  nor  snow — 

Soft  blows  the  wind  that  breathes  from 
that  blue  ekj. 

Miles  of  the  very  finest  wheat  in 
the  world,  waving  beneath  the 
forest  trees,  with  never  a  hedgerow 
interrupting  the  view,  '  in  silenod 
ripen,  fall,  and  cease;'  for  notwith- 
standing that  Nature  has  benefi- 
cently separated  the  wet  season 
from  the  dry,  so  that  the  farmer  can 
count  on  weeks  when  he  can  leave 
the  grain  ungamered  where  it  falls, 
the  dearth  of  labour  is  so  great  that, 
in  spite  of  all  the  marvellous  me- 
chanical contrivances  of  ingenioos 
labour-saving  Yankees,  in  every 
abundant  year  part  of  the  crop  hBs 
actually  to  be  ploaghed  into  the 
earth  again.  There  beggaiy,  except 
the  beggary  of  decayed  gentility, 
is  xmknown — ^there  eveiy  man  and 
woman  able  and  willing  to  do  hard 
work  Tvdth  their  hands  can  not 
only  earn  good  wages  and  com- 
fortable living,  but  can  finally  dic- 
tate really  their  own  terms  to  their 
employers,  or,  better  still;  occnpy 
their  own  homesteads. 

No  doubt  the  end  attained  may 
be  mere  material  well-being.  #  Bat 
then  that  is  a  great  point  to  people 
who  don't  seem  even  likely  to  atr 
tain  to  that  in  England. 

Watching  our  poor  agiicultoral  la- 
bourers here  preparing  for  a  strike,  is 
as  painful  as  watching  a  bird  strik- 
ing itself  against  the  iron  bars  of  its 
cage,  when  all  the  time  a  door  is  op^ ; 
but  the  exit  not  being  the  accus- 
tomed one,  and  requiring  some 
knowledge  to  discover  it,  tiie  poor 
blind,  helpless  thing,  with  only  a 
passionate  consciousness  of  inherent 
right  to  the  free  air,  insists  on  testr 
ing  which  is  the  hardest — ^the  iron 
bars  or  its  own  weak  body.  There 
can  be  but  one  end  to  that.  Here 
the  conditions  are  too  hopele^.  Let 
the  Union  spend  its  money  in  de- 
porting the  superabundant  labour, 


1878] 


On  the  Extension  of  Eadlvmya  in  America, 


711 


and  so  give  the  smaller  number  re- 
maining behind  a  better  chance. 
Let  Warwickshire  ponder  the  fact 
that  from  the  year  1848,  when 
San  Francisco  first  really  existed, 
till  1872  the  exports  from  that  port 
alone  have  been  250,000,000^.  ster- 
ling valne.  Let  the  colliers  in  South 
Wales,  before  they  again  draw  on 
themselves  the  self-inflicted  misery 
of  a  strike,  consider  that  America 
produced  in  1871,  760,000  tons 
of  rails — just  double  tiie  quan- 
tity produced  in  1866,  and  four 
times  the  production  of  1862.  Last 
year  the  production  was  further  in- 
creased, and  will  be  again  very 
much  increased  this  year.  Califor- 
nia is  not  now  more  than  three 
weeks'  travel  from  Leamington, 
Pennsylvania  is  not  more  than 
twelve  days'  from  CardiiBf.  Why 
should  English  labour  cut  its  own 
throat? 

In  this  country  a  pecTiliar  delight 
is  taken  by  one  section  of  politicians 
in  pointing  the  finger  of  scorn  at 
the  poHtical  corruption  in  America : 
by  another  section,  such  corruption 
is  sorrowfully  admitted  as  a  griev- 
ous bldt  on  the  institutions  of  a 
nation  from  which  there  is  other- 
wise so  much  to  hope  for  and  to 
believe  in  for  the  future. 

In  this  short  paper  we  have  al- 
ready dwelt  on  the  knavery  prac- 
tised in  some  of  their  railroad  enter- 
prises ;  and  it  may  be  asked,  is  it 
worth  while'  for  a  gain  in  material 
conditions  for  English  labourers  to 
become  citizens  of  a  country  where 
such  things  can  be?  Is  it  not 
better  for  them  to  remain  in  this 
land  of  grand  old  traditions,  and 
grand  old  families  that  carry  out 
these  old  traditions  ?  The  wages, 
to  be  sure,  are  small — iSs,  a  week, 
and  meat  very  occasionally ;  but  if 
the  living  is  low,  the  thinlong  must 
be  high  in  such  an  atmosphere; 
where  to  approach  a  judge  ior  the 
purpose  of  influencing  his  judgment) 
or  to  offer  a  cheque  to  a  Member  of 
Parliament  for  his  vote,  would  of 


itself  be  almost  sufficient  evidence 
to  send  a  man  to  a  lunatic  asylum. 
Doubtless  this  is  the  great  boast 
we  can  make  in  England.  It  is  a 
blessing  we  cannot  be  too  thankful 
for,  nor  too  proud  of.  And  it  must 
be  a  profound  discouragement  to  all 
lovers  of  repubhcan  institutions 
that  America  should  have  shown 
not  one  but  many  instances  of  laps- 
ing from  these  inestimable  virtues. 
But  this  discouragement  should  not 
be  unalloyed  with  hope  of  improve- 
ment. The  Irish,  and  latterly  the 
negro,  votes  are  answerable  for  a 
great  deal.  Education  may  be 
expected  to  improve  them.  The 
country  is  still  very  young,  and 
perhaps  the  political  corruption  is 
not  much  greater  than  it  was  in 
England  in  Walpole's  time.  And 
however  much  we  may  deplore  the 
idlings  of  our  neighbours,  we  are 
scarcely  in  the  position  to  throw 
stones  recklessly  at  them.  For 
there  is  a  kind  of  justice  beyond  the 
jurisdiction  of  Westminster  Hall  or 
Lincoln's  Inn.  Our  Legislature  has 
taken  the  people's  taxes  for  all  these 
hundreds  of  years,  and  yet  has  left 
millions  of  the  population  of  these 
isles  to-day  absolutely  uneducated, 
and  in  an  ignorance  so  brutal  that 
it  could  not  be  credited  in  America 
— is  that  justice  ?  The  very  tone 
adopted  by  a  large  proportion  of 
our  upper  and  upper-middle  class 
people  in  speaking  of  strikes  is 
often  revoltingly  unjust.  It  is 
scarcely  justice  that  a  cottager  who 
sees  a  hare  in  his  garden  destroy* 
ing  his  produce,  and  knocks  it  on 
the  head,  should  be  branded  as  a 
criminal,  and  thereby  be  very  pro- 
bably ruined  for  life.  Nor  is  it 
exactly  a  thing  to  be  proud  of 
that  in  Scotland  deer  forests  of 
100,000  acres  in  extent  should  be 
kept  without  sheep,  lest  sport 
should  be  spoiled ;  or  that  in  Eng- 
land labour  should  be  drawn  from 
the  fields  to  beat  Norfolk  stubbles 
or  Yorkshire  heather,  that  one 
noble    sportsman    may    slaughter 


712 


On  the  Extension  of  Batlwcufs  in  America^ 


[Jtme 


with  his  own  hands  some  900  birds 
in  one  day.  Is  the  tenure  of  onr 
land,  or  the  state  of  onr  great 
nniyersities,  or  our  method  of  re- 
presentation, free  from  the  grossest 
mjnstice  P  And  yet,  where  we  have 
BO  many  crying  needs  of  reform,  we 
are  told  that  the  bnming  questions 
of  the  day  and  the  rallying  cries  of 
a  great  party  are  the  Central  Asian 
difficulty,  the  maintenance  of  the 
aristocratic  element  in  oar  institu- 
tions, the  sacredness  of  endow- 
ments; and  some  people  regard  our 
Gonseryatiye  statesmen  as  honestly 
deyoting  themselyes  to  what  they 
belieye  to  be  the  best  interests  of 
their  countrymen  in  proposing  to 
attract  the  public  attention  mainly 
to  such  issues.  But  if  by  means  of 
a  co-operatiye  emigration  organisa- 
tion our  labouriog  classes  could 
haye  conyeyed  to  them  an  accurate 
conception  of  the  conditions  of  life 
in  America,  they  might  perhaps  be 
not  unwilling  to  proye  on  their  own 
yile  bodies  which  is  in  reality  the 
more  corrupt  state,  so  far  as  they 
are  concerned. 

It  may  perhaps  be  too  late  for 


those  of  our  hewers  of  wood  and 
drawers  of  water  who  are  already 
in  their  prime  of  life  to  undentand 
eyen  in  the  dimmest  fashion  wbai 
the  yery  highest  priyileges  of  being 
an  Englishman  really  are;  but  their 
children  in  America  may  haye  a  fiur 
start  with  all  other  classes  of  men; 
they  will  at  any  rate  all  learn  to 
read  and  write  the  language  which 
makes  all  the  Eoghsh-speaking 
races  kin,  and  which  enables  them 
all  to  partake  equally  in  the  noblest 
common  traditions. 

That  this  should  be  a  real  possibi- 
lity for  eyery  class ;  that  a  nearer 
equality  between  capital  and  labour 
should  be  a  dominant  condition; 
that  there  should  be  the  wide  elbow- 
room  iiti&t  alone  can  annihilate  caste, 
and  that  alone  can  giye  scope  to  the 
experiments  that  are  bemg  now 
tried  on  a  small  scale  in  Engbmdto 
eleyate  by  co-operation  the  status  of 
our  agricultural  population:  these 
are  the  greater,  die  wider  'poten- 
tialities' that  eyery  mile  of  new 
American  railroad  built  brings  a 
step  nearer  to  practical  attam- 
ment. 


1873] 


713 


THE  FABLE   OF   THE  BEES. 


F  speaking  of  Shaftesbury,  in  a 
recent  number  of  this  Magazine, 
I  remarked  that  his  most  complete 
antithesis  was  Bernard  de  Mande- 
ville,  author  of  the  Fable  of  the  Bees. 
Between  them  the  two  writers  give 
a  very  fair  summary  of  the  ethical 
tendencies  of  the  eighteenth  century 
freethinkers  in  England.  They  are 
treated  as  joint  opponents  of  ortho- 
doxy in  several  controversial  writ- 
ings of  the  times,  as,  for  example, 
in  Berkeley's  Mvimte  PhilosopJier,  in 
a  very  able  essay  on  the  Gharacter- 
istics  by  John  Brown,  better  known 
as  the  author  of  the  Estimate,  and 
in  that  amorphous  mass  of  dis- 
sertation which  Warburton  called 
a  Demonstration  of  the  Divine  Lega- 
tion of  Moses.  Their  theories  are 
the  Scylla  and  Charybdis  between 
which  it  was  a  dehcate  matter  to 
steer  a  straight  course.  Agreeing 
in  refuting  the  teaching  of  divines, 
they  are  at  the  opposite  poles  of 
speculation  in  all  else;  and  it  was 
some  consolation  to  the  orthodox 
that  two  such  enemies  of  the  faith 
might  be,  more  or  less,  trusted  to 
neutralise  each  other.  Their  rela- 
tions to  each  other  and  to  their 
common  enemies  illustrate  some  of 
the  problems  which  were  then  agi- 
tating men's  minds.  The  agitation 
has  not  quite  subsided. 

Mandeville  published  the  Fable 
of  the  Bees  in  17 14,  three  years 
after  the  appearance  of  the  Cha/rac- 
ierisiics.  It  opens  with  a  doggrel 
poem,  setting  forth  that  a  hive  of 
bees,  once  thriving  and  vicious, 
lost  its  prosperity  together  with 
its  vice  on  a  sudden  reformation. 
A  line  or  two  from  the  conclusion 
gives  the  pith  of  the  doctrine : 

Then  leare  complaiDts:  fools  only  striye 
To  make  a  great  an  honest  hive — 
To  enjoy  the  world's  conveniences, 
Be  famed  in  war,  yet  lire  in  ease, 
Without  great  vices,  is  a  vain 
Utopia,  seated  in  the  brain. 


A  comment  follows  expounding 
this  cynical  theory  in  detail.  In 
subsequent  editions,  for  the  Fable 
enjoyed  a  wide  popularity  for  many 
years,  were  added  various  explana- 
tions and  defences  of  the  doctrine. 
In  1723  the  book  was  presented  as 
a  nuisance  by  the  Grand  Juiy  of 
Middlesex.  Observing,  says  that 
respectable  body,  with  the  *  greatest 
sorrow  and  concern,'  the  many 
books  published  almost  every  week 
by  impious  and  licentious  writers, 
whose  'principles  have  a  direct 
tendency  to  the  subversion  of  all 
religion  and  civil  government,  our 
duty  to  the  Almighty,  our  love 
to  our  country,  and  regard  to  our 
oaths,  oblige  us  to  present '  the 
publisher  of  the  Fable  of  the  Bees^ 
and  thereby,  as  it  would  appear,  to 
give  him  a  useful  advertisement. 

No  harm  followed  to  Mandeville 
in  person.  His  reputation,  however, 
was  gibbeted  in  all  the  respectable 
writings  of  the  day;  his  name  be- 
came a  bye- word,  and  his  book  was 
regarded  as  a  kind  of  pothouse  edi- 
tion of   the    arch-enemy  Hobbes. 
The  indignation  was  not  unnatural. 
Mandeville  is  said  to  have  been  in 
the    habit    of   frequenting    coffee- 
houses and  amusing  his  patrons  by 
ribald     conversation.      The     book 
smells  of  its  author's  haunts.     He 
is  a  cynical  and  prurient  writer, 
who  shrinks  from  no  jest,  however 
scurrilous,  and    from  no   paradox, 
however    grotesque,   calculated   to 
serve  the  object — which  he  avows 
in  his  preface  to  be  his  sole  object — 
of  amusing  his  readers  ;  readers,  it 
may  be  added,  far  from  scrupulous 
in  their  tastes.      And  yet,  with  all 
Mandeville's  brutality,  there  runs 
through  his  pages  a  vein  of  shrewd 
sense  which  gives  a  certain  pun- 
gency to  his  rough  assaults  on  the 
decent  theories  of  life.    Nay,  there 
are    many  remarks    indicative    of 
some  genuine  philosophical  acute- 


714 


The  Fable  of  tlie  Bees. 


[Jmffi 


ness.  A  hearty  contempt  for  the 
hamhugs  of  this  world,  and  a  resolu- 
tion not  to  be  blinded  by  its  pro- 
fessions, are  not  in  themselves  bad 
things.  When,  indeed,  a  man  in- 
cludes amongst  the  humbugs  every- 
thing which  passes  with  others  for 
virtue  and  purity,  his  teaching  is 
repulsive  ;  though,  even  in  such 
a  case,  we  may  half  forgive  a 
writer  like  Swift,  whose  bitter- 
ness proves  that  he  has  not  parted 
from  his  illusions  without  a  cruel 
pang.  Mandeville  shares  Swift's 
contempt  for  the  human  race, 
but  his  contempt,  instead  of  urg- 
ing hiTn  to  the  confines  of  mad- 
ness, finds  easy  vent  in  a  horse- 
laugh. He  despises  himself  as  well 
as  his  neighbours,  and  is  content  to 
be  despicable.  He  is  a  scoffer,  not  a 
misanthrope.  You  are  all  Yahoos, 
he  seems  to  say,  and  I  am  a  Yahoo ; 
and  so — let  us  eat,  drink,  and  be 
merry. 

Mandeville's  view  of  the  world 
is  thus  the  reverse  of  the  superfine 
philosophy  of  Shaftesbury.  For 
the  dignified  he  substitutes  the 
bestial  theory  of  human  nature; 
and  in  perfect  consiBtency  he 
speaks  with  bitter  ridicule  of  his 
opponent.  *  Two  systems,'  he  says, 
*  cannot  be  more  opposite  than  his 
lordship's  and  mine.'  '  The  hunting 
after  this  ptdchrv/m  et  honestum,' 
which  with  Lord  Shi^tesbury 
should  be  the  sole  object  of  human 
life,  'is  not  much  better  than  a 
wild-goose  chase  ;'  and  if  we  come 
to  facts,  '  there  is  not  a  quarter  of 
the  wisdom,  solid  knowledge,  and 
intrinsic  worth  in  the  world  that 
men  talk  of  and  compliment  one 
another  with;  and  of  virtue  and 
religion  there  is  not  an  hundredth 
part  in  reality  of  what  there  is  in 
appearance.'  The  frankness  with 
which  this  opinion  is  uttered,  is 
rarer  than  the  opinion  itself.  Man- 
deville is  but  a  coarse  and  crude 
interpreter  of  a  doctrine  which  is 
not  likely  to  disappear  for  want  of 
disciples.      He  prides  himself  on 


being  a  shrewd  man  of  the  world, 
whose  experience  has  amply  de- 
monstrated the  folly  of  statesmen 
and  the  hypocrisy  of  churchmen, 
and  from  whom  all  that  beaatifiil 
varnish  of  flimsy  philosophy  viti 
which  we  deceive  each  other  is 
unable  to  cover  the  vileness  of  the 
underlying  materials.  He  will  not 
be  beguiled  from  looking  at  ik 
seamy  side  of  things.  Man,  as  theolo- 
gians tell  us,  is  corrupt ;  nay,  it  woald 
be  difficult  for  them  to  exaggerate 
his  corruption ;  but  the  hearen 
which  iiiey  throw  in  by  way  of  con- 
solation is  tacitly  understood  to  be 
a  mere  delusion,  and  the  snp^- 
natural  guidance  to  which  they  bid 
us  trust,  an  ingenious  device  for 
enforcing  their  own  authoritj. 
Tell  your  fine  stories,  he  says  in 
effect,  to  school-girls  or  todcTotees; 
don't  try  to  pass  them  off  upon  me, 
who  have  seen  men  and  cities,  and 
not  taken  my  notions  fix)m  books  or 
sermons.  There  is  a  part  of  our  na- 
ture which  is  always  flattered  by  the 
bold  assertion  that  our  idols  are 
made  of  dirt ;  and  MandeTille  was 
a  sagacious  sycophant  of  those 
baser  instincts. 

The  paradox  which  has  given 
his  book  its  chief  notoriety  is  that 
which  is  summed  np  in  the  alterna- 
tive title.  Private  vices,  pitblic  hfUf^ 
fits.  The  fallacy  which  lies  at  tk 
base  of  his  economical  sophistries 
is,  one  might  suppose,  safficientJy 
transparent;  and  yet  it  not  only 
puzzled  the  ablest  thinkers  of  the 
day,  but  enjoys  a  permanent  popu- 
larity. In  slightly  altered  forms  it 
is  constantly  reappearing,  and  re- 
peated confutation  never  seems  to 
kill  it  at  the  root.  The  doctrine 
is,  in  general  terms,  that  consump- 
tion instead  of  saving  is  beneficial 
to  labourers.  Mandeville  exhausts 
his  ingenuity  in  exhibiting  it  in  tie 
most  extravagant  shapes.  *  It  ^ 
he  declares,  *the  sensual  courtier 
that  sets  no  limits  to  his  Inmij; 
the  fickle  strumpet  that  invents  new 
fashiqns  every  week;  the  haughty 


1873] 


The  Fable  of  the  Bees, 


715 


duchess  that  in  equipage,  entertain- 
ments and  all  her  behaviour  would 
imitate  a  princess  ;  the  profuse  rake 
and  lavish  heir,  that  scatter  about 
their  money  without  wit  or  judg- 
ment, buy  everything  they  see,  and 
either  destroy  or  give  it  away  the 
next  day;  iie  covetous  and  per- 
jured villain,  that  squeezed  an  im- 
mense treasure  from  the  tears  of 
widows  and  orphans,  and  left  the 
prodigals  the  money  to  spend  ;  it  is 
these  that  are  the  proper  food  of 
the  ftdl-grown  Leviathan;'  we  re- 
quire them  in  order  to  set  all  varie- 
ties of  labour  to  work,  and  *  to  pro- 
cure an  honest  livelihood  to  the 
vast  numbers  of  working  poor  that 
are  required  to  make  a  large  so- 
ciety.' The  doctrine,  however  ex- 
travagantly stated,  is.  only  a  logical 
development  of  that  which  is  put 
forward  whenever  a  body  of  labour- 
ers is  thrown  out  of  work  by  a 
change  of  fashion.  Nobody  would 
now  commend  actual  vice,  but  we 
have  quite  recently  seen  a  defence  of 
luxury  on  the  ground  that  it  em- 
ploys labour.  The  *  sensual  cour- 
tier '  indeed  is  not  excused,  but  the 
rich  noble  who  lives  in  superfluous 
state  is  exhorted  to  lay  to  his  soul 
the  flattering  unction  that  he  is  pro- 
viding employment  for  the  trades- 
men who  supply  his  wants.  Politi- 
cal  economists  have  shown  the 
fallacy  of  such  arguments ;  but 
their  refutation  is  constantly  re- 
garded as  a  gratuitous  paradox. 

The  sophistry  is  indeed  forced  to 
conceal  itself  more  carefully  at  the 
present  day;  for  Mandeville  dehghts 
in  following  it  with  perverse  inge- 
nuity to  its  furthest  consequences. 
He  pronounces  the  Reformation  to 
have  been  scarcely  more  efficacious 
in  promoting  the  national  prosperity 
than  '  the  sUly  and  capricious  in- 
vention  of  hooped  and  quilted  petti- 
coats.' 'Eeiigion,'  he  adds,  'is 
one  thing,  and  trade  is  another. 
He  that  gives  most  trouble  to 
thousands  of  his  neighbours  and 
invents    the    most  operose  manu- 


factures is,  right  or  wrong,  the 
greatest  friend  to  society.'  Nay, 
he  manages  to  cap  these  extrava- 
gances by  arguing  that  even  the 
destruction  of  capital  may  be  use- 
ful *The  Fire  of  London  was  a 
great  calamity,  but  if  the  carpenters, 
bricklayers,  smiths,'  and  others  set 
at  work,  *  were  to  vote  against  those 
who  lost  by  the  fire,  the  rejoicings 
would  equal  if  not  exceed  the  com- 
plaints.' Foolish  paradoxes,  it  may 
be  said,  are  useful  at  most  in  so 
far  as  an  extravagant  statement  of 
a  foolish  theory  may  help  to  bring 
about  its  collapse.  And  yet  the 
writer  who  expounded  such  glaring 
absurdities  was  capable  of  occa- 
sionally attacking  a  commercial 
fallacy  with  great  success,  and  of 
anticipating  the  views  of  later  and 
more  eminent  authorities.  Thus, 
for  example,  though  he  cannot 
shake  himself  free  from  the  supersti- 
tion that  the  imports  of  a  nation 
should  not  be  allowed  to  exceed 
the  exports,  he  attacks  certain  cur- 
rent theories  upon  the  subject  by 
arguments  which  only  require  fur- 
ther extension  to  lead  to  a  sound 
conclusion ;  and  he  illustrates  the 
advantages  of  division  of  labour, 
not,  indeed,  with  the  felicity  of 
Adam  Smith,  but  in  such  a  way  as 
to  show  an  apprehension  of  the 
principle  at  least  equally  clear. 
Mandeville,  in  fact,  is  not  a  mere 
dealer  in  absurdities.  He  has  over- 
laid a  venr  sound  and  sober  thesis 
with  paradoxes  in  which  probably 
he  only  half  believed.  When  form- 
ally defending  himself,  he  can 
represent  his  arguments  as  purely 
ironical.  He  confesses,  in  a  vindi- 
cation against  the  Grand  Jury,  that 
he  has  stated  in  plain  terms  '  that 
what  we  call  evil  in  this  world, 
moral  as  well  as  natural,  is  the 
grand  principle  that  makes  us  socia- 
ble creatures ;  the  solid  basis,  the 
life  and  support  of  all  trades  and 
employments  without  exception ; 
that  there  we  must  look  for  the 
true  origin  of  all  arts  and  sciences  ; 


716 


The  FaJble  of  the  Bees. 


[June 


and  that  the  moment  evil  ceases, 
the  society  must  be  spoiled  if  not 
totally  dissolved.'     The  phrase,  he 
admits,  has  an  awkward  sound ;  but 
had  he  been  writing  for  persons 
unable  to  read  between  the  lines, 
he  would  have  explained  in  good 
set  terms  that  his  only  meaning 
was  that  *  every  want  was  an  evil ; 
that  on  the  multiplicity  of  those 
wants  depended  all  those  mutual 
services  which  individual  members 
of  society  pay  to  each  other,  and 
that  consequently  the  greater  va- 
riety there  was  of  wants,  the  larger 
number  of  individuals  might  find 
their  private  interest  in  labouring 
for  the  good  of  others,  and  united 
together  compose  one  body.'     The 
streets  of  London,  according  to  his 
own  illustration,  will  grow  dirtier 
as  long  as  trade  increases  ;  and  to 
make  his  pages  attractive,  he  had 
expressed  this  doctrine  as  though 
he  took  the  dirt  to  be  the  cause  in- 
stead of  the  necessary  consequence 
of  the  wealth.    The  fallacy,  indeed, 
is  too  deeply  embedded  in  his  argu- 
ment to  be  discarded  in  this  sum- 
mary fashion.     The  doctrine   that 
the  heir  who  scatters,  and  not  the 
miser    who    accumulates    savings, 
really  sets  labour  at  work,  was  so 
much  in  harmony  with  the  ideas 
of  that  age,  that  even  Berkeley's 
acuteness  could  suggest  no  better 
answer  than  the  statement  that  an 
honest    man    generally    consumes 
more  than  a  knave.    There  is,  how- 
ever, a  core  of  truth  in  the  sophistry. 
Large  expenditure  is  an  evil  so  far  as 
it  indicates  that  consumption  is  out- 
mnning  accumulation;   it  may  be 
called  a  good  sign  so  far  as  it  indi- 
cates that  large  accumulations  render 
large  consumption  possible.  Mande- 
vi  lie,  confusing  the  two  cases,  attacks 
in  the  same  breath  the  frugal  Dutch- 
man who  saves  in  order  to  supply 
future  wants,  and  the  savage  who, 
consuming  little,  yet  consumes  all 
that    he  produces,    and    produces 
little  because  he  has  no  tastes  and 
feels  no   wants.      As   against  the 


savage,  his  remarks  are  correct 
enough.  The  growth  of  new  de- 
sires is  clearly  an  essential  condition 
towards  the  improvement  of  sociew, 
and  every  new  desire  brings  new 
evils  in  its  train.  Indeed,  there  is 
only  too  much  to  be  said  for  the 
theory,  when  thus  stripped  of  its 
paradoxical  dress.  The  streets  of 
London,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
streets  of  New  York,  grow  most 
undeniably  dirty  as  a  fuller  stream 
of  commerce  flows  through  them, 
and  leaves  behind  its  questionable 
deposits.  An  increased  cultiratioa 
of  wheat  is  also  unpleasantly  fayoar- 
able  to  the  growth  of  tares ;  and 
it  is  in  vain  that  our  economical 
optimists  repudiate  all  responsibiliiy 
for  the  evils  which  inevitably  ac- 
company the  blessings  they  pro- 
mise.  If,  however,  MandeTille  had 
confined  himself  to  this  modest 
assertion,  he  would  have  fallen 
into  the  ordinary  jog-trot  of  the 
moralists  who  denounce  an  eicf^ 
sive  passion  for  wealth.  It  was 
pleasanter  and  more  exciting  to 
give  a  different  turn  to  his  doctrine. 
To  make  an  omelette  you  mnst  break 
eggs;  don't  deny  in  words  what 
you  preach  by  practice;  admit 
ft'ankly  that  the  gain  is  worth  the 
mischief ;  and  it  is  but  a  step  &r- 
ther  to  say  that  the  mischief  is  the 
cause  of  the  gain. 

The  moral  side  of  this  edifying 
doctrine  involves  a  similar  am- 
biguity. MandeviUe  may  be  de- 
scribed as  accepting  the  altematire 
forced  upon  us  by  ascetic  moralists. 
Worldliness,  they  say,  is  vice :  let 
us  therefore  abandon  the  worE 
We  won't  and  can't  abandon  the 
world,  replies  MandeviUe ;  let  us 
be  vicious  and  be  candidly  vicions. 
Accept  in  all  sincerity  the  doctrine 
of  contempt  for  wealth,  with  the 
fundamental  theorem  on  which  it 
reposes,  that  the  natural  passioas 
are  bad ;  and  we  should  be  virtnwis 
and  barbarous.  Accumulation  of 
wealth,  as  the  later  economists  tell 
us,  is  the  natural  base  of  all  ^ 


1873] 


The  Fable  of  the  Bees. 


717 


virtues  of  civilisatioii,  and  the  in- 
dustrial view  of  morality  is  therefore 
opposed  fundamentally  to  the  views 
of  certain  orthodox  preachers. 
Mandeville's  paradox  is  produced 
by  admitting  with  the  divines  that 
the  pursuit  of  wealth  is  radically 
vicious,  and  by  arguing  with  the 
economists  that  it  is  essential  to 
civilisation.  Luxury,  according  to 
his  definition,  should  in  strictness 
include  everything  that  is  not  essen- 
tial to  the  existence  of  a  naked 
savage.  Hence  the  highest  con- 
ceivable type  of  virtue  should  be 
found  in  religious  houses,  whose 
inmates  have  bound  themselves  by 
rigid  vows  of  chastity  and  poverty 
to  trample  the  flesh  under  foot ; 
or  rather  it  would  be  found  there  if 
monks  and  nuns  did  not  cover  the 
vilest  sensuality  under  a  mask  of 
hypocrisy,  an  opinion  which  has 
been  confirmed  by  the  evidence  of 
'many  persons  of  eminence  and 
learning.'  He  would  subscribe  to 
Dr.  Newman's  opinion  that  in  the 
humble  monk  and  the  holy  nun  are 
to  be  found  the  only  true  Uhristians 
after  the  Scripture  pattern,  if  he 
could  believe  that  holiness  and 
humility  were  ever  more  than 
shams.  Now  the  ideal  of  a  Trap- 
pist  monk  is  plainly  incompatible 
with  the  development  of  an  indus- 
trious community. 

From  the  same  theory  follows 
logically  the  denial  of  the  name 
of  virtue  to  every  practice  which 
is  prompted  by  natural  instinct. 
Thus,  for  example,  the  force  of 
maternal  love  appears  to  the  ordi- 
nary moralist  to  be  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  of  human  instincts. 
Mandeville  with  perverse  inge- 
nuity twists  it  into  a  proof  that 
all  virtue  is  factitious.  You  cry 
out,  he  says,  with  horror  at  the 
-woman  who  commits  infanticide. 
Sat  the  same  w^omau  who  murders 
her  illegitimate  child  may  show  the 
utmost  tenderness  to  her  lawful 
offspring.  As  a  murderess  and  as 
a  good  mother  she  is  equally  ac- 


tuated by  the  self-love  which  is 
really  the  spring  of  all  our  actions. 
The  murder  is  produced  by  a  sense 
of  shame  ;  destroy  the  shame,  and 
you  suppress  the  crime ;  the  most 
dissolute  women  are  scarcely  ever 
guilty  of  this  sin.  A  mother's  love 
is  produced  not  by  any  force  of 
principle,  but  by  the  operation  of 
natural  instincts.  The  *  vilest  wo- 
men have  exerted  themselves  on 
this  head  as  violently  as  the  best.' 
Now  '  there  is  no  merit  in  pleasing 
ourselves,'  &nd  indeed  an  excessive 
love  for  children  is  often  their  ruin, 
which  shows  that  it  is  prompted  by 
a  desire  for  our  own  welfare  and  not 
for  the  happiness  of  our  children. 
Imagine  yourself,  he  suggests,  to 
be  locked  up  in  a  room  looking 
upon  a  yard  through  a  grated  win- 
dow; suppose  that  you  saw  in  it  a 
pretty  child  of  two  or  three  years 
at  play;  and  that  a  *  nasty  over- 
grown sow '  came  in  and  frightened 
file  poor  child  out  of  its  wits.  You 
would  do  all  you  could  to  frighten 
it  away.  But  if  the  overgrown  sow, 
being  in  a  famished  condition,  were 
to  proceed  to  tear  the  helpless  in- 
fant to  pieces,  whilst  you  looked  on 
without  the  power  to  interfere,  none 
of  the  passions  vaunted  by  moralists 
would  equal  your  sensations  of 
pity  and  indignation.  What  is  the 
inference?  That  there  would  be 
no  need  of  virtue  or  self-denial  to 
be  moved  at  such  a  scene,  and  that 
not  only  a  humane  man,  but  a  high- 
wayman, a  housebreaker,  or  a  mur- 
derer would  feel  the  same.  This 
pity,  therefore,  is  a  mere  counterfeit 
of  charity.  It  comes  in  through 
the  eye  or  ear ;  and  if  we  read  of 
three  or  four  hundred  men  being 
killed  or  drowned  at  a  distance,  we 
are  not  really  more  moved  than  at 
a  tragedy.  Reason  would  tell  us 
to  grieve  equally  for  the  sufferings 
which  we  see  and  for  those  which 
we  do  not  see;  but  the  vehement 
emotion  of  piiy  is  only  caused  by 
the  painful  objects  which  imme- 
diately assail  our  senses.    It  is  the 


718 


The  Fable  of  the  Bees. 


[June 


rising  of  the  gorge  at  an  offensive 
sight,  not  a  deep-seated  intellectual 
motive.  In  the  same  spirit,  he 
argues  inth.  offensive  coarseness 
that  modesty  is  merely  a  sham. 
'  Virtue  bids  us  subdue,  but  good 
breeding  only  requires  that  we 
should  conceal  our  appetites.'  Good 
breeding  involves  no  self-denial; 
but  only  teaches  us  to  gratify  our 
sensuaHty  according  to  the  custom 
of  the  country;  and  a  man  may 
wallow  in  all  kinds  of  indulgence 
and  be  sure  that  he  will  have  *  all 
the  women  and  nine-tenths  of  the 
men  on  his  side.' 

Once  more,  theologians  condemn 
the  military  as  well  as  the  industrial 
passions;  and  here,  too,  they  are 
merely  covering  over  our  brutal 
natural  passions  with  a  flimsy  veil, 
and  affecting  to  condemn  what 
everybody  knows  to  be  essential  to 
the  welfare  of  society.  Duelling, 
for  example,  is  forbidden  by  law, 
and  is  yet  essential  to  that  code  of 
honour  without  which  there  would 
be  no  living  in  a  large  society. 
Why  should  a  nation  grudge  to  see 
some  half-dozen  men  sacnflced  in 
a  year  '  to  obtain  so  valuable  a  bless- 
ing as  the^  politeness  of  manners,  the 
pleasure  of  conversation,  and  the 
happiness  of  company  in  general,' 
whilst  it  exposes  tiiousands  of  lives 
for  an  end  which  may  often  do  no 
good  at  all  ?  Religion  bids  you  leave 
revenge  to  God;  honour  bids  you 
reserve  it  scrupulously  for  yourself; 
religion  forbids  and  honour  com- 
mands murder  ;  religion  orders  you 
to  turn  the  other  cheek,  honour  to 
quarrel  for  a  trifle;  'religion  is 
built  on  humility,  honour  on  pride ; 
how  to  reconcile  them  must  be 
left  to  wiser  heads  than  mine.'  The 
argument  is  pointed  by  an  elaborate 
portrait,  which  curiously  recalls 
BichardEon's  ideal  hero.  He  de- 
scribes Sir  Charles  Grandison  by 
anticipation.  He  sets  before  us  a 
flne  gentleman  of  the  highest  type, 
lavish  in  his  expenditure,  but  al- 
ways guided  by  the  most  exquisite 


taste ;  cheerful  and  cordial  in  his 
demeanour;  and  yet  never  omitting 
due  courtesy  to  the  meanest  of  ti 
guests ;  solid  as  well  as  amnsbg  in 
his  conversation,  and  never  usin^ 
an  indecent  or  a  profane  word: 
careful  in  his  religious  obsenranoe;!, 
charitable  to  the  poor,  a  father  tu 
his  tenants,  a  liberal  but  strictly 
just  master  to  his  servants,  ad 
in  that  capacity  remarkable  for  tLi> 
special  touch  of  good  sense,  that  If 
never  allows  them  to  accept  gratoities 
from  his  visitors  on  any  pretence. 
What,  then,  is  to  bo  said  against 
this  pattern  of  all  the  virtues  of  i 
gentleman  ?  Mandeville  replies  bj 
putting  the  same  dilemma  which  so 
terribly  puzzled  Richardson.  Sap- 
pose  our  spotless  hero  to  receiTe  &n 
insult  from  somebody  of  equal 
position  but  of  less  self-commani 
What  will  he  do  ?  Obey  the  lairs 
of  God,  and  submit ;  or  ihe  laws  of 
honour,  which  have  at  most  the 
force  of  an  oral  tradition  ?  Richard- 
son evades  the  problem  by  endow- 
ing his  hero  with  a  skill  of  fence 
equally  remarkable  with  his  other 
superlative  excellences.  Mandeville 
equally  assumes  that  his  Grandison 
will  flght,  and  allows  no  evasion  of 
this  ratherna^  variety.  The  hero's 
conduct  supplies  a  crucial  experi- 
ment, showing  what  is  the  ultimate 
law  by  which  he  is  g^ded  The 
ridicule  of  his  equals  and  the  mob 
will  have  more  weight  with  him 
than  the  fear  of  hell.  In  other 
words,  pride  is  the  dominant  prin- 
ciple of  his  nature.  It  is  the  Protean 
passion  which  really  acconnts  for 
the  whole  system  of  behaviour 
which  we  have  so  much  admired. 
Christianity  and  honour  lay  down 
two  different  codes.  Where  they 
conflict,  all  gentlemen  unhesiiftting-  | 
ly  obey  the  code  of  honour.  If  to 
covet  honour,  as  Shakespeare  ps^ 
it,  be  a  sin,  then  clearly  tiie  men  of 
honour  are  the  most  offending  kh^  I 
alive.  We  are  like  Catholics  in  > 
Protestant  coxmtry,  who  cannot  be 
trusted  because  they  pay  all^fianoe  to 


1873] 


The  FcMe  of  the  Bees, 


719 


another  than  their  lawful  sovereign. 
Hide  it  £rom  ourselyes  as  we  may, 
the  master  whom  we  really  obey 
is  not  God,  bat  pubho  opinion. 
This  theory  of  Mandeville's  per- 
haps snggested  some  of  Pope's 
keenest  satire.  It  is  a  systematic 
statement  of  the  poet's  pet  doctrine 
of  the  Rnling  Passion. 
Search,  then,  the  ruling  passion ;  there  alone 
The  wild  are  constant,  and  the  cunning 

known ;     « 
The  fool  consistent,  and  the  &lse  sincere  ; 
Priests,  princes, 'women  no    dissemblers 

here: 
This  due  once  found  unrayels  all  the  rest. 
The  prospect  clears,  and  Wharton  stands 

confest. 

The  same  theory,  according  to 
Mandeyille,  will  include  not  only 
Wharton  and  Marlborough  and 
Chartres  and  Bolingbroke,  bat 
Berkeley  and  Addison  (the  *  parson 
in  a  tie-wig,'  as  Mandeyille  called 
him),  and  all  the  saints  and  moral- 
ists, as  well  as  the  sinners  and 
blasphemers  of  the  age.  The  love 
of  honour  is  our  one  principle,  and 
love  of  honour  is  merely  a  decent 
periphrasis  for  a  desire  to  gratify 
our  vanity.  The  gentleman  values 
himself  on  his  fidelity  to  his  word. 
*The  rake  and  scoundrel  brag  of 
their  vices,  and  boast  of  their  im- 
pndence.'  In  both  the  fundamental 
principle  is  the  same. 

The  argument  is,  in  one  sense,  a 
mere  juggle.  The  artifice  is  trans- 
parent. Pride  is  a  dyslogistic  epi- 
thet given  to  a  natural  passion, 
which  may  be  good  or  bad.  Call 
it  self-respect,  and  the  paradox 
vanishes.  To  desire  the  sympathy 
and  praise  of  our  fellow-creatures 
is  not  a  bad  motive,  though  it  may 
accidentally  come  into  collision  wiih 
virtuous  desires.  To  say  that  the 
vilest  have  natural  affections  is  not 
to  prove  that  the  natural  affections 
are  a  sham,  but  that  there  is  virtue 
even  in  the  most  abandoned.  Be- 
neath the  paradoxical  outside,  how- 
ever, there  Hes  a  rough  protest 
against  tiie  old  theological  dogmas. 
Human   nature  rises  against  the 


theory  which  pronounces  it  to  be 
hopelessly  corrupt,  and  which,  by 
a  logical  consequence,  proceeds  to 
estimate  all  virtue  by  the  degree 
in  which  natural  instmcts  are  sup- 
pressed. Mandeville  may  be  inter- 
preted as  refusing  to  accept  the 
monastic  ideal  of  virtue ;  tkough 
his  refusal  certainly  takes  an  awk- 
ward form.  Your  theologians,  he 
says,  have  endeavoured  to  cramp 
men's  intellects  and  to  eradicate 
their  passions.  Possibly  you  may 
have  fitted  them  for  ano&er  world, 
but  you  have  certainly  incapacitated 
them  for  this.  You  exiled  the 
masculine  virtues  from  the  sickly 
and  attenuated  forms  of  Catholic 
saints  and  hermits ;  but  secular  life 
cannot  be  carried  on  without  them. 
The  code  of  honour  expresses  an 
attempt  of  the  native  vigour  of  the 
race  to  break  the  fetters  with 
which  priests  would  shackle  it. 
Our  spiritual  physicians,  as  Mande- 
ville understood  them,  proposed  to 
bleed  us,  like  so  many  Sangrados, 
till  we  were  fitted  for  a  diet  of 
herbs  and  water ;  and  to  justify  the 
operation,  they  assured  us  that  our 
blood  was  vitiated  and  corrupt. 
Mandeville  says  that  if  we  would 
enjoy  robust  health  we  cannot  af- 
ford to  lose  a  drop  of  blood ;  but 
instead  of  inferring  that  the  blood 
is  not  corrupt,  he  infers  that  cor- 
ruption is  good.  Brand  all  enjoy- 
ment as  vice,  and  the  natural  effect 
of  establishing  an  indeHble  associa- 
tion will  be  an  avowed  justification 
of  vicious  enjoyment.  Mandevilles 
are  the  inevitoble  antithesis  to  an 
overstrained  asceticism ;  and  we 
may  so  far  sympathise  to  some  ex- 
tent with  his  refusal  to  be  mutilated 
to  suit  the  fancies  of  priests. 

Mandeville,  however,  goes  farther. 
Wilfully,  or  deceived  by  his  own 
selfishness,  he  declares  that  this 
code  of  honour,  and  indeed  that 
morality  generally,  is  a  mere  sham. 
He  opens  the  commentary  on  his 
verses  by  a  singular  history  of  the 
process  by  which  virtue  first  made 


720 


The  Fable  of  the  Bees. 


[June 


its  appearance  in  the  world.  Certain 
mysterious    *  lawgivers '  —  persons 
wno  appear  in  all  the  theological 
speculations  of  the  time — ^resolved 
for    their     own       base    purposes 
to    invent  virtue.     These     people 
*  thoroughly     examined     all     the 
strength  and  frailties  of  our  nature, 
and  observing  that  none  were  either 
so  savage  as  not  to  be  charmed  with 
praise  or  so  despicable  as  patiently 
to  bear  contempt,  justly  concluded 
that  flattery    must    be  the    most 
powerful  argument  that  could  be 
used   to    exalt   human  creatures.' 
They  extolled  our  superiority  over  the 
other  animals,  and  assured  us  that 
we  were  capable  of  the  most  noble 
achievements ;  and  *  having  by  this 
artful  way  of  flattery  insinuated 
themselves  into  the  hearts  of  men, 
they  began  to  instruct  them  in  the 
notions    of    honour    and    shame.' 
Thus  mankind  became  divided  into 
two  classes:  the   *wild  grovelling 
wretches '  who  pursued  nothing  but 
the  gratification  of  their  own  appe- 
tites, and  the  nobler  creatures  who 
reduced  their  appetites  under  the 
bondage  of  their  reason,  and  thus 
obtained   the  mastery    over   their 
fellows.       Thus    by     'the    skilful 
management   of    waiy  politicians' 
mankind  was  induced  to  stigmatise 
those  actions  which  were  harmful 
to  the  public  as  vicious,  and  to  call 
those  which  were  beneficial  virtuous. 
Even  the  vilest  were  interested  in 
maintaining  this  theory,  inasmuch 
as  they  received  a  share  of  the 
benefits  produced  by  virtue ;  and,  at 
least,  found  their  account  in  repress- 
ing the  competition  of  other  vile 
persons   by    advocating   the    new 
maxims.     The  doctrine  is  summed 
up  in  the  aphorism  that '  the  moral 
virtues  are  the  political  offspring 
which  flattery  begot  upon  pride.' 
This    preposterous    caricature    of 
modem  utilitarianism  is   precisely 
analogous  to    the    ordinary  Deist 
doctrine  that  the  sacred  writings 
were  simple  forgeries.     Virtue,  like 
religion,  was  regarded  as  a  mere 


figment   when   it  was   no  longer 
believed    to    come    straight  from 
heaven.      The     only     ^tematiTe 
admitted  to  the  supernatural  origin 
of  all  the  beliefs  the  possession  of 
which  distinguishes  us  from  beasts 
was    their     deliberate    inventioiL 
Virtue  therefore  naturally  prescntt 
itself  as  a  mere  fashion,  changiiu! 
like  taste  in  dress  or  in  architec- 
ture.    His  argument,  directed  pri- 
marily     against     Shaftesbury,   is 
simply  an  extension  of  that  npon 
which  Locke    had   conferred  cele- 
brity in  the  course  of  his  attack 
upon   innate    ideas.      Shaftesbnij 
had  tried  to  prove  that  the  standard 
of  taste  was  invariable;  and  npon 
that  doctrine  had  founded  Ms  theoir 
of  morality.     Mandeville  plansiblj 
enough  argues  that  it  is  flactnating 
and  uncertain  in  the  highest  degree. 
Sometimes  the  florist  admires  the 
tulip,  at  other  times  the  carnation. 
Beards  are  worn  in  one  countiy  and 
shaved  in  another.  Broad-brimmed 
hats  succeed  narrow  brims,  and  big 
buttons  alternate  with  little  ones. 
'  What  mortal,'  he  asks,  'can decide 
which  is  handsomest  abstract  from 
the  mode  in  being?'     Our  taste  is 
the  ultimate  arbiter,  and  oar  taste 
varies  indefinitely  and  capricionsly. 
Now  *  in  morals  there  is  no  greater 
certainty.'     The  laws  of  marriage 
vary  so  widely  that  what  is  regarded 
as  an  abomination  in  one  ooontiy  is 
considered  as  perfectly  becoming  in 
another.     A  Mahommedan  may  re- 
gard wine  drinking  withan  aversion 
as  great  as  that  which  we  reserve 
for  the  practices  which  'we  most 
abhor ;  and  in  both  cases,  the  horror 
will    be    supposed   to   arise  from 
nature.   Which  is  the  true  religion  ? 
is  the  question  which  has  cansed 
more  harm  than  all  the  other  ques- 
tions put  together.    At  Pekiii,  at 
Constantinople,  and  at  Borne  yoo 
will  receive  three  replies,  utterif 
different,  but  equally  peremptory. 
Is  not  the  search   after  a  single 
standard  a  mere  wild-goose  cbase? 
The  ailment  is  hardly  calculated 


18/3] 


The  Fable  of  the  Bees. 


721 


to  pazele  anyone  at  the  present 
day.  The  believer  in  intuitive 
morality  replies  by  pointing  to 
certain  primary  beliefs  which  nnder- 
lie  the  superficial  variations ;  and  the 
ntilitarian  replies,  as  Berkeley  replied 
in  substance  and  Hume  with  greater 
detail  and  completeness,  by  giving  an 
cxtemaltest  of  morahty.  Since  dif- 
ferent races  have  supposed  different 
actions  to  be  beneficiflJ,  the  standard 
of  morals  has  varied  very  widely ; 
and  since  the  beneficial  tendency  of 
certain  actions  is  palpable,  the 
variation  has  been  confined  within 
certain  limits.  By  this  reply, 
Mandeville,  as  he  had  explicitly 
stated  the  utilitarian  criterion,  should 
have  been  convinced.  His  pur- 
pose, however,  being  simply  to 
startle  the  prejudices  of  his 
readers,  he  was  content  to  dwell 
upon  the  difficulty  without  sug- 
gesting the  answer.  He  was  the 
more  open  to  an  easy  apparent 
refutation;  and,  of  the  answers 
which  he  provoked,  the  most  re- 
markable was  the  singpilarly  clear 
and  vigorous  assault  of  William 
Law.  Law,  now  chiefly  remembered 
for  his  later  divergence  into  mystic- 
ism, was  amongst  the  very  ablest 
controversialists  of  his  age.  Few 
of  his  contemporaries  show  the  same 
vigour  of  reasoning,  and  it  would 
be  hard  to  mention  one  who  can 
stand  beside  him  for  fervid  elo* 
quence.  This  book  was  re-pub- 
lished in  1844  with  a  preface  by  Mr. 
Maurice,  and  it  is  an  amusing  liter- 
ary phenomenon  to  see  Law's  clear 
and  manly  English  interpreted  into 
the  peculiar  dialect  of  his  expounder. 
A  fog  is  drawn  before  the  sun  to  help 
lis  to  read.  Law  makes  short  work  of 
Mandeville's  superficial  sophistries  : 
he  strikes  them  down  ata  single  blow. 
An  action,  he  says,  is  virtuous  '  be- 
cause it  is  in  obedience  to  reason  and 
the  laws  of  God ;  it  does  not  cease 
to  be  so  because  a  body  is  formed 
by  use  or  created  by  disposition 
easy  and  ready  for  the  performance 
of  it.'      On  Mandeville's    strange 

VOL.  VII. — NO.  XLII.     NEW  SERIES. 


hypothesis  that  piiy  was  not  virtu- 
ous because  spontaneous,  'all  habits 
of  virtue  would  be  blameable '  be- 
cause all  such  habits  make  good 
actions  more  spontaneous.  He,  in 
short,  who  practises  virtue  with  the 
least  self-denial  is  the  most  virtu- 
ous man,  for  self-denial  is  not  the 
essence,  but  an  accident  of  virtue. 
Mandeville's  attempt  to  prove  virtue 
to  be  arbitrary  is  met  as  victoriously 
as  his  attempt  to  prove  that  it  is  not 
meritorious.  The  theory  is  self-con- 
tradictory. Science,saysLaw,isonly 
an  improvement  of  those  first  prin- 
ciples which  nature  has  given  us. 
The  mathematician  must  start  from 
axioms  obvious  to  all  mankind.  Take 
them  away  and  the  science  vanishes. 
*  Do  but  suppose  all  to  be  invented, 
and  then  it  will  follow  that  nothing 
could  be  invented  in  any  science.' 
Morality  would  not  be  arbitrary, 
but  inconceivable,  if  we  had  not 
some  primary  perceptions  of  right 
and  wrong.  The  beautiful  theory 
of  a  fiction  started  by  hypothetical 
legislators  is  ingeniously  parodied 
by  a  similar  theory  as  to  the  origin 
of  an  erect  posture.  Some  clever 
philosopher  discovered  that  though 
man  crept  on  the  ground,  he  was 
made  up  of  pride,  and  flattery 
might  set  him  on  his  legs.  They 
told  him  what  a  grovelling  thing  it 
was  to  creep  on  his  legs  like  the 
meanest  animals;  and  thus  they 
'  wheedled  him  into  the  honour  and 
dignity  of  walking  upright  to  serve 
their  own  ambitious  ends,  and  that 
they  might  have  his  hands  to 
be  employed  in  their  drudgery.' 
Virtue  is  no  mere  cheat ;  it  is 
'  founded  in  the  immutable  relations 
of  things,  in  the  perfections  and 
attributes  of  God,  and  not  in  the 
pride  of  man  or  the  craft  of  cunning 
politicians.' 

This,  and  much  more,  is  excellent 
logic — too  good,  one  might  think, 
to  be  thrown  away  upon  such  poor 
game  as  the  big  button  theory  of 
morality.  And  yet  at  this  point 
there  intrudes  a  certain  doubt  as 

30 


722 


The  Fable  of  the  Bees. 


[June 


whether  Law  has  really  struck  the 
vital  point  of  MandeviUe's  theory. 
It  is,  doubtless,  utterly  absurd  to 
suppose  that  men  were  cheated  into 
virtue — as  absurd  as  to  suppose  that 
they  were  cheated  into  an  upright 
posture.  The  doctrine  was  only 
possible,  even  as  an  amusing  para^ 
dox,  in  days  when  men  could 
argue  seriously  that  all  the  prophets 
and  apostles  were  vulgar  impostors. 
It  might  be  summarily  swept  aside 
on  to  the  rubbish  heap,  where  ex* 
tinct  fallacies  decay  till  they  are 
picked  up  for  the  amusement  of 
some  student  of  human  eccentricity. 
But  Law's  reply  seems  to  assume 
that  we  are  driven  to  a  choice  be- 
tween two  alternatives,  neither  of 
which  is  accepted  by  modem 
thinkers.  Strauss  does  not  hold 
that  the  early  Christians  were 
cheats,  any  more  than  he  holds 
them  to  have  been  supematurally 
inspired.  The  doctrines  which  they 
preached  were  the  natural  fruit  of 
the  human  intellect  working  under 
certain  conditions  at  a  given  stage 
of  its  development.  The  same 
change  has  passed  over  speculators 
upon  morality.  If  not  invented,  ityet 
need  not  have  been  revealed.  Man 
was  not  cheated  into  standing  up- 
right, nor  was  he  made  standi^ 
upright;  the  upright  posture  ap- 
pearedata  certain  periodm  thecourse 
of  his  development  from  monkey- 
hood.  Prove,  as  Mandeville  tried  to 
prove,  that  morality  was  originally 
due  to  the  working  of  certain  simple 
passions,  and  it  certainly  will  not 
follow  that  morality  is  a  matter  of 
mere  arbitraiy  fashion,  varying 
indefinitely  in  different  times  and 
countries,  like  the  taste  for  big 
buttons.  We  shall  rather  be  in- 
duced to  accept  another  branch  of 
the  dilenmia.  If  we  go  to  the  root 
of  the  matter,  we  should  rather  say 
that  a  taste  for  big  buttons  wajs 
itself  the  product  of  certain  uniform 
laws,  acting  as  inflexibly  as  those 


which  determine  the  details  of  our 
moral  code.  If  morality  is  &e 
creature  of  £a.shion,  yet  fashion  is 
not  the  creature  of  chance,  far 
chance  has  no  existence.  Sprmging 
from  deeper  and  more  uniform  mo* 
tives  than  those  which  regulate  our 
taste  in  buttons,  it  is  &r  less  nih 
able,  but  it  is  equally  to  be  deduced 
from  the  workings  of  human  nainie 
and  not  from  those  vagae  entities, 
the  'immutable  relations  of  things,' 
nor  yet  from  our  intuitions  of  the 
inconceivable  essence  of  the  Dime 
Nature.  The  Fahle  of  the  Bees,  in 
&ct,  contains,  in  its  crudest  and 
most  offensive  form,  the  germ  of 
what  would  now  be  called  the  de> 
rivative  theory  of  morality,  and 
fidls  into  gratuitous  perpleidt^  hj 
implicitly  assuming  chance  as  an 
objective  reality,  whilst  in  consis- 
tency Mandeville  was  bound  to  be> 
lieve,  and  indeed  actually  professes 
his  belief^  in  the  nniversalitj  of 
natural  laws. 

It  is  here,  in  fact,  that  we  reach 
the  logical  foundation  upon  which 
Mandeville  erected  so  strange  & 
superstructure.  The  will  of  6t)d 
(says  Law)  makes  moral  virtue  onr 
law.  If  we  ask  how  this  will  ap- 
pears, it  is  because  we  know  that 
Ood  is  of  infinite  justice  and  good- 
ness and  truth.  Every  theologian 
must  adnut  that  this  is  the  ulti- 
mate foundation  of  virtae ;  but  the 
ever  recurring  difficulty  cannot  be 
evaded.  Are  God's  justice  and 
goodness  the  same  with  oun? 
Must  we  not  derive  our  knowledge 
of  the  Deity  from  our  moral  ideas 
instead  ofinverting  the  process?  If 
so,  must  we  not  discover  some  ex- 
ternal basis  for  morality,  and,  in  that 
case,  where  is  it  to  be  placed?  Law's 
answer  at  this  time,  when  diiren 
to  his  ultimate  standing-ground, 
would  apparently  have  consisted  in 
an  appeal  to  the  external  evidences 
of  Christianity.^  Snch  thinkers, 
however,  as  Shaflesbuiy  and  Mao- 


1  See  his  answer  to  Tindal's  Christianity  as  M  as  the  OreatUm. 


1873] 


27^6  Fable  of  the  Bees. 


723 


doTille,  who,  agreeing  in  little  else, 
agreed  in  rejecting  or  ignoring  the 
force  of  those  evidences,  were  neces- 
sarily driven  to  a  different  answer. 
liaw,  in  his  anxiety  to  depreciate  na- 
tural religion,  declares  that  the  light 
of  nature  amounts  only  to  a  '  bare 
capacity  of  receiving  good  or  bad 
impressions,  right  or  wrong  opinions 
or  sentiments,  according  to  the  state 
of  the  world  we  fiEtll  into.'  Mande- 
vUle,  sharing  Law's  contempt  for 
limnan  natnre,  would  scarcely  dis- 
pute this  opinion;  but  he  denied 
iv^hat  Law  strennonsly  asserted,  that 
the  light  of  revelation  supplied  the 
defects  of  nature.  He  caJmly  ex- 
idngnishes  both  lights  and  leaves 
us  to  grope  our  way  in  the  dark. 
Shaftesbury,  on  the  contrary,  main- 
tains that  the  light  of  nature  is 
abundantly  sufficient  by  itself.  The 
harmonies  written  everywhere  on 
the  face  of  the  universe  enable  every 
reverent  observer  to  discover  the 
Creator.  We  *  look  through  nature 
tip  to  nature's  Gk>d.'  Lideed,  the 
essence  of  his  theory  is  the  identi- 
fication of  God  with  nature.  His 
Deity  is  not  the  patron  of  a  nation 
or  a  sect,  or  the  inspirer  of  a  priestly 
caste  or  a  set  of  isolated  fanatics, 
but  the  universal,  immanent,  and 
all-pervading  essence.  If  not  quite 
a  Pantheist,  he  protests  against 
that  form  of  theology  which  repre- 
sents God  as  an  internal  mler,  or  as 
only  one  amongst  many  forces, 
though  incomparably  the  most 
powerful  of  aJl.  It  is  here  that  he 
oomes  into  the  most  vital  contrast 
with  Mandeville.  How,  in  fact, 
can  theology  which  makes  God  a 
synonym  with  nature  supply  a 
basis  for  morality  ?  As  Pope  said 
in  the '  licentious  stanza'  afberwards 
omitted  &om  the  Universal  Prayer — 

Can  that  offend  great  nature's  Qod, 
Whidi  nature's  self  inspires  ? 

Nature  is  an  impartial  and  uni- 
versal power:  nature  inspires  hatred 
as  well  as  love ;  and  arms  the  mur- 
derer as  well  as  the  judge.    It  is 


impossible,  instead  of  wrong,  to 
break  the  laws  of  nature ;  and  mo- 
rality understood  as  obedience  to 
natture  sanctions  every  action  that 
ever  was  or  ever  will  be  performed. 
Shaftesbury's  attempt  at  evasion,  by 
calling  some  passions  'unnatural/ 
is  either  nugatory  or  involves  the 
abandonment  of  his  whole  argu- 
ment. The  difficulty  is  that  which, 
in  one  form  or  another,  perplexes 
every  attempt  to  substitute  pure 
Deism  for  revealed  religion.  Na- 
ture is  too  vag^e  a  deity  to  supply 
intelligible  motives  for  action,  or 
to  attract  our  love  and  reverence. 

Butler's  argument,  both  in  the 
Analogy  and  in  the  Sermons^  is  in- 
tended to  meet  this  difficulty.  His 
purpose  is  to  show  that  nature,  when 
rightly  interpreted,  bears  witness 
to  the  existence  of  a  power  external 
to  itself.  We  can  read  the  great 
riddle,  obscurely  indeed,  but  yet  so 
as  to  answer  Pope's  question  satis- 
fitctorily.  Some  things,  he  main^ 
tains,  which  nature's  self  inspires, 
maybe  shown tooffend  great  nature's 
Gtod  most  unequivociuly.  Mande- 
ville, on  the  other  hand,  pronounces 
the  riddle  to  be  hopelessly  insoluble. 
Nature  is  and  ever  must  remain  an 
unknown  god;  *  every  part  of  her 
works,  ourselves  not  excepted,  is 
an  impenetrable  secret  to  us  that 
eludes  all  enquiry.*  The  sufferings 
inflicted  by  nature  are,  with  Butler, 
indications  of  Divine  displeasure; 
with  Mandeville,  parts  of  a  system, 
whose  existence  proves,  indeed,  that 
they  have  some  purpose,  but  leaves 
that  purpose  utterly  unintelligible. 
Nature  makes  animals  feed  upon 
each  other.  Waste  of  life,  cruelty, 
lust,  and  voracity  are  the  engines 
by  which  she  works  out  her  inscru- 
table purposes.  Do  you  presume 
to  blame  them?  ^AR  actions  in 
nature,  abstractly  considered,  are 
equally  indifferent;  and  whatever 
it  may  be  to  individual  creatures, 
to  die  is  not  a  greater  evil  to  this 
earth,  or  the  whole  universe,  than  it 
is  to  be  bom.'  Every  attempt  at  a 
3D  2 


724 


The  Fable  of  the  Bees. 


[Jnnfi 


Bolation  brings  ns  back  to  the  ever- 
lasting  problem  of  ihe  origin  of  evil. 
We  see  millions  of  living  beings 
starved  every  year ;  we  see  the  most 
exquisite  organisms  pat  together 
only  to  be  purposely  wasted.  No- 
thing is  too  good  to  be  eaten  by 
the  vilest  of  its  fellow-creatures. 
A  common  fly,  ho  argues  rather 
quaintly,  is  a  marvellous  piece  of 
workmanship,  and  yet  flies  are  eaten 
in  myriads  by  birds  and  spiders, 
which  are  of  no  use  to  us.  The 
wondrous  harmonies  which  excite 
Shaftesbury's  easy  rhetoric  explain 
nothing.  Look  at  nature  impar- 
tially, and  you  must  confess  that 
admiration  is  balanced  by  horror. 
In  seeking  to  enlarge  our  con- 
ceptions of  Deity,  He  becomes  too 
vague  to  excite  any  human  emotion. 
You  will  not  have  a  God  who  takes 
part  with  a  section  of  the  human 
race ;  and  you  find  it  impossible  to 
esteem  a  God  who  takes  part  with 
virtue  against  vice,  or  with  happi- 
ness against  misery.  When  once 
the  old  anthropomorphic  fancies  are 
abandoned,  nothing  remains  but  a 
gulf  of  ignorance,  across  which 
no  fine  phrases  can  cast  a  trust- 
worthy bridge.  This,  though  it 
expresses  the  general  tendency  of 
Mandeville's  argument,  is  not  quite 
openly  said ;  for,  either  to  blind  his 
purpose,  or  from  real  inconsistency, 
or,  more  probably,  from  love  of 
paradox,  he  introduces  an  argu- 
ment or  two  in  favour  of  Pro- 
vidence, and  even,  ostensibly,  in 
favour  of  the  Divine  origin  of  the 
Pentateuch. 

Perhaps  the  most  oflensive,  cer- 
tainly the  most  original  and  instruc- 
tive, part  of  Mandeville's  reasoning, 
is  in  its  application  to  society.  It 
is  curious  to  find  the  very  questions 
which  now  cause  the  bitterest  discus- 
sions cropping  up,  though  of  course 
in  a  cruder  form,  in  the  pages  of 
Mandeville  and  Shaftesbury.  The 
same  battle  is  still  raging,  though 
the  ground  has  a  little  shifted,  and 
the  combatants  bring  deadlier  wea- 


pons and  greater  stores  of  ammuni- 
tion into  the  field. 

Shaftesbury  ridicules  the  Hob- 
bists  as  modem  metaphysicians 
sneer  at  Mr.  Darwin.  How  did  man 
come  into  the  world  P  Did  he  b^in 
as  a  rudimentary  embryo,  from 
which  presently  sprouted  here  an 
eye,  and  there  an  ear,  and  then  per- 
haps a  tail,  which  luckily  dropped 
off  in  time,  leaving  things,  by  good 
luck,  just  as  they  ought  to  be? 
*  Surely,'  he  says,  *  this  is  the  lowest 
view  of  the  original  affairs  of  human 
kind.'  But  recognise  Providence 
instead  of  chance  as  the  author  of 
the  world,  and  we  must  admit  that 
the  social  affections  are  as  natural 
to  man  as  eyes  and  ears.  Hobbes'a 
state  of  nature  implies  a  chaos  which 
had  no  elements  of  stability.  SocietT, 
too,  must  be  natural  to  man,  and  it 
follows  that  he  never  did  nor*coald 
exist  without  it.  Shaftesbury,  like 
Mr.  Disraeli,  is  plainly  'on  the 
side  of  the  angels,'  and  would  have 
taunted  Mr.  Huxley  with  his  great- 
grandfather the  ape.  Mandeville 
replies  in  the  spirit,  and  sometimes 
with  the  very  arguments,  of  a  mo- 
dem believer  in  natural  selection. 
Of  nature,  as  a  power  apart  from 
the  phenomena  which  it  governs, 
he  knows  nothing;  and  is,  therefore, 
by  no  means  disposed  to  singhjmns 
to  it  after  the  Shaftesbury  fiushion. 
We  can  only  trace  its  purposes  by  its 
performances.  '  Knowing,  a  priori^ 
belongs  to  Gt)d  only.  .  .  .  Wretched 
man,  on  the  contrary,  is  sure  of 
nothing,  his  ovm  existence  not  ex- 
cepted, but  fipom  reasoning'  a  posU" 
riori.*  Experience  tells  ns  that  in 
the  brute  creation  nature's  great 
moving  forces  are  pain,  hunger, 
and  suffering.  Why  i^ould  we  look 
for  anything  different  amongst 
mankind  ?  The  one  great  fact 
which  we  discover  by  observation 
is  that  which  we  have  lately  learnt 
to  call  the  straggle  for  existence. 
Society,  language,  all  that  makes 
us  differ  firpm  brutes,  has  been 
forced  upon  ns  by  the  conflict  be- 


1873] 


The  Fable  of  ilie  Bees, 


725 


tween  onr  self-love  and  the  condi* 
tions  of  oar  existence.     The  first 
thing  that  drove  men  to  associate 
-was  probably   the   dread  of  wild 
beasts,  as  is  testified  by  the  legends 
of    dragons    and  monsters  which 
abound  in  all  ancient  history.     The 
union  was   made  firmer  by  their 
dread  of  each  other.     Pride,  the 
universal  prime  mover,  made  the 
strongest  and  bravest  force  their 
dominion  npon  the  weak  and  cow- 
ardly.    The  third  step  was  the  in- 
vention of  letters,  which  made  per- 
manent laws  possible,  or,  in  other 
-words,  enabled  men  to  take  perma- 
nent precautions  against  the- out- 
breaks of  individual  passions.    Then 
followed   the    division   of   labour, 
which  is   the  natural  product  of 
a  peaceful    stata    of  society,   and 
the  groundwork  of  all  civilisation. 
Heligion  arose  from  the  natural  ten- 
dency of  children  and  savages  to 
attribute  feelings  like  their  own  to 
external    objects ;    or,  in    Comtist 
phraseology,  it  began  with  fetish- 
ism.     Legislators  turned  this  fear 
of    the    invisible    to    account    for 
strengthening  the  authority  of  the 
laws.     Language  is  gradually  de- 
veloped out  of   the  simple  signs 
by  which   even   brutes  can  make 
themselves    mutually    understood. 
Ages  were  doubtless  required  for 
its   development,  and  to  raise  up 
politicians  capable  of  putting  the 
passions  to  their  true  use,  and  fin- 
ally achieving  the  highest  triimiph 
of  turning  *  private  vices  into  public 
benefits.'     It  is  by  slow  degrees  and 
by  a  series  of   successive  failures 
that  the  machinery  which  is  now 
fancied  to  be  the   direct  work  of 
nature  was  gradually  brought   to 
perfection.     *  We  often  ascribe,*  he 
says,  'to  the  excellency  of  man's 
genius,  and  the  depth  of  his  pene- 
tration, what  is  in  reality  owing  to 
length  of  time,  and  the  experience 
of  many  generations,  all  of  them 
very  little   differing  from  one  an- 
other in  natural  parts  and  sagacity  *,' 
a  truth  which  he  ingeniously  illus- 


trates by  the  case  of  a  man-of-war, 
the  mechanism  of  which  is  now  ex- 
plained by  clever  engineers,  but 
which  was  in  fact  put  together  by 
a  steady  application  of  the  rule  of 
thumb. 

Arguments,  such  as  these,  have  a 
strangely  ^miliar  sound.  The  dress 
rather  than  the  substance  is  altered. 
Mandeville  had  not  heard  of  Mr. 
Darwin's  struggle  for  existence ;  he 
had  not  studied  Mr.  Tyler's  investi- 
gations of  savage  life;    he   knew 
nothing  of  Malthus's  laws  of  popu- 
lation or  of  Ricardo's  analysis  of 
the  operations  of  modern  competi- 
tion.    But  the  theory  of  the  world 
which  underlies   his    speculations, 
and  the  method  for  which  it  gives 
foundation,  is  pretty  nearly  iden- 
tical. The  world  is  the  scene  of  ahuge 
struggle  of  units  driven  by  conflicting 
passions,  and  their  mutual  pressure 
gives  for  its  final  result  all  those  com- 
plex social  and  intellectual  products 
which  others  attribute    to    provi- 
dential interference.     Would    you 
unravel  the  plan  of  this  mysterious 
and  shifting  scene,  it  is  in  vain  to 
rely  upon  a  priori  reasonings,  or  to 
fancy  that  you   can   discover  the 
purposes    of  the  hidden    Creator. 
By  observing  the  results  you  can 
discover    how  the  phenomena  are 
generated,  and  what  laws  they  obey ; 
but  why  the  laws  should  be  these, 
and  none  other,  is  beyond  the  reach 
of  our  intelligence.     The  historical 
cause  may  be  discovered  ;  the  final 
cause  is  inscrutable.     The  modem 
man  of  science  and  the  old  reckless 
cynic  agree  in  the  resolution  to  look 
facts  in  the  face,  and  to  reject — 
sometimes    rashly   and  brutally — 
anything  that  is  not  a  hard  tangible 
fact.      Hunger,  lust,   self-love  are 
forms  which  cannot  be  overlooked, 
but  the  finer  creations  of  awe,  reve- 
rence, and  humanity  may  be  dis- 
missed as  mere  phantoms  are  re- 
solved  into  coarser  elements.     If 
you  wish  to  examine  into  the  ori- 
gin of  things,  it  is  extremely  con- 
venient to  discard  as  non-existent 


726 


The  Fcible  of  the  Bees. 


[June 


eveiything  that  defies  a  simple  ana- 
lysis.    And  thus  it  was  tempting 
to  regard  human  beings  as  moving 
exclusively  under  the  influence  of 
brutal  and  selfish  passions,  which 
are  palpable  to  the  most  cursory 
observer,  and  which,  by  a  little  dex- 
terous manipulation,  can  be  made  to 
account  for  everything.     There  is 
certainly  enough  self-deceit  and  hy- 
pocrisy and  cruelty  and  selfishness 
in  the  world  to  be  an  awkward  ob- 
stacle for  optimists  of  the  Shaftes- 
bury type.     So  many  things   are 
humbugs,  that  it  is  but  a  step  to 
declare  eveiything  to  be  a  humbug, 
except  the  one  moving  force  which 
we  so  dexterously  disguise   from 
ourselves    and    from    each    other. 
Assume  that  selfishness  is  to  human 
beings  what  gravitation  is  to  the 
planetary  bodies,  and  the  task  of 
the  psychologist    is    marvellously 
simplified.     You  say  that  the  dis- 
covery is  degrading ;  well,  Mande- 
ville  would  reply,  I  want  to  dis- 
cover the  truth,  not  to  flatter  your 
pride  ;  and,  on  the  same  principle, 
you  might  call  astronomy  or  phy- 
siology degrading.     You  are   too 
proud  to  admit  that  the  earth  is 
not  the  centre  of  the  universe,  that 
you  are  made  of  flesh  and  bones,  or 
that  you  have  feelings  in  common 
with  an  ape ;  but,  if  those  are  the 
facts,  what  is  the  use  of  struggling 
against  their  recognition  P     Your 
dreams  are  pleasant;   but  it  does 
not  answer  in  the  long  run  to  mis- 
take a  dream  for  a  reality. 

The  weak  and  the  strong  sides  of 
the  two  theories  are  curiously  con- 
trasted. Each  writer,  of  course, 
can  resolutely  ignore  whatever  is 
inconsistent  with  his  hypotheses; 
it  must  be  a  very  dull  or  a  very 
acute  philosopher  who  does  not 
find  that  process  necessary.  Whilst 
Shaftesbury  placidly  shuts  his  eyes 
to  the  sin  and  sufifering  which 
offer  insoluble  problems  to  the  con- 
sistent optimist,  Mandeville  seenais 
almost  to  gloat  over  evils  which 
may   serve  to  perplex  his  adver- 


saries. Nature,  so  far  £rom  ex- 
citing rapturous  enthusiasm,  ap- 
pears to  him  almost  as  a  Molocli, 
delighting  in  the  tortures  of  her 
creatures.  Not  that  he  is  horror- 
struck  or  driven  to  despair.  What 
is  the  use  of  being  angiy  with  ihe 
inevitable,  orpuzzlingour heads  over 
the  inscrutable  ?  Let  us  take  what 
we  can  get  in  this  blind,  fierce 
struggle,  and  nuike  ourselves  as 
comfortable  as  we  can  under  tiie 
circumstances. 

Virtue  is  an  empty  pretence ;  for 
upon  what  can  the  service  of  this 
terrible  deity  repose  except  upon  a 
clever  calculation  of  our  own  in- 
terests ?  To  feather  our  own  nests 
as  warmly  as  may  be  is  our  only 
policy  in  this  pitiless  storm.  Lnst 
and  pride  are  realities;  to  gratify 
them  is  to  secure  the  only  genuine 
enjoyment.  It  is  necessary,  indeed, 
to  use  the  conventional  varnish  of 
fine  phrases,  for  flattery  is  a  more 
potent  instrument  of  success  than 
open  defiance  of  the  world.  Bat 
nothing  is  substantially  satisfiictoiy 
which  is  not  perceptible  to  the 
senses.  Mandeville,  in  short,  is  the 
legitimate  precursor  of  those  ma- 
terialists of  the  last  century  who 
acknowledged  the  existence  of 
nothing  that  could  not  be  touched, 
tasted,  and  handled,  and  who  were 
accustomed  to  analyse  man  into  so 
much  hydrogen,  oxygen,  and  car- 
bon, and  declare  that  nothing  re- 
mained to  be  discovered.  Bidicule 
his  conclusions  by  all  means,  as 
much  as  you  please :  condenm  still 
more  unequivocally  the  cjoical 
levity  with  which  he  abolishes  vir- 
tue, and  proclaims  the  world  to  be 
a  hateful  farce.  No  language  could 
be  too  strong  to  convey  our  protest 
against  such  theories,  were  it  not 
that  they  are  too  dead  to  need 
much  protesting.  But  after  all  is 
said  that  can  or  need  be  said,  there 
is  yet  something  on  the  other  side. 
Mandeville's  picture  of  the  origin 
of  society  is  fiur  nearer  the  truth 
than  Shaftesbury's,  or  than  that  of 


1873] 


The  Fdbh  of  the  Bees. 


727 


most    contemporary   philosophers. 
Partly,  it  is  becanse  his  theories, 
-which  are  a  libel  on  civilised  man- 
kind, are  not  so  far  wrong  when 
applied  to  man  still  half-brutal,  and 
only    showing    the    rudiments    of 
rel^on  or  morality.     But  partly, 
too,   the   comparative  accuracy  of 
bis  results  is  due  to  the  fact  that 
Viia  method  is  sound,  though  his 
spirit  is  detestable.    An  unflinching 
scepticism  is  a  necessary,  though  a 
disagreeable  stage  on  the  road  to 
truth.     Beautiful  theories  must  be 
questioned  however  attractive,  and 
phantoms    laid  whatever   consola- 
tion   they    may    have     conferred. 
Mandeville,   it  is  true,  represents 
scepticism  in  its  coarsest  and  most 
unlovely  stage.     He  has  taken  the 
old  theological  system,  and  retained 
all  that  was  degrading  whilst  sum- 
marily destroying  what  was  ele- 
vating.    If  man  be  regarded    as 
altogether  vile,  it  is  necessary  to 
account  for  virtue  by  admitting  the 
existence  of  some  Divine  element. 
But  Mandeville  will  have  nothing 
to    do  with    the    supematuralism 
which    has    become  incredible  to 
him,  nor  with  Shaftesbury's  attempt 
to  make  nature  itself  Divine,  which 
he  regards  as  mere  flimsy  bombast. 
And  thus  he  leaves  nothing  but  a 
bare  hideous  chaos,  entirely  godless 
in  the  sense  that  it  neither  bears 
internal  traces  of  Divine  harmony 
nor  of  the  interference  of  Divine 
powers    from    without.      Denying 
the  reality  of  virtue,  he  sees  no 


reason  for  providing  any  new  form 
of  belief  round  which  the  nobler 
impulses  may  gather.  In  short, 
he  exhibits  the,  result  of  taking  the 
old  theology  and  simply  leaving 
out  God.  The  result  is  naturally 
appalling.  We  have  chaos  without 
even  a  hint  that  ftome  reconstruc- 
tive process  is  necessary  to  supply 
the  place  of  the  old  order.  Theo- 
logians of  the  Warburton  school 
so  far  agreed  with  him  that  they 
removed  all  Divine  action  as  far  as 
possible,  and  apparently  held  that 
God  once  interfered  with  the  Jews, 
but  had  long  given  up  any  interest 
in  the  world.  Their  arguments 
pretty  nearly  come  to  this,  that 
there  is  enough  evidence  to  prove 
that  there  once  was  a  God;  and 
that,  as  there  is  no  evidence  of  the 
contrary,  we  must  suppose  that  BJe 
exists  still,  though  He  carefully  pre- 
serves His  inoQgnito.  Theology  of 
that  variety  is  not  much  more  edi- 
fying, and  is  a  good  deal  less  frank, 
than  Mandeville'fi  practiced  atheism. 
To  say  this,  though  not  quite  in 
plain  words,  and  to  say  it  with  a 
grin,  does  not  imply  «.  very  noble 
character.  Yet  we  may  admit  .a 
kind  of  gratitude  to  the  m^an  whose 
sweeping  demolition  gf.tbe  ancient 
superstructure  evidences  the  neces- 
sity of  3ome  deeper  and  sounder 
process  of  reconstruction,  and  who, 
if  the  truth  must  be  spoken,  has 
after  all  written  a  very  amusing 
book. 

L.  S. 


728 


[Jane 


THE  WORKMEN  OP  PARIS  DURING  ^THB   SIEGE. 


PART  I. 
I 

rEi  tremendous  events  which 
oocorred  in  France  during 
the  years  1870  and  1871  have 
not  wanted  historians.  No  sooner 
was  peace  signed  and  order  re- 
stored than,  from  every  man  who 
had  acted  a  part  in  the  drama  just 
brought  to  a  close,  sprang  a  book 
commenting  upon  the  origin  and 
the  course  of  the  misfortunes  of 
France.  In  turn,  generals,  diplo- 
matists, ministers  defiled  before  the 
public,  each  of  them  holding  in  his 
hand  a  volume  destined  to  prove 
that  he  had  been  a  clever  tactician, 
a  far-sighted  ambassador,  a  provi- 
dent secretaiy  of  state,  at  the  very 
time  when  public  opinion  accused 
him  of  military  ignorance,  of  diplo- 
matic blindness,  of  reckless  states- 
manship. Such  was,  indeed,  the 
feneral  strain  of  those  writings, 
permit  myself  to  give  a  sketch  of 
their  contents  in  somewhat  ironical 
terms ;  but  had  I  spoken  in  a  more 
serious  tone,  I  should  none  the  less 
have  felt  bound  to  state  that,  com- 
-  posed  as  they  are  from  a  personal 
point  of  view,  the  books  I  allude 
to  do  not  go  &.r  to  settle  the  his- 
torical truth  with  regard  to  the 
facts  to  which  they  refer.  At  best, 
they  lead  to  this  result,  that  fVance, 
recovering  from  her  wounds,  and 
seeing  so  many  great  men  at  her 
bedside,  can  no  longer  make  otit  how 
she  was  brought  to  the  very  brink 
of  death. 

As  for  myself,  while  taking  up 
the  pen  to  describe  some  events 
quorum  pa/rafui,  I  do  not  assume  to 
avoid  all  the  faults  with  which  I 
reproach  others.  It  is  difficult,  all 
but  impossible  I  may  say,  to  speak 
of  a  great  historical  crisis  without 
our  words  bearing  the  stamp  of  the 
political  feelings  of  the  mind  that 
inspires  them.  Yet,  as  I  have 
neither  statesmanship  nor  general- 


ship of  my  own  to  vindicate,  I  am 
less  trammelled  than  many  othen 
in  reporting  about  the  events  witii 
which  I  was  connected.  Besides, 
convinced  as  I  am  that  nothing  has 
proved  so  disastrous  to  my  country 
as  those  complimentary  and  deln- 
sive  utterances  through  which  it 
is  imposed  upon  by  its  statesmen 
and  writers,  I  consider  it  mj  dntj 
not  to  shrink  from  saying  aloud 
what  I  think  to  be  the  tmth, 
though  this  truth  may  strike  home 
to  some. 

There  is,  for  instance,  a  qnestioo 
which  still  remains  unsolved  in  the 
eyes  of  a  great  many.  What  were 
the  bearing,  the  tendencies,  tiie 
deeds  of  the  workmen  of  Paris 
during  the  siege  ?  Were  they  un- 
appreciated by  Trochu,  or  was  this 
general  entitled  to  disregard  them? 
No  question  has  been  more  dis- 
torted than  this,  and  yet  none 
requires  to  be  more  clearly  and 
frankly  decided,  since  it  involves 
the  sentence  which  posterity  will 
pass  upon  the  general  and  the 
ministers  who  represented  in  Paris 
the  Government  of  the  National 
Defence.  Paris  and  its  workmen 
were  heroic,  says  one.  They  were 
not  willing  to  fight,  replies  the 
other.  Then  the  verdict,  wavering 
from  one  extreme  to  the  other,  rests 
ungiven  by  the  great  majority  of 
the  public. 

In  fact,  the  subject  is  complex, 
and  does  not  admit  of  being  settled 
by  an  aye  or  a  no.  I  mean  that  if 
we  have  a  right  to  contend  that  the 
working  classes  of  Paris  were  more 
boisterous  than  useful  during  the 
siege,  we  are  at  the  same  time  com- 
pelled to  confess  that  they  might 
have  been  utilised  and  pushed  on 
against  the  enemy.  Thus,  Trochu 
may,  on  the  one  hand,  be  ezcnsed 
for  not  having  marched  up  such 
unwilling  masses,  whilst,  on  the 
other  hand,  he  stands  guilty  of 
having  overlooked  or  despised  the 


1873] 


The  Workmen  of  Paris  during  the  Siege, 


729 


causes  of  tbis  nnwilllDgness.  A  few 
explanations  are  necessary  to  eluci- 
date this  opinion. 

It  would  be  a  great  mistake  to 
believe  that  the  (Jovemment  which, 
on  the  4th  of  September,  undertook 
to  face  the  Grerman  invasion  brought 
npon  the  country  by  the  Empire, 
was  popular  with  the  Parisian  work- 
ing classes.  No  doubt,  the  men 
who  composed  it  had  had  their  hour 
of  popularity ;  but  popularity  soon 
wears  away  in  Paris,  and  more- 
over, such  characters  as  Jules  Favre, 
Gamier  Pages,  Simon,  Picard,  &c., 
were  far  from  representing  the 
Socialist  tendencies  now  blending 
with  the  Eepublican  principles  in 
the  minds  of  the  artisans.  Then, 
the  accession  to  power  of  the  Go- 
vernment of  the  National  Defence 
was  received,  so  far  as  the  workmen 
were  concerned,  by  a  manifest  dis- 
play of  distrust.  The  steps  taken 
at  once  by  the  delegates  of  these 
workmen  in  order  to  obtain  pledges 
from  the  Government  are  a  proof 
of  that  distrust,  whilst  the  manner 
in  which  these  steps  were  received 
goes  to  show  that  the  men  of  Sep- 
tember wished  to  rely  only  on  the 
bourgeoisie  which  had  helped  them 
to  the  Hotel  de  ViDe. 

A  very  wrong  way,  indeed,  was 
that  they  took  on  this  important  oc- 
casion. To  throw  itself  in  the  arms 
of  a  bourgeoisie,  which  they  ought 
to  have  known  was  too  much  ener- 
vated to  be  susceptible  of  military 
training,  was  a  gross  blunder  nearly 
approaching  madness  when  we 
trace  it  back  to  the  time  of  its  being 
committed.  At  such  a  time,  it  was 
the  duty  of  the  Government  to 
silence  its  political  preferences  and 
to  ally  itself  to  that  part  of  the  po- 
pulation in  which  self-devotion  and 
disinterested  courage  still  survived 
— I  mean  the  workmen.  But  this 
wise  course  was  not  taken.  On  the 
contrary,  all  the  decrees  issued  by 
the  Government  were  calculated  to 
arouse  the  distrust  already  prevail- 
ing against  it  among  the  working 
classes. 


General  Schmidt,  a  rank  Bona- 
partist,  an  intimate  friend  of  the 
celebrated  Count  Montauban  de 
Palikao,  one  of  those  officers  who 
gave  the  Communists  the  example 
of  arson,  by  setting  fire  to  the  Chi- 
nese summer  palace,  was  appointed 
the  chief  of  Trochu's  staff.  General 
Vinoy,  a  senator,  was  promoted  to 
an  important  command.  Admiral  La 
Bonciere,  whose  wife  had  been  the 
governess  of  the  children  of  Prince 
Napoleon,  became  the  commander 
of  several  forts.  And  so  on.  In 
short,  had  Napoleon  III.  returned 
to  Paris,  he  would  have  had  scarcely 
anything  to  do  for  the  generalships 
to  be  distributed  according  to  his 
own  wishes  and  predilections. 

More  ill-advised  doings  can  hard- 
ly be  imagined.  I  am  not  of  those 
who  foolishly  pretend  that  generals 
could  have  been  improvised  out  of 
mere  civilians,  and  opposed  on  the 
battle-field  to  the  long-trained  chief 
officers  of  the  German  army.  But 
it  was  easy  to  choose  from  among 
the  many  colonels  of  the  army,  men 
as  capable  of  heading  a  corps  of 
troops  as  were  La  Ronciere,  Vinoy, 
and  their  Bonapartist  colleagnes. 
At  all  events,  nothing  was  so  dis- 
graceful and  sickening  to  Republi- 
can eyes  as  the  sight  of  these  Im- 
periahst  abettors  so  recklessly  trust- 
ed by  a  Government  not  without 
good  reasons  for  declining  their  ser^ 
vices. 

I  need  not  lay  stress  on  these 
facts  to  convey  an  idea  of  the  sad 
and  uproarious  effect  they  produced 
in  the  faubourgs  of  Paris.  It  may 
be  asserted  that,  from  this  moment, 
the  workmen  made  up  their  minds 
not  to  fight  under  such  chief& 
*  They  dislike  us,  and  would  lead  us 
to  the  slaughter-house,'  was  the 
general  cry  adopted  in  the  popular 
meetings.  Of  course,  certain  lead- 
ers of  the  people,  who,  it  is  impots^ 
sible  to  deny,  were  more  anxious  to 
pave  the  way  to  a  revolution  than 
to  take  the  field  against  the  Ger- 
mans, did  not  fail  to  encourage  those 
feelings. 


730 


The  Workmen  of  Paris  during  the  Siege. 


[June 


n 

In  the  preceding  lines,  I  have 
endeaVonred  to  convej  an  exact 
notion  of  the  state  of  public  spirit 
at  the  ontsot  of  the  siege.  The 
bourgeoisie,  I  have  said,  corrupted 
by  the  Empire,  sunk  in  love  of 
riches,  was,  with  a  few  hononrable 
exceptions,  reluctant  to  fight.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  workmen,  indig- 
nant at  the  presence  of  so  many 
Bonapartist  officers  at  head-quarters, 
resolved  to  fold  their  arms  until  a 
new  Gbvemment  had  enabled  them 
to  enlist  under  less  suspected  chiefs. 
I  will  quote  the  following  hjcba  in 
confirmation . 

In  the  beginning  of  October,  it 
was  decided  by  the  members  of  the 
Gt)Yemment  to  ask  the  population 
of  Paris  for  100,000  volunteers. 
This  was  a  wise  measure.  From 
the  first  days  of  September,  the 
population  of  Paris — ^that  is,  the 
National  Gruards — ^had  been  drilled 
twice  a  day,  and  so  stood  fsdr  for 
supplyingfrom  among  them  100,000 
men  to  be  sent  to  the  outposts, 
mustered  beside  the  regular  army, 
and  launched  against  the  enemy. 
Then  the  Government  made  a  pro- 
clamation ;  it  stated  that  the  hour 
had  struck  when  the  besieged  ought 
to  cut  their  way  through  the 
Prussian  ranks;  that  the  regular 
army  was  not  large  enough  to 
undertake  by  itself  so  trying  a  task ; 
that  to  have  it  assisted  by  the  whole 
body  of  the  National  Ghiards  would 
be  as  absurd  as  impossible ;  that,  in 
fine,  the  help  of  100,000  volunteers^ 
would  be  sufficient  to  allow  of  the 
plans  of  General  Trochu  being 
carried  out.  At  the  same  time, 
registers  were  opened  in  the  several 
mayoralties  of  Paris  for  the  volun- 
teers to  inscribe  their  names,  and 
the  press  did  its  best  to  stir  up 
the  spirit  of  the  population.  In 
spite  of  aU  these  efibrts,  the  appeal 


to  volunteers  turned  out  a  fiiilare. 
No  more  than  10,000  men,  out  of 
300,000  National  Guards,  answered 
^e  call  of  Trochu,  and  the  Govon- 
ment,  in  order  to  enroll  the  troops  ii 
wanted,  was  compelled  to  force  upon 
the  Parisians  a  decree  by  virtus 
of  which  eveiy  man  from  twenty- 
five  to  thirty-five  years  of  age  was 
marched  out. 

That  the  population  of  the  capital 
endured,  without  uttering  any  com- 
plaint, the  many  privations  con- 
nected with  the  siege,  I  readilj 
admit.  I  am  even  happy  to  paj 
here  a  tribute  of  admiration  to 
those  women  of  the  people  whom  so 
often  I  saw  waiting,  during  maxj 
hours,  in  the  nipping  cold,  at  the 
door  of  a  baker  or  of  a  butcher,  for 
a  piece  of  black  bread  or  a  fait  of 
horse-flesh  to  be  taken  back  to  ihe 
children  at  home.  But  this  foibear- 
ance  of  the  Parisians  and  this  resig- 
nation to  their  fiftte  must  not  be 
mistaken  for  heroism. 

in 

I  was  always  satisfied  that  the 
result  of  the  appeal  to  volunteers 
was  a  shock  to  General  Tztwhn. 
Thenceforth  he  must  have  despaired 
of  sparing  Paris  the  shame  of  a 
capitulation.  Cheered,  as  be  had 
been,  by  the  bourgeoisie  on  tlie  day 
when  on  their  shoulders  he  was 
carried  on  to  the  Hdtel  de  Ville; 
deafened,  as  he  was,  from  mamisg 
to  night,  by  the  shouts  of  those  bat- 
talions of  bourgeois  which  paraded 
beneath  his  windows,  crying  oat 
that  they  were  ready  to  die  for  &eir 
country,  he  had  a  right  to  Uiink 
that  his  call  would  be  listened  to 
by  them.  He  was  entitled  to  fed 
confident  that  a  host  of  gentlemen, 
of  good  standing  and  education, 
would  rally  round  him.  Then,  head- 
ing all  this  gentiy,  he  would  hare 
taken  the  field  without  caring  anj 
more  for  the  roughs  of  BelleviBe 


'  Volunteers  should  have  been  men  consenting  to  serve  just  like  regular  soldicfs  for 
all  the  duration  of  the  siege,  though  maintaining  their  character  of  National  Guards. 
I  mean  that  they  should  hare  formed  a  distinct  corps,  as  did  the  *  marching  battalions/ 
the  organisation  of  which  is  described  farther  on. 


1873] 


The  Workmen  of  Paris  during  tlie  Siege, 


731 


and  Montmartre.  Sucli  very  likelj 
'w^ere  his  dreams  of  that  time,  and  I 
clearly  realise  how  hard  to  his  soul 
Tras  the  fall  of  his  illusions.  Yet 
anything  might  have  been  repaired 
had  Trochu  been  another  man,  less 
prejudiced,  less  inclined  to  bend 
nnder  the  sway  of  the  priesthood. 
Let  him  issue  a  proclamation  to 
the  workmen ;  let  him  silence,  with 
those  enereetio  and  beautiful  ex- 
pressions of  his  which  never  failed 
his  pen,  the  empty  declamations  of 
the  agitators  of  the  faubourgs  ;  let 
him,  in  a  word,  speak  to  the  people 
in  the  language  of  the  people,  and 
they  may,  perhaps,  run  up  to  his  ap- 
peal and  enable  him  to  snatch  vic- 
tory. For  they  are  brave  those  men, 
as  they  will  prove  in  the  civil  war  to 
come,  when  struggling  against  the 
army  of  Versailles.  However,Trochu 
remains  inactive,  and  from  his  lips, 
in  a  whisper,  falls  again  the  melan- 
choly sentence,  'The  defence  of 
Paris  is  an  heroic  folly.' 

What  better  conclusion  could  I  find 
to  this  first  part  of  my  paper  than 
the  report  of  certain  facts  which, 
witnessed  by  me  and  susceptible  of 
being  still  tested,  sum  up  and  con- 
firm the  explanations  previously 
given.  I  belonged,  during  the  siege, 
to  the  1 6th  arrondissement  of  Paris, 
in  which  two  battalions  of  Na- 
tional Guards  were  recruited.  The 
one,  formed  under  the  Empire,  con- 
sisted only  of  bourgeois ;  the  other, 
organised  on  the  6th  of  Septem- 
ber, comprised  only  workmen.  The 
former^  mustered  about  2,900  men; 
the  second,  of  which  I  became  the 
chief,  numbered  1,800  men.  Now, 
when  the  appeal  to  volunteers  was 
made,  the  workmen  of  this  latter  bat- 
talion at  first  seemed  disposed  to  ig- 
nore it,  on  the  same  grounds  which 
caused  its  fiulure  in  the  other  quar- 
ters of  the  capital.  Yet  it  turned 
out  that  the  officers  of  this  troop 


were  fortunate  enough  to  counter- 
poise, by  the  confidence  with  which 
they  inspired  the  men,  the  general 
distrust  displayed  against  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Government,  and  still 
excited  by  certain  acts  already  de- 
fined. Those  officers  declared  that, 
whatever  might  be  the  blunders 
committed  by  the  Gt>vemment,  the 
moment  was  not  opportune  for  dis- 
cussing them;  that  the  duty  of 
every  man,  particularly  of  a  Repub- 
lican, at  such  a  critical  period,  was 
to  go  forward  to  the  battle-field, 
without  caring  for  the  political  feel- 
ings of  the  generals  who  had  there 
pitched  their  tents.  In  short,  better 
to  die  than  to  sneak  away  from. 
mere  opposition,  was  the  substantial 
decision  arrived  at  by  the  workmen 
of  the  1 6th  arrondissement,  a  deci- 
sion in  pursuance  of  which  750  of 
them  put  down  their  names  on  the 
register  at  the  mayoralty.  At  the 
same  time,  the  battalion  of  bour- 
geois, abeady  mentioned,  supphed 
siz  volunteera!  Such  facts  are 
conclusive.  They  evidence  what  I 
said,  to  wit^  that  the  bourgeoisie  of 
Paris,  if  it  &ced  with  equanimity 
the  privations  of  the  siege,  lacked 
this  courage  which  should  have  led 
it  outside  the  walls ;  that  the  work- 
men of  Paris,  if  they  kept  aloof  like 
the  upper  classes,  were  susceptible 
of  beiDg  inspirited.  That  is  just 
what  I  intended  to  demonstrate. 

PARTIL 

I 

Thb  period  to  which  I  previously 
referred  is  that  of  the  commence- 
ment of  the  siege.  I  have  examined 
the  conduct  of  the  bourgeois  and 
that  of  the  workmen  from  a  mili- 
tary point  of  view,  and  have  con- 
cluded that  neither  of  them,  though 
from  different  motives,  lent  at  that 
time  any  material  assistance  to  the 


>  The  number  of  battalioiui  of  National  GuaidB  recruited  in  an  arrondissement  was  far 
from  being  the  same  in  aU.  Some  arrondissements  comprised  ten  battalions  each, 
others  six,  others  four,  &c.  The  number  of  men  mustered  in  a  battalion  varied  also  in 
the  different  battalions.  Some  battalions  consisted  of  2,500  or  2,800  men,  others  of 
1,500  or  1,800. 


732 


TJie  Workmen  of  Paris  during  the  Siege. 


[June 


defence  of  Paris.  My  present  pur- 
pose is  to  investigate  tbe  manner 
in  whicli  tbe  National  Guards, 
marched  out  by  virtue  of  a  decree, 
after  tbe  &ilure  of  the  appeal  to 
volunteers,  behaved  themselves  at 
the  outposts  or  on  tbe  battle-fields. 

For  the  understanding  of  the 
present  narrative,  I  must  enter  into 
some  technical  details.  In  every 
battalion  of  National  Guards,  four 
companies  had  been  formed  which 
comprised,  in  compliance  with  the 
decree  of  tbe  Government,  the 
men  of  from  twenty-five  to  thirty- 
five  years  of  age.  These  compa- 
nies were  called  '  marching  com- 
panies *  or  'marching  battalion,'  and 
wore  a  special  uniform,  but  retained 
the  number  of  the  battalion  from 
which  they  had  been  drawn,  and 
which  was  their  rallying  centre 
when  they  returned  home  afler  some 
days  of  duty  at  the  outposts.  The 
portion  of  the  battalions,  including 
the  Guards  not  compelled  to  serve 
outside  the  walls,  was  called  the 
*  sedentary  battalion.'  The  march- 
ing companies  were  sent  in  turn  to 
the  outposts,  and  generally  detained 
there  for  a  week  or  a  fortnight,whilst 
the  sedentaiy  companies  mounted 
guard  along  the  fortifications,  each 
guard  being  of  twenty-four  hours' 
duration. 

Now,  I  am  bound  to  say  that  the 
behaviour  of  several  marching  com- 
panies at  the  outposts  was  often 
very  disgraceful.  Many  of  them,  be- 
longing to  the  battalions  of  Belle- 
ville and  Montmartre,  indulged  in 
drunkenness  and  ran  away  before 
the  enemy.  As  a  rule,  the  officers 
in  these  Imttalions  had  scarcely  any 
hold  on  their  men.  Appointed,  in 
each  company,  by  the  votes  of 
their  soldiers,  and  generally  defi- 
cient in  those  personal  qualities 
which  enable  a  man  to  keep  his 
authority,  though  derived  fi«m 
popular  vote,  beyond  the  perpetual 
reach  of  universal  suffrage,  they 
only  thought  of  maintaining  good 
relations  with  their  privat^,  who 
turned  them  out   if   not  pleased 


with  their  dealings  and  proceeded 
to  new  elections.  Of  conrBe  the 
generals,  nnder  whose  commEBd 
such  companies  were  placed,  did 
not  lose  the  opportunity  of  cod- 
plaining  of  them.  Perfectly  awv? 
of  their  being  distrusted  and  dis- 
liked by  the  workmen,  they  showed 
great  eagerness  in  exposing  iht 
conduct  of  such  of  them  as  have 
been  just  alluded  to.  Their  reports, 
forwarded  to  the  Place  Vendome, 
the  head-quarters  of  the  National 
Guards,  were  commented  on  bj 
Clement  Thomas,  Commander-izi' 
Chief  of  the  National  Guards,  in  his 
orders  of  the  day.  Poor  Gener&l 
Clement  Thomas  was  shot,  it  is 
known,  on  the  day  when  the  revo- 
lution of  the  1 8th  of  March  broke 
out.  Undoubtedly  his  execution 
was  a  revenge  for  the  courageous 
and  somewhat  pitiless  manner  in 
which  he  had  made  public  the  disor- 
derly acts  of  some  marching  com- 
panies from  Belleville  and  Hani- 
martre. 

Yet,  such  doings  were  not  general. 
In  opposition  to  them,  I  may  quote 
the  reconnoitring  executed  by  my 
battalion  at  Bondy,  a  sortie  much 
talked  of  and  hailed  with  a  warm 
reception  when  we  defiled,  some 
days  after,  along  the  boulevards, 
because  it  was  the  first  time  thac 
workmen  were  put  to  the  test  in 
the  field.  But,  at  all  events,  the 
Government  would  have  done  better 
to  remedy  drunkenness  and  bad 
officership  than  to  stigmatise  them 
in  its  bulletins.  Without  encroach- 
ing upon  the  principle  of  universal 
suffrage  with  regard  to  the  appoint- 
ment of  officers,  it  might  hare 
decreed  that,  whenever  a  vacancy 
should  occur  in  a  company  for  the 
rank  of  lieutenant  or  captain,  can- 
didates willing  to  stand  for  these 
functions  should  be  put  through  aa 
examination — previously  to  their 
canvassing — ^before  a  committee  ap- 
pointed to  this  end  in  each  arron- 
dissemen t.  Such  examinations  woold 
have  been,  of  course,  very  easy  to 
pass,  andintended  to  test  the  morality 


1873] 


The  WorJcmen  of  Paris  during  the  Siege. 


733 


of  the  candidate  more  than  anything 
else.  In  this  way,  only  men  worthy 
of  commanding  would  have  offered 
themselves  to  the  votes  of  the 
IN'ational  Guards. 

Unfortunately,  the  Government 
alvrays  seemed  more  desirous  to  find 
the  workmen  at  fault  than  to  turn 
them  to  account.  Perhaps,  had 
the  generals  who  headed  the  army 
outside  the  walls  displayed  more 
confidence  in  the  final  result  of  the 
siege,  it  would  have  felt  hound  to 
surmount  its  repugnance  towards 
the  working  classes,  and  to  come  to 
an  understanding  with  them.  But 
those  generals  never  uttered  a  word 
but  testified  their  discouragement. 
Clement  Thomas  himself,  whilst 
giving  orders  for  the  equipment  of 
the  marching  battaUons,  declared 
in  private  to  an  officer  of  his  staff, 
who  repeated  it  to  me,  that  all  these 
expenses  would  be  useless,  and  that 
their  only  purpose  was  to  keep  up 
the  spirits  of  the  population.  In 
such  a  frame  of  mind,  the  Govern- 
ment, far  from  endeavouring  to  stretch 
its  mihtary  means,  was  almost  un- 
consciously inclined  to  give  way  to 
every  circumstance  which  might  be- 
come an  excuse  for  the  foreshadowed 
capitulation.  Then,  between  it  and 
the  workmen,  matters  went  on  in 
the  strain  I  have  already  described. 
Distrust  grew  more  and  more  in 
both  camps.  In  short,  this  dreadfal 
misunderstanding  between  the  peo- 
ple and  its  rulers,  which  was  to  end 
in  the  revolution  of  the  Commune, 
began  to  take  deep  root. 

II 

When  describing  the  battle  of 
Waterloo,  M.  Thiers  exclaims  some- 
where :  •  But  there  was  still  time  to 
[*hange  the  course  of  events,  had 
Grouchy  answered  the  call  of  the 
cannon.'  In  imitation  of  the  great 
[jhronicler  of  the  First  Empire,  I  will 
saj  that,  in  spite  of  all  its  blunders, 
^n  hoar  came  before  the  end  of  the 
siege  when  the  Government  could 
have  blotted  out  all  its  faults  if  it 
bad  been  shrewd  enough  to  grasp 


the  opportunity  which  offered  it- 
self in  the  shape  of  a  sudden  change 
in  the  feelings  of  the  majority  of  the 
population  of  Paris. 

We  are  now  in  the  last  days  of 
the  siege.  Paris,  cut  off  for  four 
months  from  every  communication 
with  the  outer  world,  begins  to  get 
feverish  and  tired.  Bread  is  no 
longer  any  more  than  a  compound, 
of  straw,  potatoes,  white  beans,  and 
earth,  which  scrapes  the  throat  as 
it  passes  through  it.  Fuel  is  scarce 
and  dear.  Horse-fiesh  tries  the  most 
robust  digestion.  Mortality  increases 
in  frightful  proportions.  Children 
die  by  hundreds.  Shells  continue  to 
pour  over  St.  Denis,  Point  du  Jour, 
and  all  the  advanced  points  of  Paris. 
Then  *Out  with  the  enemy!*  be- 
comes the  general  cry  raised  by  the 
population.  Upon  them  necessity 
at  length  has  forced  the  conscious- 
ness of  their  duties. 

In  presence  of  this  burst  of 
patriotism,  what  will  the  Govern- 
ment do  ?  Will  it  take  advantage  of 
this  rising  ardour  to  make  a  last 
and  strenuous  effort  against  the 
besiegers,  or  will  it  consider  it  as  one 
of  those  fassy  displays  in  which 
Parisians  excel  ?  This  latter  view 
prevails.  The  Government  cannot 
believe  in  the  new  military  fervour 
of  a  bourgeoisie  which,  up  to  that 
time,  has  carefully  kept  aloof  from 
the  battle-field.  As  to  the  workmen, 
they  are  none  the  more  people  to  be 
trusted  to ;  to-day  they  ask  for  the 
trcmee ;  to-morrow  they  will  require 
that  this  hole  through  the  German 
ranks  maybe  made  under  the  direc- 
tion of  Flourens,  instead  of  being 
bored  by  Vinoy.  In  the  eyes  of  the 
Government,  bourgeois  and  workmen 
appear  so  many  braggarts,  who, 
though  wishing  now  to  fight,  will 
fly  away  to-morrow  if  they  are  ex- 
posed to  the  range  of  the  needle- 
guns.  That  this  opinion  was,  in 
some  measure^  warranted,  arises  out 
of  my  previous  explanations.  That 
it  was  that  of  the  rulers  of  Paris 
proceeds  from  what  I  am  about  to* 
report — the  battle  of  Buzenval. 


734 


The  Workmen  of  Paris  during  tlie  Siege. 


[June 


m 

I  was  a  soldier,  and  it  was  mj  lot 
to  take  part  in  seyeral  engagements ; 
yet,  sucli  a  thing  as  the  battle  of 
Buzenyal  I  declare  that  I  never  saw. 
It  was  on  the  17th  of  January  that 
my  marching  battalion  was  ordered 
to  master  on  the  next  day,  at  ten 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  near  the 
Arc  de  Triomphe,  close  to  the 
Champs  Elys^es.  At  the  appointed 
hour  we  were  in  readiness,  and  an 
hour  after,  having  been  joined  by 
three  other  marching  battalions' 
placed  with  mine  under  the  command 
of  a  colonel,  we  began  to  go  down 
the  Avenue  de  la  Grande  Arm6e, 
that  leads  to  the  Porte  Maillot, 
and  thence  to  Neuilly,  where 
we  were  to  halt.  The  distance 
from  the  Arc  de  Triomphe  to 
the  church  of  Neuilly  might  have 
been  walked  in  three-quarters  of 
an  hour.  Yet  it  was  five  o'clock 
when  we  arrived  at  Neuilly ;  one  of 
those  useless  barricades  bmlt  up  by 
poor  Henri  Bochefort  had  baulked  us, 
the  men  being  obliged  to  pass  one  by 
one,  and  several  regiments  which 
preceded  us  having  had  to  cross 
the  impediment  previously  to  our 
turn  coming.  I  have  never  made 
out  why  this  barricade  had  not  been 
blown  up  in  order  to  facilitate  the 
passage  of  the  troops. 

In  Neuilly ,  order  is  given  to  stand, 
with  piled  arms  as  usual.  A  driz- 
zling rain  has  been  falling  for  two 
days.  The  soil  is  muddy.  What 
are  we  going  to  do?  Are  we  to 
fight  in  the  evening  ?  Each  of  us 
foresees  a  battle,  but  when  it  is  to 
take  place  nobody  knows.  At  eight 
o'clock  the  men  are  permitted  to 
shelter  themselves,  and  to  sleep  in 
the  surrounding  empty  houses.  A 
ration  of  bread,  horse-flesh,  coffee, 
and  wine,  is  delivered  to  them; 
they  are  informed  they  must  live 
upon  it  for  two  days.    At  eleven 


o'clock  the  chiefs  of  battalion  are 
summoned  to  the  oolouers.  Agrpat 
battle  will  be  fought  to-morrow 
morning  in  front  of  Ibrt  W 
l^rien,  the  objective  of  which  ^ 
be  Versailles.  Ducrot  will  attack 
the  Prussians  at  Rueil ;  BeUemare 
at  Buzenval ;  Vinoy  at  Montretott 
We  belong  to  BeUemare's  oorpf, 
and  our  battle-field  must  be  the 
park  of  Buzenval.  Our  men  ongkt 
to  be  awakened  at  once,  and  drawn 
up  as  soon  as  possible  in  the  Avenue 
de  Neuilly.  Very  well;  it  would 
have  been  better  to  send  them  ti3 
bed  on  their  arrival  at  Neuilly,  since 
they  have  had  now  but  three  hoQK 
of  rest,  thanks  to  the  manner  b 
which  things  have  been  managed. 
But  never  mind,  they  will  get  np 
all  the  same.  At  one  o'clock  we  set 
off,  and  a  tiring  march  it  is,  because, 
the  artillery  occupying  the  whole 
middle  of  the  road,  we  have  only 
the  sides  to  walk  upon.  So  much 
the  better:  this  time  at  least  we 
shall  not  need  those  field-guns  the 
want  of  which,  people  say,  has  so 
often  caused  our  defeats. 

On  our  arriving  at  Coorbevoie 
Circus,  an  order  reaches  us  to  turn 
to  the  left,  that  we  may  mi^e  for  a 
road  that  runs  along  Fort  Val^rien. 
Another  barricade  stands  in  front 
of  us,  and  takes  a  long  time  to  pass. 
It  would  have  been  well  to  demolish 
it  beforehand.     At  lengtii  the  ob- 
stacle is  cleared;   we  are  told  to 
double  the    pace;    we  run  along 
Fort  Val^rien,  and  then  turn  to  tli^ 
light,  debouching  into  vineyards, 
where  the  foot  sinks  to  the  ankle. 
It  is  now  six  o'clock  ;  the  men  are 
exhausted,  having  marched  at  a  pace 
continually  impeded    by  artiilery, 
barricades,     orders    and    <x>unt€r- 
orders.  We  march  as  quickly  as  we 
can  through  the  vineyards  ;  we  go 
down  a  slope  and  find  before  us  a 
long  and  high  walL      'Stop!' oar 
colonel  cries  out. 


'  The  young  painter,  Henri  Begnault^  who  was  killed  at  Buzenval,  belonged  to  one  of 
these  battalions.  No  one  has  forgotten  the  two  masterly  works  of  his  iHudt  Ten 
exhibited  in  London  last  yeaz^-^the  portrait  of  Prim  and  The  E»Kutim, 


1873] 


The  Workmen  of  Paris  during  the  Siege. 


735 


The  wall  forms  the  hase  of  the 
park  of  Buzenval.  A  general  rides 
to  and  fro  along  it.  We  are  told  it 
is  GFeneral  Valentin,^  oneof  the  gene- 
rals of  brigade  belonging  to  Belle- 
mare's  corps.  On  a  waye  of  his  hand 
a  captain  of  engineers  and  a  few  men 
approach  the  wall,  and,  by  means  of 
djnamite,blownpaportionofit.  As 
soon  as  the  breach  is  made,  Gfene- 
ral  Valentin  turns  to  us:  'You  are 
Bepublicans,'  he  says,  /are you  not? 
Well,  then,  you  must  not  care 
about  your  Uves  when  your  country 
is  at  stake.  Now,  look  at  those 
heights  upon  which  stands  the 
castie  of  Buzenval.  The  Prussians 
are  there ;  you.  must  dislodge  them. 
Forward ! ' 

AJl  the  marching  battalions  of 
National  Ghiards  and  the  battalions 
of  the  Hue,  which  constitute  Yalen- 
tin's  brigade,  rush  on  into  the  park, 
from  the  upper  end  of  which  ply  the 
Grerman  needle-guns.  But  a  great 
number  of  soldiers  of  the  line,  when 
in  the  park,  refuse  to  go  farther, 
and  remain  in  the  lower  part  of  it, 
insulting  the  National  Gkutrds.  'It 
is  you,'  they  say,  '  who  ask  for  the 
irouSe:  make  it  yourselves;  that 
does  not  concern  us.'  This  mark 
of  the  touching  intimacy  which  links 
to  each  other  the  sundry  corps  of 
troops  engaged  in  the  defence  of 
Paris  is  not  an  encouraging  omen. 
Yet  we  go  forward,  and  compel  the 
Prussians  to  give  way.  After  a  little 
time  our  flag  waves  at  the  top  of  the 
castle  of  Buzenval.  What  shall  we 
do  now  P  On  our  left  we  hear  the 
cannon  of  Vinoy ;  but  on  our  right 
no  gun  fires,  Ducrot  being  much  be- 
hind his  time.  Andourown  artillery, 
where  is  it  ?  We  were  so  pleased  to 
see  it  defile  amongst  us  this  morn- 
ing. It  would  be  the  proper  time  for 
it  to  begin  to  pour  its  shells.  Our 
artillery  is  stuck  somewhere  in  the 
mnd,  and  this   loop-holed  wall  at 


the  end  of  the  park,  from,  behind 
which  the  needle-guns  assail  us, 
will  still  set  us  at  defiance.  No; 
here  are  a  captain  of  engineers  and 
his  company;  surely  they  have 
plenty  of  dynamite  in  their  knap- 
sacks. 'Captain,'  said  I,  'wiQyoQ 
be  good  enough  to  rid  us  of  this 
wall  P  You  may  see  how  easily  the 
Prussians  aim  at  us  through  its 
loop-holes.'  'Very  sorry,'  replies 
the  officer,  'but  I  cannot  do  any. 
thing  without  orders ;  such  are  my 
instructions.'  I  look  for  a  general 
or  a  colonel  without  being  able  to 
find  one.  I  go  down  the  park,  and 
meeting  there  my  colonel,'^  explain 
to  him  my  situation.  '  I  regret  it 
very  much,  but  cannot  assist  you. 
There  are  no  orders  at  all.'  And 
an  officer  of  his  staff  added,  '  A  few 
minutes  ago,  I  applied  for  instruct 
tions  to  GiBneral  Bellemare,  and  he 
replied,  "  The  only  orders  I  have  to 
give  are  that  the  National  Guards 
wish  to  make  the  trouee,  and  that 
they  may  make  it  if  they  can."' 
Well,  but  the  National  Guards 
cannot  go  on  if  you  do  not  show 
them  the  way.  I  return  to  my 
men;  they  continue  to  fight  with 
the  loop-holed  wall,  after  the  exam- 
ple of  Don  Quixote  and  his  wind- 
mills. A  company  tries  to  escalade 
it;  half  the  men  are  shot  point- 
blank.  Decidedly  it  is  a  strange 
affair.  Was  the  battle  seriously 
intended  and  thoroughly  organised  P 
is  a  question  I  begin  to  put  to 
myself. 

At  four  o'clock  an  officer  is  sent 
up  the  park  to  order  all  the  batta- 
lions which  have  been  fighting  since 
morning  to  retreat.  Other  troops, 
he  says,  are  marching  to  relieve  us. 
We  take  leave  of  the  loop-holed 
wall  and  begin  to  draw  off.  A 
great  many  of  us  (one  out  of  four) 
have  been  wounded  or  .killed;  no- 
body understands  anything  of  what 


*  Gkneial  Valentin  was  appointed  F^ect  of  Police  on  the  1 7th  of  March,  1871.  This 
appointment  of  a  general  to  an  office  generally  filled  by  a  civilian  caused  a  great  excite- 
ment in  Paris. 

*  This  colonel,  an  able  and  energetic  officer,  the  son  of  (General  de  Brancion,  killed  at 
Sebastopol,  was  one  of  the  military  advisezB  of  the  Gbyemment 


736 


The  Worhnen  of  Paris  during  the  Siege. 


[JUB6 


has  happened  in  the  day.  In  fact, 
it  was  a  curious  day ;  no  chiefs,  no 
orders,  and  no  cannons. 

I  again  meet  my  colonel.  He  orders 
me  to  lead  my  battalion  somewhere 
in  the  vineyards,  beyond  the  range 
of  the  Prussian  bullets.  And  after  ? 
Shall  we  return  to  the  battle-field 
when  we  have  had  some  rest? 
He  does  not  know.  As  soon  as  he 
gets  instructions  he  will  communi- 
cate them  to  me.  We  make  for  the 
vineyards,  ascending  the  slope  we 
descended  in  the  morning.  But 
now  the  vineyards  are  rather  hot 
quarters,  for  the  German  shells  fall 
^ick  upon  them.  It  is  a  great  pity 
that  our  artillery  cannot  reply  to 
this  fire.  Alas,  it  is  always  stuck 
in  the  mud,  with  the  exception  of 
four  guns  and  two  mitrailleuses, 
which  have  got  out  of  the  mess  and 
try  to  answer  the  Prussian  batteries. 
We  go  farther  on,  and  it  is  my 
chance  to  pick  up,  by  the  way,  a 
new  proof  of  that  union  between 
the  defenders  of  Paris  which  I 
pointed  out  elsewhere.  Having 
been  obliged  to  retrace  my  steps  for 
a  few  minutes,  in  order  to  call  some 
men  who  were  about  losing  our 
track,  I  happened  to  be  surrounded 
by  a  battalion  of  Mobiles,  who 
threatened  to  shoot  me  as  being  one 
of  those  National  Guards  who  have 
prevented  the  capitulation  being 
signed  long  ago.  These  Mobiles 
are  the  very  Bretons  whom  the 
pious  press  of  Paris  extol,  on  the 
ground  that  they  ask  for  the  bene- 
diction of  their  chaplain  before 
fighting.  Having  had  a  narrow 
escape  from  amongst  those  friends 
of  M.  Venillot,  I  continue  my  way, 
and  a  short  while  after  we  haJt  at  a 
place  where  the  German  shells  can- 
not injure  us.  Let  us  wait  here  for 
•orders,  and  in  the  meanwhile  go  to 
bed  on  the  ground.  The  firing 
begins  to  slacken,  when  we  lie  down 
after  eating  the  crumbs  of  our 
dinner  of  the  previous  day.  Is  the 
battle  at  its  end  ?  No  news  reaches 
us  nor  the  other  troops  encamped 
by  us. 


The  following  morning,  the 
battle-field  is  silent  on  both  sides. 
We  are  conmianded  to  rally  at 
Neuilly,  and  we  there  meet  an 
officer  who  tells  us  to  retam  to 
Paris.  Matters  appear  more  and 
more  unintelligible.  Everyone 
agrees  in  saying  that  the  positioDs 
taJcen  up  the  day  before  were  main, 
tained  until  night,  and  were  then 
voluntarily  abandoned.  Eveiyone 
asserte  that  only  12,000  National 
Guards,  out  of  60,000  who  were  in 
readiness  outeide  Paris,  have  been 
engaged.  Everyone  does  justice  to 
their  courage.  Now  the  Govern- 
ment issues  a  proclamation  stating 
that  a  flag  of  truce  will  be  sent  at 
once  to  the  Prussians  in  order  that 
we  may  get  time  to  bury  our  dead. 
The  rulers  of  Paris  seem  depressed 
and  desperate  at  the  hour  when,  for 
the  first  time,  the  capital  thrills  with 
the  fever  of  fighting.  What  does  all 
this  mean  ? 

IV 

On  the  day  but  one  after,  I  am 
sent  for  by  my  colonel.  I  find  him 
walking  to  and  fro  in  his  sitting- 
room.  Ho  is  rather  pale»  and 
seems  quite  uneasy  with  regard  to 
what  he  is  about  to  say.  At  last, 
breaking  silence,  *  You  experienced 
heavy  losses  in  your  battalion  on 
the  19th,  did  you  not?'  'Yes, 
very  heavy  indeed,  as  we  were 
stending  foremost  from  morning  till 
evening.'  'Then  your  men  must 
have  had  enough  of  fighting?' 
'  Not  in  the  least.  Since  they  have 
been  sent  back  to  Paris,  they  speak 
of  nothing  else  but  recommencing 
the  game.'  ^  Indeed !'  and  then  the 
colonel  paused.  After  which,  step- 
ping up  to  me  and  tapping  me  on 
the  shoulder,  '  All  is  over,'  he  said, 
sadly.  'Jules  Favre  is  just  now 
at  Versailles  to  settle  the  conditions 
of  the  capitulation.  The  only 
thing  you  have  to  do,  if  you  wish 
to  serve  your  country,  is  to  check 
the  enthusiasm  of  your  men,  and 
to  prove  to  them  that  the  aege 
cannot  be  protracted  any  longer.' 


1873] 


The  Workmen  of  Paris  during  the  Siege. 


737 


*  But  why  did  the  Government  give 
battle  if  it  intended  to  capitulate 
on  the  morrow?  It  has  wantonly 
wasted  a  great  many  lives.*  '  Yes, 
but  Paris  asked  for  the  trouee,  and, 
at  a  council  of  war  which  was  held 
the  day  before  the  battle,  and  com- 
prised all  generals  and  colonels,  it 
was  decided  to  give  satisfaction  to 
the  public  feelings.*  Thence  the 
battle  of  Buzenval. 


I  return  home  pensive  and  dull. 
Everything  is  now  clear  to  my 
mind.  The  battle  of  Buzenval  has 
been  a  sort  of  sham-fight  for  all 
those  who  prepared  it,  and  so  our 
chiefs  were  nearly  invisible  to  us 
because  men,  however  brave  they 
may  be,  do  not  care  to  expose  them- 
selves when  they  know  beforehand 
it  is  useless.  We  have  given  battle 
in  front  of  Port  Valerien  because 
the  Government  thought  that  the 
gnns  of  this  fort  would  be  very  use- 
ful to  stop  the  enemy  when  the 
National  Guards  would  run  away, 
as  it  supposed  they  could  not  fail 
to  do.  In  short,  the  Government 
has  not  believed  at  all  in  the  burst 
of  patriotism  which  the  population 
has  shown  for  some  days ;  and  if  it 
gave  to  this  patriotism  an  oppor- 
tunity of  displaying  itself  in  the 
field,  it  was  in  the  secret  hope  that 
all  this  excitement  would  be  con- 
verted, under  the  influence  of  the 
needle-guns,  into  a  dejectedness 
leading  to  a  general  claim  for 
capitulation.  Matters  have  turned 
out  otherwise,  and  the  Government 
has  to  force  the  necessity  of  a 
capitulation    on    the  public  mind. 


when  it  hoped  that  this  necessity 
would  be  imposed  upon  it,  after  the 
battle,  by  the  population.  All  this 
is  very  sad ;  Paris  remains  feverish, 
and  out  of  this  fever,  which  has 
not  been  utilised  against  the  Prus- 
sians, will  spring  a  revolution. 

VI 

I  have  finished,  and  my  conclu- 
sion® is  this:  Undoubtedly,  the 
workmen  of  Paris,  regarded  from 
the  military  point  of  view,  did  not 
do  during  the  siege  what  they  might 
have  done,  had  they  put  aside  for  a 
time  the  political  questions  in  favour 
of  the  military  ones.  In  the  last 
days,  it  is  true,  they  adopted  this 
course  and  fought  with  great  spirit 
at  the  battle  of  Buzenval ;  but  their 
courage  was  not  believed  in,  nor 
turned  to  account,  because  it  dis- 
played itself  too  late.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  Government  never 
made  any  conciliatory  attempt  with 
the  working  classes,  and  was  even 
incapable  of  feeling  their  pulse  on 
the  days  previous  to  the  capitula- 
tion. So,  in  my  opinion,  faults 
were  committed  on  both  sides ;  and 
if  I  am  called  upon  to  say  which  of 
these  two  sides — Government  or 
workmen — ^was  the  less  guilty,  I 
unhesitatingly  answer :  the  work- 
men. At  first  they  were  ill-advised 
by  some  agitators  anxious  to  climb 
to  power  with  their  help.  Besides,, 
we  must  remember  that,  in  France, 
workmen  have  a  right  to  be  diffi- 
dent of  every  Government,  since 
they  have  been  always  cheated  and 
crushed  by  that  of  the  moment,  evea 
when  it  styled  itself — Republic. 

J.   DE  BOUTEILLEE. 


•  This  conclusion  involves  a  strong  disapprobation  of  the  political  attitude  of  General 
Trochu  during  the  siege.  Yet  such  a  criticism  of  it  as  the  foregoing  paper  implies  must 
not  be  mistaken  for  an  approval  of  the  petty  and  unworthy  accusations  which  it  is  th& 
fashion  in  Paris  to  prefer  against  the  ex-governor  of  the  capital.  General  Trochu  was 
not  equal  to  the  occasion,  and  could  not  be  so,  because  his  mind,  stern  and  wrapped  in 
a  religious  mysticism,  was  unable  to  enter  into  contact  with  the  sceptical  working 
classes. 


VOL.  VII. — NO.  XLII.      NEW  SERIES. 


3E 


788 


[June 


PRINCIPAL  TTJLLOCH  ON  RATIONAL  THEOLOGY  AND 
CHRISTIAN  PHILOSOPHY.^ 


rE  nQgative  reply  recently  given 
by  Strauss  to  the  question, 
'  Are  we  Christians  ?*  has  no  doubt 
startled  a  good  many  people  in  this 
country  besides  the  Premier.  In 
itself,  however,  there  is  nothing 
very-  surprising  in  Dr.  Strauss' 
formal  renunciation  of  what  he 
understands  by  Christianity.  It  is 
the  natural  result  of  his  strong  men- 
tal tendencies,  the  significant  con- 
summation of  his  previous  labours, 
the  crown  of  a  growingly  negative 
but  singularly  consistent  career. 
With  all  his  well-known  gifts  and 
varied  scientific  attainments,  his 
mind  has  always  been  deficient 
in  the  deeper  and  more  essential 
elements  of  religious  life.  His 
writings  everywhere  display  ample 
knowledge,  trained  critical  power, 
intellectual  sincerity,  and  high,  if 
somewhat  mournful,  moral  courage. 
But  they  are  marvellously  deficient 
in  sympathy  and  insight,  in  emo- 
tional fulness  and  range,  in  intel- 
lectual light,  and  imaginative  power. 
This  last  deficiency  is  a  serious 
drawback  in  historical  studies  of 
any  kind,  and  most  of  all  in  his- 
torical studies  whose  interest  and 
value  lie  mainly  in  the  moral  phe- 
nomena they  present.  In  these  the 
illuminating  power  of  sympathy 
and  imagination  are  absolutely  es- 
sential to  success,  essential  even  to 
the  adequate  perception  of  the  facts 
to  be  explained.  Without  some 
power  of  this  kind,  the  facts  cannot 
be  realised,  much  less  interpreted. 
Strauss  lacks,  however,  not  only 
strength  and  delicacy  of  spiritual 
feeling  and  perception,  but  the 
vividness  of  imagination  that  might 
in  part  supply  their  place,  that  en- 
ables   some  critics   to  apprehend 


realities  and  relationships  lying 
beyond  the  range  alike  of  their 
personal  experience  and  power  of 
logical  analysis.  In  harmony  with 
this  central  defect.  Dr.  Strauss  baa 
from  the  first  looked  at  Christianify 
in  its  temporary,  shifting,  outside 
aspects,  in  its  more  extreme  histori- 
cal and  dogmatic  claims,  rather  than 
on  its  spiritual  side,  in  its  pro- 
founder  moral  elements  and  results. 
Looked  at  from  the  outside,  the 
more  elaborate  as  well  as  the  rodiff 
dogmatic  and  ascetic  developments 
of  Christianity  would  be  sure  to 
yield  to  a  negative  criticism  like 
Strauss' ;  and  it  is  most  desirable 
for  the  welfare  of  humanity  they 
should.  And  those  who,  taking  this 
narrow,  superficial  view,  identify 
Christianity  with  these  develop- 
ments, would  naturally  reganl  the 
refutation  of  its  dogmatic  and  as- 
cetic extravagances  as  fatal  to  its 
existence  in  any  form.  A  hard  and 
severely  logical  mind  like  Strauss', 
applying  a  negative  criticism  to  the 
externals  of  Christianity,  would  be 
almost  sure  to  land  where  he  has 
landed. 

The  truth  is,  mere  logical  analysis 
is  no  sufficient  or  exhaustive  gauge 
of  vital  elements  and  relationships, 
and  when  rigorously  employed  for 
this  purpose  is  sure  to  issue  not 
only  in  negative,  but  in  essentially 
fallacious  results.  It  may  success- 
fully expose  the  extravagant  pre- 
tensions of  principles  that  are  per- 
manent elements  in  human  nature, 
and  the  erratic  ramifications  of 
powers  that  are  amongst  the  most 
beneficent  agencies  of  human  life. 
But  the  principles  survive  the 
attack,  and  the  powers  quickened 
by  the  purifying  contact  of  hostile 


>  national  Theology  and  Christian  Philosophy  in  England  in  the  Seventeenth  Ccnfnr^- 
Two  Vols.  By  John  TuUoch,  D.D.,  Principal  of  St.  Mary's  College  in  the  Unircrsiiy 
of  St.  Andrews.    Blackwood  and  Sons. 


18731      TuOoeh'M ' 


Tkedoffy  tatd  ahrMm  FkOoBc^hyJ'         739 


forces  will  manifest  themBelves  m 
new  and  nobler  forms.  The  meihod 
employed  bjStraoss  against  Christi- 
axkity  might  be  appli^  with  equal 
success  to  any  of  the  primary  forces 
and  relationships  of  life.  In  reply 
to  the  question,  'Are  we  Christians  r ' 
we  might  p^rtmsaitly  ask,  for  ex- 
ample,  '  Are  we  parents  and  chil* 
dren,  brothers  and  sisters  ? '  Take 
the  fact  of  paternity  and  the  rela- 
tions arising  oat  of  it.  They  conld 
not  theoretically  survive  the  rigor- 
ous application  of  the  negative  and 
narrow  method  of  criticism.  It  is 
one  of  those  &cts  which,  in  the 
nature  of  the  case,  cannot  be  esta? 
blished  by  direct  evidence,  and  ad- 
mits at  best  of  only  doubtful  sup- 
ports andpresumptive  proofs.  Then, 
again,  the  historical  basis  of  the 
relationship  is  slight  and  insuffi- 
cient. In  the  earlier  stages  of  so- 
cieiy,  paternity  is  not  recognised  at 
all,  and  filial  feeling,  instead  of  being 
concentrated,  as  in  later  commimi- 
ties,  on  an  individual,  is  extended 
to  the  tribe.  As  civilisation  ad- 
vances, the  relation  is  restricted 
and  aggrandised  in  various  ways, 
by  in£vidual  usurpation,  local 
custom,  and  legal  enactment.  By 
degrees,  social,  political,  and  religi^ 
oua  influences  work  towards  the 
conventional  elevation  and  artificial 
development  of  family  life.  But 
even  in  its  developed  form,  the  re- 
lation of  paternity  is  of  80  arbitrary 
a  kind,  and  so  entirely  subordinated 
to  social  exigencies,  that  in  large 
and  civilised  nations  sonship  by 
adoption  is  almost  as  common  and 
quite  as  legitimate  as  sonship  by 
descent.  In  the  light  of  modem  en- 
quiry, such  a  relationship  evidently 
rests  on  a  very  unsatismctory  and 
insecure  footing.  It  cannot  long 
resist  the  destructive  inroads  of 
searching,  unbiassed  criticism.  In 
Tiew  of  the  supposed  advantages 
of  the  existing  theory,  many  good 
people  would,  no  doubt,  deprecate 
any  minute  enquiry  into  a  subject 
so  perplexing.    But  such  dissua- 


sions, however  well  meaott,  cannot 
of  course  be  listened  to  by  any  real 
lover  of  truth.  Paternity  is  not 
merely  a  speculative  question.  It 
has  important  practical  aspects, 
bearing  directly  on  the  gravest  re- 
sponsibilities of  life.  According  to 
the  existing  theory  or  assumption 
the  relationship  involves  duties  and 
ob]igations  of  a  serious  nature,  and 
it  is  of  vital  moment  therefore  to 
ascertain  the  fact  on  which  the 
theory  is  made  to  rest.  A  parti- 
cular person  is  or  is  not  your  father, 
and  the  reply  to  this  question  must 
regulate  your  conduct  in  a  number 
of  important  respects.  K  it  is  an- 
swered in  the  negative,  your  whole 
life,  in  one  section  of  its  interests 
and  activities,  may  be  an  illusion 
and  a  mistake.  With  the  progress 
of  society,  however,  the  answer 
to  the  question  becomes  growingly 
difficult  and  uncertain.  In  early 
stages,  and  amount  particular  com- 
munities, these  difficulties  were  in- 
deed successMly  grappled  with.  The 
relationship  of  paternity  was  vin- 
dicated and  upheld  by  powerful 
external  supports,  by  rights  and 
privileges  of  the  most  distinctive 
and  impressive  kind.  A  father 
proved  that  the  offspring  were  his 
own  by  doing  as  he  liked  with 
them — -justified  the  claim  of  giving 
them  life  by  retaining  the  power  of 
taking  it  away  again  at  will.  But 
civilisation  having  removed  these 
strong  objective  supports,  the  evi- 
dence of  the  fact  is  fast  sinking 
into  a  merely  subjective  conviction 
or  belief.  Mere  natural  feeling  is, 
however,  evidently  no  sufficient 
basis  on  which  to  found  so  important 
a  relation.  Again,  custom  and  tho 
acquiescence  of  socieiy  can  afibrd  at 
bestonly  a  weak,  temporary,  and  fluc- 
tuating support.  The  lingering  legal 
sanctions  of  the  relationship  are 
daily  threatened,  and  when  criti- 
cism has  done  its  work  upon  them 
they  will  no  doubt  disappear,  and 
society  once  more  resume  the  aban- 
doned rights  of  paternity  over  its 
3  E  2 


740  TullocJCs  *  Rational  Theology  and  Christian  PhiiosophifJ^       [June 


entire  offspring.  Meanwhile  tlie 
qnestion  recnrs  with  increasing  ur- 
gency, *  Are  we  still  parents  and 
children  P  *  and  with  the  progress  of 
enquiry  the  logical  reply  must  be 
more  and  more  decisi7ely  in  the 
negative. 

Those  who  cannot  accept  such 
results  will  be  disposed  to  question 
the  soundness  and  sufficiency  of  the 
process  by  which  they  are  arrived 
at.  A  little  examination  will  abun- 
dantly justify  this  suspicion,  and 
Bhow  that  the  negative  method  is 
grievously  one-sided  and  imperfect. 
We  have  already  hinted  at  the 
radical  defect  which  vitiates  so 
much  of  the  revolutionaty  criticism 
applied  to  religion.  It  consists  in 
confounding  the  essence  of  Chris- 
tianity with  its  local  temporary  and 
often  extravagant  developments  in 
the  direction  both  of  ritual  and  of 
doctrine.  The  force  and  relevancy 
of  Strauss'  reasoning  on  the  subject 
depend  to  a  great  extent  on  this 
fundamental  misconception.  And 
the  able  paper  in  which  Mr.  Leslie 
Stephen  has  recently  discussed 
Strauss'  question  for  the  benefit  of 
English  readers  is  marked  by  the 
same  radical  defect.  He  appears  so 
completely  to  identify  Christianity 
with  its  doctrinal  and  ceremonial 
forms,  as  to  have  hardly  any  con- 
ception of  the  deeper  spiritual  life 
which  those  forms  have  not  unfre- 
quently  overlaid  and  disfigured. 
Mr.  Greg,  in  replying  to  the  ques- 
tion, *  Is  a  Christian  life  feasible  in 
these  days  ? '  goes  more  truly  and 
directly  to  the  root  of  the  matter. 
He  emphasises  the  distinction,  so 
often  insisted  on  before,  between  the 
letter  and  the  spirit,  the  accidental 
and  the  essential,  separating  what  is 
merely  local  and  temporary  in  Chris- 
tian precept  and  example  from  what 
is  of  permanent  authority  and  uni- 
versal application. 

But  a  far  higher  and  more  im- 
portant contribution  to  the  whole 
discussion  will  be  found  in  Prin- 
cipal Tulloch's  detailed  exposition 


of  the  rise  of  a  EationaJ  Tlieolof^ 
and  Ghristian  Philosophy   in  Eng» 
land  in   the    Seventeenth    Century, 
No  work  could  be  more  seasonable 
or  more  salutary  in  its  bearing  on 
the  vital  controversies  of  the  hour. 
The  exposition  is,  indeed,  primarily 
historical,  but  the  voice  of  the  past 
is  listened  to  and  interpreted  ex- 
pressly because  of  its  direct  relation 
to  all  that  is  most  living  and  pro- 
gressive in  the  present.     And  the 
reply  thus  given  by  Principal  Tul- 
loch  to  the  momentous  enquiries, 
*  Are  we  Christians  ? '  •  Is  a  Chris- 
tian   life  feasible  in  these  days?' 
appears  to  us  at  once  more  pertinait 
and  profound  than  any  that  has  yet 
been  attempted.     This  arises  in  a 
great  part  from  the  close  parallel 
between  the  rebgious  and  philoso- 
phic impulses  stirringmore  tlionght-- 
ful  minds  in  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury and  those  of  our  own  day. 
Then,  as  now,  there  was  a  freshly 
awakened  interest  in  scientific  re- 
search,  and  experimental  enquiry 
was  extending  the  boundaries  of 
natural  knowledge.     Then,  as  now, 
a  one-sided  materialistic  philosophy 
springing  out  of  the  scientific  move^ 
ment  covertly  assailed,  not  oidy  the 
existing    sanctions,   but  the    very 
foundations  of  morality  and  reli- 
gion.    Then,    as    now,    the    more 
active  religious  sects,  the  more  ag- 
gressive ecclesiastical  parties,  con- 
founding, with  their  usual  narrow- 
ness of  intellectual  vision,  sciendfie 
enquiry  and    philosophic   thought 
with  the  crudities  of  erratic  specu- 
lation,  assumed  the  attitude  of  de- 
termined hostility  to  the  new  move- 
ment.  Ritualist  and  dogmatist,  Pu- 
ritan and  Prelatic,  alike  closed  their 
ranks  against  the  rational  enquirr 
they  regarded  as  a   common  foe, 
and  did  their  best  to  arrest,  and  if 
possible  overwhelm,  the  deeper  and 
more  vitalising  currents  of  contem- 
porary thought.     Then,  as  now,  a 
higher  order  of  minds,  perceiving 
the  essential  unity  of  truth,  rose 
above  all  sectarian  views  whether 


1873]       Tulloch'a  ^Balional  Theology  and  Christian  PhUoso^hj.^  741 


religious  or  Bcientific,  and  by  form- 
ing a  more  comprehensive  idea  of 
the  Chnrch  and  a  truer  conception 
of  religion,  sought  to  harmonise  the 
higher  claims  of  reason  and  con- 
science, and  secure  under  liberal  and 
enlightened  conditions  the  grow- 
ing  advancement  of  scientific  know- 
ledge, philosophical  thought,  and 
religious  life.  And  finally,  then,  as 
now,  the  loud  clamour  of  sectarian 
polemics  not  only  silenced  for  a 
time  the  calm  voice  of  a  higher 
wisdom  and  truth,  but  produced  a 
strong  temporary  reaction  against 
Christianity  itself. 

Referring  to  this  point  in  the  pre- 
face to  his  work,  Principal  Tulloch 


In  a  time  like  our  own  I  have  thought 
these  sketches  peculiarly  appropriate.   The 
questions  discussed  by  the  liberal  theo- 
logians of  the  seventeenth    century  are 
very   much  the  questions  still  discussed 
nnder  the  name  of  Broad-Churchism.   Our 
present  parties  have  all  their  representa- 
tives in  the  earlier  period.    The  closeness 
of  the  parallel,  Dot  only  in  its  great  lines, 
but  in  some  of  its  special  features,  must 
strike  erery  attentive    reader.      We    are 
nearer  the  seventeenth  century,  not  only  in 
our    theological    questions — supposed    by 
some  to  be  so  novel — but  in  our  scientiilc 
thtiories,  than  we  are  apt  to  think.    And  if 
this  should  incline  any  to  despair  of  eccle- 
siastical or  theological  progress,  it  may  also 
serve  to  convince  them  that  the  conditions 
of  real  advance  are  only  to  be  found  in  a 
wide  and  intelligent  comprehension  of  all 
that  has  gone  before,  in  the  spread  of  a 
thorough  yet  wise  criticism,  and  the  increase 
of  the  simplest  Christian  virtues  in  eveiy 
Church — pitience,  humility,  charity.  There 
are  even  enlightened  men  now  crying  out  for 
a  new  theology,  which  shall  once  more  mould 
into  a  unity  the  distracted  experiences  of  our 
modem  spiritual  life.    But  such  a  theology 
cannot  Bpriog  from  the  ground,  nor  yet 
descend  as  a  ready-made  gift  from  heaven. 
Christian  science  has  far  outgrown  the 
f^fibrts  of  any  single  mind.    The  days  of 
Angnstinian  dominance  are  for  ever  ended. 
It  can  only  come  from  the  slow  elaboration 
•of   the  Christian  reason,  looking  before 
and  after,  gathering  into  its  ample  thought- 
fulness  the  experiences  of  the  rast,  as  well 
as  the  eager  aspirations  of  the  Present. 

It  is  this  direct  relation  of  the 
historical  moyement  which  he  deli- 


neates to  the  activities  of  thouglit 
in  our  own  day,  that  gives  to  Prin- 
cipal    Tulloch's    exposition    such 
vivid  interest  and  pregnant    sug- 
gestiveness.     The  interest  is  deep- 
ened by  the  fact    that  one  vital 
point  of  the  parallel  is  strongly  in 
favour    of   our  own    time.       The 
modem  representatives  of  the  more 
thoughts  ecclesiastical  reformers 
and   Christian  philosophers  of  the 
seventeenth  century,  though  often 
assailed,  are  not  silenced  by  the 
invective  and  denunciation  of  rival 
bigotries.     On  the  contrary,  their 
voices    are    heard    with    growing 
clearness    and    power    above    the 
strife  of  angry  theological  factions 
and  the  Babel  of  discordant  sec- 
tarian tongues.    The  ranks  of  these 
modem  reformers  before  the  new 
Eeformation  are,  moreover,  conti- 
nually recruited  by  the  accession  of 
the    more    earnest  minds    of    the 
younger  generation,  and  they  are 
thus  steadily  advancing  in  numbers, 
position,  and  influence.    So  far  from 
being  confined  to  any  single  reli- 
gious community,  they  are  to  be 
found  among  the  higher  and  more 
liberal  minds  of  all  communions, 
though  naturally  in  the  greatest 
numbers    within  the  pale  of   the 
Established  Churches  on  either  side 
of  the  Tweed.    These  far-sighted 
Christian    thinkers,    by    whatever 
name  they  may  be  called,  agree  in 
regarding  the  moral  and  spiritual 
elements  of  Christianity  as  of  infi- 
nitely higher  importance  than  any 
symbolical  refinements  of  ritual  or 
metaphysical  elaborations  of  doc- 
trine.     Above   all,  they  agree  in 
holding  fast  to  the  first  principle  of 
Protestantism,  the  right  of  private 
judgment,  and  the    corresponding 
duty  of  free  and  rational  enquiry 
in   every  department  of  religious 
truth.     It  is  clear  that  in  an  age 
like  our  own  the  future  of  Christi- 
anity, all  the  deeper  and  more  per- 
manentinterests  of  religious  thought 
and  life,  very  much  depend  on.  the 
X>ersistent  and    united    efforts   of 


742  TullocVs  *  BaJLumal  Theology  and  Ohndian  PhUosopTiyJ'      [June 


{hinkerB  holding  these  larger  TiewB 
of  trath  and  duty.  The  time  has 
come  for  urging  in  relation  to  eccle- 
siastical organisations  the  great 
truth  asserted  by  Christ  with  re* 
gard  to  the  higher  needs  of  hnmar- 
nity.  It  holds  no  less  of  chnrohes 
than  of  individual  men,  that  they 
cannot  live  by  bread  alone,  but '  l^ 
every  word  that  proceedeth  oat 
of  the  mouth  of  Ood,'  whether  that 
word  is  spoken  through  the  volume 
of  natural  or  revealed  truth.  And 
the  more  serious  and  reflective 
minds  perceive  with  growing  clear- 
ness that  the  living  word  has  been 
in  part  rejected  by  the  Churches, 
and  in  part  reduced  to  dead  tradi- 
tionalism by  the  exigencies  of  past 
Ecclesiastical  conflicts  and  the  hard- 
ened results  of  prolonged  theological 
warfare.  It  is  seen  that  in  the 
history  of  the  Church  the  growtk 
of  an  elaborate  ritual  gradually 
destroyed  the  simplicity  and  power 
of  spiritual  worship  until  it  sank 
into  mere  superstition,  while  the 
authoritative  imposition  of  elaborate 
creeds  petrified  at  their  source  the 
Kving  springs  of  truth.  Multiplied 
Confessions  and  Institutes  of  reli- 
gion have  no  doubt  served  im- 
portant purposes  in  the  past,  espe- 
cially in  the  early  stages  of  the 
Beformation,  when  the  ferment  of 
new  spiritual  life  needed  guidance, 
consolidation,  and  restraint.  In 
themselves,  however,  these  creeds 
are  simply  human  interpretations 
of  the  Divine,  designed  in  the 
main  for  temporary  controversial 
purposes,  and  bearing  strong  in- 
ternal marks  of  the  local  conflicts 
and  sectional  limitations  out  of 
which  they  arose.  Unfortunately, 
in  the  history  of  Protestantism 
they  have  not  only  long  outHved 
their  original  use,  but  have  become 
prolific  sources  of  evil  to  the 
Church.  They  have  arbitrarily 
arrested  the  development  of  Chris- 
tian thought^  and  dwarfed  the 
sectional  dimensions  of  the  progress 
of  religious  life.     They  have  helped 


to  paralyse  the  intellect  and  intdli. 
gence  of  the  Church,  and  thus  re- 
strain the  free  play  of  the  higher 
reflective  and  expansive  energies 
on  which  the  progress  and  even  the 
continued  existence  of  Christianity 
as  a  living  and  progressive  power 


Erom  an  early  period  in  the 
history  of  Protestantism  one  of  its 
essential  elements — that  of  living 
and  progresrave  thonght — ^faas  in 
this  way  been  virtually  sopprenad 
within  most  of  the  Reformed 
Churches.  The  object  of  the  new 
Beformation  is  to  restore  this 
neglected  element  to  its  due  place, 
and  allow  it  to  operate  freely  as  a 
modifying  dynamic  energy  amongst 
the  statical  forces  of  ecclesiasti- 
cal life— in  other  words,  to  cany 
forward  the  Beformation  in  har- 
mony with  the  broader  and  more 
comprehensive  conception  of  spi- 
ritual life  and  Christian  verities  on 
which  it  was  originally  based.  No 
more  important  or  more  urgent 
work  could  possibly  be  nndert^cen 
in  our  own  day.  The  neglected 
factor  of  the  great  Beformatian 
movement  is  exactly  what  is  needed 
to  bring  religion  into  fuller  har- 
mony with  the  conditions  of  inteUeo- 
tual  progress,  and  enable  Christianify 
to  appear  in  its  true  character  as 
a  spiritual  power  equal  to  the 
widest  demands  of  modem  thonght 
and  life.  The  other  and  more  ex- 
ternal elements  of  the  movement, 
such  as  ritual  and  creed,  govern- 
ment and  discipline,  have  not  only 
received  adequate  attention  in  Pro- 
testant Churches,  but  each  in  dif-  | 
ferent  directions  has  been  carried  | 
to  a  pitch  of  excessive  and  therefore 
injurious  development.  In  some  j 
shape  or  other  they  will  no  doubt 
continue  to  find  a  place  in  all  re- 
ligious organisations,  bnt  a  place 
growingly  subordinated  to  the 
higher  requirements  of  rational 
thought  and  spiritual  life,  of  which 
they  are  at  best  but  partial,  im- 
perfect^  and,  to  a  certain  extent. 


1873]       TuUoch's  *  BaMonal  Theology  and  Christian  Philosophy  J  743 


temporary  expressioiis.  In  other 
words,  these  essential  elements  of 
Chrisloan  life  must  be  left  free  to 
laanifest  themselves  in  new  and 
nobler  forms,  to  combine  harmdlii- 
onsly  with  all  that  is  true  and 
permanent  in  modem  scientific 
knowledge  and  philosophical  specu- 
lation. This  can  only  be  gradually 
effected  by  means  of  those  who 
clearly  grasp  on  their  ideal  side  the 
powerful  forces  operating  around 
US — ^in  other  words,  who  have  a 
profound  insight  into  both  the 
spirit  of  Ghristdanily  and  the  spirit 
of  the  age.  If  Ghristianiiy  is  ever 
to  penetrate  with  its  own  spiritual 
influences  the  wider  thoughts  and 
earns  of  a  prolific  age  it  can  only  be 
by  allowing  full  scope  to  the  spirit 
of  free  but  reverent  enquiry  which 
has  determined  every  important 
era  in  its  progress,  and  appeared 
most  conspicuously  of  all  in  the 
early  stage  of  the  great  Beforma* 
tion  movement. 

It  is  this  higher  element  of  Pro- 
testantism whose  neglected  history 
in  our  own  country  Principal  Tul- 
loch  undertakes  to  trace.  His  work 
presents  an  outline,  indeed,  of  the 
progress  of  rational  thought  as  a 
niodifying  power  within  the  Church 
from  the  earliest  period  of  the 
Beformation  struggle.  But  it  is 
mainly  occupied  with  the  progress 
of  this  movement  in  England  during 
the  period  which  followed  the  esta- 
blishment of  Protestantism  as  the 
national  faith,  amidst  the  struggle 
of  violent  ecclesiastical  factions 
-within  the  Church  during  the 
seventeenth  century.  This  central 
aim  gives  a  unity  of  purpose  and 
meaning  to  the  work  which  cursory 
readers  may  not  at  first  perceive, 
the  biographical  form  of  the  expo- 
sition as  the  more  prominent  feature 
naturally  producing  the  strongest 
impression  at  first.  More  careful 
readers  will,  however,  soon  discover 
the  connecting  links,  the  carefully 
traced  continuity  of  rational  thought 
and  growth  of  liberal  conceptions, 


which  constitute  the  essential  unity 
of  the  book,  and  give  its  expositions 
so  much  living  interest  and  perma- 
nent value.  Principal  TuUoch  thus 
describes  at  the  outset  his  general 
purpose : 

I  have  endeavoured  to  sketch  in  the  fol- 
lowing chaptera  one  vezy  significant  and 
not  the  least  powerful  phase  in  the  reli- 
gious history  of  the  seventeenth  century. 
At  the  commencement  of  the  contest  be- 
twixt the  Parliament  and  the  King,  there  ' 
was  a  moderate  party  which  was  neither 
Laudian  nor  Puritan — a  party  of  which  the 
hapless  but  heroic  Falldand  was  the  head, 
and  with  which  many,  if  not  a  majority,  of 
the  most  thoughtful  minds  of  the  country 
sympathised.  This  combination — which 
was  even  then  more  intellectual  than 
political— shared  the  common  fate  of  aU 
middle  parties  in  a  period  of  revolution. 
It  disappeared  under  the  pressure  of  vio- 
lent passions  and  the  uigency  of  taking  a 
side  for  the  King  or  the  Parliament.  But 
the  principles  with  which  it  was  identified, 
and  the  succession  of  illustrious  men  who 
belong  to  it,  made  a  &r  more  powerful 
impression  on  the  national  mind  than  has 
been  commonly  supposed.  The  dear  evi- 
dence of  this  is  the  virtual  triumph  of  these 
principles,  rather  than  those  of  either  of 
the  extreme  parties,  at  the  Revolution  of 
1688,  which — ^and  not  the  Bestoration— 
was  the  natural  outcome  of  the  preceding 
struggle.  The  same  principles,  both  in 
Church  and  State,  have  never  since  ceased 
to  influence  our  national  thought  and  life. 
Their  development  constitutes  one  of  the 
strongest,  and,  as  it  appears  to  me,  one  of 
the  soundest  and  best  strands  in  the  great 
threcul  of  our  national  history.  It  is  of 
importance,  therefore,  that  their  origin  and 
primary  movement  should  be  understood. 

I  have  spoken  gS  the  Latitudinarians  of 
the  seventeenth  century  as  in  some  degree 
a  party ;  but  they  are  rather,  as  Dollinger 
somewhere  says  of  their  representatives  in 
our  own  time,  a  band  or  group  *  of  spiritu- 
ally related  savans,'  than  a  j)arty  in  the 
strict  sense  of  the  term.  They  pursued 
common  objects,  and  so  far  acted  together ; 
but  their  combined  action  resulted  firom 
congruity  of  ideas,  rather  than  from  any 
definite  ecclesiastical  or  personal  aims. 
It  is  the  inevitable  characteristic  of  a 
moderate  or  liberal  section  in  Church  or 
State  to  hold  together  with  comparative 
laxity.  The  very  fSact  of  their  liberality 
implies  a  regard  to  more  than  one  side  to 
any  question— a  certain  impartiality  which 
refuses  to  lend  itself  to  mere  blind  partisan- 
ship, or  to  that  species  of  irrational  devo- 
tion which  forms  the    rude  strength  of 


744         TuUocJCa  *  Baiiondl  Theology  and  Chrietian  PhUoaophyJ*      [June 


great  parties.  This  characteristic  makes 
the  action  of  such  a  moderating  force  all 
the  more  valuable ;  and  it  may  be  safely 
said  that  no  ecclesiastical  or  civil  organisa- 
tion would  long  survive  its  elimination. 
The  *  rational'  element  in  all  Churches  is 
truly  the  ideal  element — ^that  which  raises 
the  Church  above  its  own  little  world,  and 
connects  it  with  the  movements  of  thought, 
the  course  of  philosophy,  or  the  course  of 
science — with  all,  in  fact,  that  is  most 
powerful  in  ordinaiy  human  civilisation. 
Instead  of  being  expelled  and  denounced 
as  merely  evil,  rationalism  has  high  and 
true  Christian  uses ;  and  the  Church  which 
has  lost  all  savour  of  rational  thought — 
of  the  spirit  which  enquires  rather  than 
asserts— is  already  effete  and  ready  to 
perish. 

The  movement  which  I  have  described  in 
these  volumes  appears  to  me  the  highest 
movement  of  Christian  thought  in  the 
seventeenth  century.  I  am  far  from  dis- 
paraging the  theology  and  literature  of 
Prelacy  or  Puritanism  during  that  eventful 
and  fruitful  period.  There  is  much  in  both 
that  still  deserves  perusal,  and  may  be 
said  to  have  permanently  moulded  and  en- 
riched our  national  intellect.  There  may 
be  single  writers  on  either  side  of  more 
unique  genius  than  any  I  have  sketched. 
It  is  nevertheless  true  that  the  stream  of 
Christian  thought  runs  more  free,  and  rises 
to  a  higher  elevation  in  the  rational  theo- 
logians of  the  time,  than  in  any  others. 

The  biograpliical  features  of  the 
work,  however,  as  we  have  said,  are 
those  wbicli  naturally  first  attract 
attention.  After  an  introductory 
chapter  tracing  the  history  of  the 
critical  and  reflective  element  in 
the  Reformation  struggle  during 
the  sixteenth  century,  and  the 
course  of  religious  opinion  and  state 
of  religious  parties  in  England  in 
the  first  quarter  of  the  seventeenth 
centuiy,  the  work  is  divided  into 
two  series  of  sketches  of  about  equal 
length.  The  first  series  or  group 
of  liberal  thinkers,  whose  main 
object  was  to  expand  and  liberalise 
the  idea  of  a  Church,  includes  the 
names  of  Lord  Falkland,  Hales  of 
Eton,  Chillingworth,  Jeremy  Tay- 
lor, and  Stillingfleet.  The  second 
gpx)up,  whose  main  object  was  to 
deepen,  vitalise,  and  simplify  the 
conception  of  religion,  includes 
amongst  other  less  known  but  not 


less  eminent  names  those  of  Smith 
the  Platonist,  Gudworth,  More,  and 
Culverwell.  One  member  of  the 
group,  who  was  in  some  respects  as 
noteworthy  as  any,  and  personally 
more  interesting  than  most — ^Ben- 
jamin Whichcote — is  so  little  known 
that  Principal  Tulloch  may  almost 
claim  the  merit  of  having  discovered 
him.  The  sketch  of  his  life  and 
teaching  at  Cambridge  contained 
in  these  volumes  is  the  first  detailed 
notice  calling  general  attention  to 
his  rare  inteUectual  and  moral  gifts 
that  has  appeared.  This  second 
group  in  its  local  and  personal 
associations  has  more  the  character- 
istic of  a  party  or  school  than  the 
first,  and  the  leading  members  of 
it  have  already  a  small  niche  both 
in  literary  and  ecclesiastical  histoij 
under  the  well-known  designation 
of  the  Cambridge  Platonista.  The 
members  of  both  groups  are  sketched 
with  all  PrincijMil  Tulloch's  well- 
known  skill  of  individual  portrait- 
m-e.  He  is  a  master  of  the  art  that 
by  felicitous  touches  of  personal 
appearance,  traits  of  gesture  and 
manner,  characteristic  habits,  and 
local  colouring,  makes  a  long  past 
personality  live  and  breathe  before 
us  with  something  of  the  freshness 
and  reality  of  a  personal  experience. 
And  what  is  much  less  common, 
as  well  as  more  important  for  his 
present  work,  he  has  a  power  of 
interpretation,  a  meditative  depth 
of  insight,  a  breadth  of  human 
sympathy,  that  enables  him  to  per- 
ceive and  depict  with  rare  fidehty 
the  inner  life  of  thosewhose  thoughts, 
feelings,  and  aims  are  the  subjects 
of  his  exposition.  To  him  the  work- 
ing of  a  noble  mind  is  evidently  a 
congenial  atmosphere,  and  in  the 
presence  of  great  spiritual  person- 
alities he  finds  himself  emphatically 
at  home.  Contact  with  their  liberal 
thoughts  and  larger  aims  has  a 
quickening,  exhilarating  influence^ 
and  the  writer's  best  powers  seem 
to  freshen  and  expand  as  he  follows 
their  personal  career,  and  nn&lda 


1573]      TuUoch's  'Bational  Theology  and  Christian  Philosophij.*         745 


the  pregnant  conceptions  in  which 
their  nobler  life  still  lives.  From 
the  breadth  and  candour  of  his  own 
mind,  his  elevation  and  liberality 
of  spirit,  Principal  TuUoch  is  well 
able  to  appreciate  fairly  thinkers 
whose  rational  views  and  tole- 
rant sentiments  condemned  them 
for  a  time  to  unmerited  neglect. 
Those  who  attempt  to  take  a  middle 
coarse  in  times  of  fierce  religious  ex- 
citement have  little  chance  of  being 
£aivlj  estimated  either  by  their  con- 
temporaries, absorbed  in  the  actual 
struggle,  or  by  ecclesiastical  his- 
torians, equally  absorbed  in  record- 
ing from  opposite  points  of  view 
the  crisis  and  its  results.  At  such 
reasons  those  who  rise  above  the 
immediate  impulses  and  aims  of 
the  rival  factions  are  almost  sure 
of  being  misjudged  by  both.  The 
liberaHty  of  their  more  comprehen- 
sive views  will  be  looked  upon 
as  indifference,  and  their  desire  for 
conciliation  and  peace  rather  than 
victory  and  vengeance  will  be  stig- 
matised as  cowardice.  This  is  to  a 
certain  extent  true  of  the  rational 
theologians  and  Christian  philoso- 
phers whose  life  and  labours  fill  the 
volumes  before  us.  They  have  found 
for  the  first  time  in  Principal  Tul- 
loch  a  sympathetic  historian  and 
expositor,  one  thoroughly  able  to 
understand  their  position,  and  do 
foil  justice  to  their  motives,  aims, 
and  achievements.  This  fuller  and 
more  accurate  appreciation  appears 
in  the  record  of  their  lives  as  well 
as  in  the  analysis  of  their  writings. 
Principal  Tulloch's  prolonged 
and  sympathetic,  study  of  these 
rationsd  thinkers,  not  only  as  indi- 
viduals, but  in  their  relations  to 
each  other  and  the  whole  life  of  the 
time,  makes  his  biographies  of 
them  more  full  and  vivid,  more 
consistent  and  complete,  than  any 
that  have  yet  appeared.  The  finer 
perception  of  the  mingled  motives 
and  less  obtrusive  currents  of  in- 
fluence by  which  they  are  aflTected, 
the  thorough  knowledge  of  their 


character  and  relationships,  illu- 
minates the  record  of  their  lives. 
As  a  striking  example  of  this  more 
adequate  treatment,  we  may  point 
to  Principal  Tulloch's  account  of 
Lord  Falkland.  This  is  not  only 
more  detailed  and  elaborate,  but,  as 
it  seems  to  us,  far  more  truthful 
and  just  than  any  we  remember  to 
have  seen.  Most  readers  of  English 
history  are  familiar  in  outline  with 
the  brilliant  but  short  career  and 
tragic  fate  of  this  gifted  nobleman. 
But  firom  the  conflicting  estimates 
on  either  side,  it  is  difi&cult  to  form 
any  just  or  consistent  view  of  his 
character  and  conduct.  He  has 
been  greatly  praised  and  harshly 
blamed  by  party  historians,  but 
never  fairly  appreciated  from  a 
higher  and  more  impartial  point  of 
view.  Taking  his  stand  on  this 
higher  ground.  Principal  Tulloch 
gains  a  deeper  insight  into  his  cha- 
racter, and  is  able  to  give  a  more 
adequate  and  consistent  picture  of 
his  life.  In  his  full  and  sympa- 
thetic narrative  we  reaHse  for  the 
first  time  the  inner  unity  and  noble 
meaning  of  a  career  sadly  distracted 
and  confused  by  the  fierce  conflicting 
currents  of  envenomed  political  and 
reUgious  strife.  The  same  fulness 
and  adequacy  of  treatment  is  con- 
spicuous in  many  of  the  other 
biographies,  especially  in  those 
of  Chillingworth,  Wluchcote,  and 
Henry  More. 

But  while  the  breadth  of  his- 
torical handling  and  the  vividness 
of  individual  portraiture  make  these 
volumes  interesting  to  cultivated 
readers  of  all  classes,  it  is  in  the 
luminous  history  of  liberal  thought 
that  their  higher  and  more  per- 
manent  value  is  to  be  found.  The 
lives  of  these  rational  theologians 
and  Christian  philosophers  are  of 
interest  now  on  account  of  the 
great  conceptiond  and  comprehen- 
sive aims  of  which  in  an  earlier 
day,  and  under  adverse  conditions, 
they  were  the  faithfal  representa- 
tives.   We  go  back  to  the  pregnant 


746  TuUoclCs '  Bational  Theology  and  Ohrigtian  Phihsophy.*      [June 


thoughts  of  Hales  and  the  earnest 
arguments  of  Ghillingworth,  to  the 
wise  sayings  of  Whichcote  and  the 
eloquent  pages  of  John  Smith,  be- 
cause the  truths  that  kindled  them 
ai*e  of  living  interest  at  this  hour, 
and  are  being  discussed  a&esh  in 
the  full  light  of  modem  criticism 
bjthe  most  earnest  and  reflective 
minds  of  the  age.  The  questions 
that  interested  the  Cambridge 
Platonists  are  exactly  the  questions 
that  must  continue  to  interest  all 
who  reflectively  consider  the  spiri- 
tual or  ideal  conditions  on  which  the 
moral  welfare  and  true  progress  of 
mankind  depend.  Their  thoughts 
are  still  of  living  interest  because 
they  were  working  a  vein  of  truth 
which  is  now  beginning  to  unfold 
its  wider  resources  as  a  mine  of 
wealth  for  the  race.  The  history 
of  their  thought  is  pre-eminently  im- 
portant on  tlus  very  account,  because 
amidst  the  speculative  distractions 
of  a  transitional  era  in  philoso- 
phical opinion  and  religious  belief, 
the  elements  of  truth  they  brought 
more  dearlv  into  view  are  precisely 
those  which  as  possessing  an  inhe- 
rent vitality,  must  continue,  under 
some  form  or  other,  to  regulate 
modem  life  and  stimulate  its  nobler 
labours.  As  we  have  already  inti- 
mated, it  is  this  direct  relation  of 
his  historical  exposition  to  modem 
thought  and  life  that  gives  so  much 
inner  unity  and  permanent  value 
to  Principal  Tulloch's  work.  In 
tracing  ihe  history  of  liberal  and 
rational  Christian  fhought  in  Eng- 
land from  the  early  period  of  the 
Reformation  to  the  seventeenth 
century,  he  has  laid  a  firm  historical 
basis  for  those  who  labour  now  in 
the  face  of  renewed  sectarian  acti- 
vities to  secure  the  conditions  of 
wider  Christian  progress,  by  urging 
a  more  comprehensive  view  of  the 
Churchy  and  a  more  just  and  vital 
conception  of  religion.  Hia  volumes 
show  that  tiiere  has  been  a  gradual 
but  unintermpted  growth  of  liberal 
conceptions,  both  ecclesiastical  and 


theological,  and  this  growth  cul- 
minates in  our  own  day  in  those 
who  reject  all  merely  sectanan 
svmbols  as  the  conditions  of  Chris- 
tian communion,  and  who  regard 
only  the  simplest  Christian  verities 
as  essentials  in  religion.  We  can 
only  just  indicate  in  Principal 
Tullocn^s  own  words  the  leading 
objects  of  the  two  groups  of  think- 
ers to  whose  lives  and  labours  these 
volumes  are  devoted.  The  main 
object  of  the  first  or  ecclesiastical 
movement  is  thus  described : 

Two  parties  Btood  opposed,  each  pro- 
fessing a  iheozj  of  the  Church  vhieh 
admitted  of  no  compromise.  Inhentiog 
alike  the  medisval  idea  of  theological  and 
ritual  imiformity — ^which  the  Reformation 
had  failed  to  destroy — they  interpreted 
this  idea  in  diverse  diroctions,  and  so  stood 
&ce  to  face  in  hopeless  discord.  Equally 
exdnsive,  and  claimiTig  each  to  absorb 
the  national  life,  it  was  ineTitablethal  they 
should  clash  in  a  violent  trial  of  strengtk 
The  intensity  of  the  conflict  was  pro- 
portioned to  the  intensity  of  the  divi^cms 
betwixt  parties,  sundered,  not  only  by 
political  dilferences,  but  by  rival  ideals  of 
religious  government  and  worship,  which 
they  interpreted  respectively  as  cif  Dinne 
authority. 

It  was  the  merit  of  Hales  and  Chilling- 
worth  and  Taylor,  attached  as  they  were 
personally  to  one  side  in  this  struggle,  that 
they  penetrated  beneath  the  theoretical 
narrowness  which  enslaved  both  sides,  and 
grasped  the  idea  of  the  Church  more  pro- 
foundly and  comprehensively.  They  saw 
the  inconsistency  of  a  formal  Jut  divmum 
with  the  essential  spirit  of  Protestantism, 
imperfectly  as  this  spirit  had  been  developed 
in  England,  or,  indeed,  elsewhere.  Accord- 
ing to  this  spirit  the  true  idea  of  the  CSiurch  is 
mond,  and  not  ritual.  It  consists  in  certain 
verities  of  fiiith  and  worship,  rather  than 
in  any  formal  unities  of  croed  or  order. 
The  genuine  basis  of  Christian  commnnioa 
is  to  be  found  in  a  common  recognition  of 
the  great  realities  of  Christian  thought  and 
life,  and  not  in  any  outward  adhesion  to  a 
definite  ecclesiastical  or  theological  system. 
All  who  [profess  the  Apostles'  Creed  are 
members  of  the  Church,  and  the  national 
worship  should  be  so  ordered  as  to  admit 
of  all  who  make  this  profession.  The  pv- 
pose  of  these  Churchmen,  in  short  vas 
comprehensive,  and  not  exclusive.  TThtJe 
they  held  that  no  single  type  of  Church 
government  and  worship  was  absolstely 
Divine,  they  acknowledged  in  difTereot  {onas 
of  Church  order  an  expression  more  or  less 


1873]       TuUoch'8  '  Bational  Theology  and  OhrisHm  PhiloBophy.*         747 


of  the  DiTine  ideas  which  lie  at  the  root  of 
all  Christian  society,  and  which — and  not 
any  aeddent  of  external  form — give  to  that 
society  its  essential  character.  In  a  word, 
the  Church  appeared  to  them  the  more 
Dirine,  the  more  ample  the  spiritual  activi- 
ties it  embraced,  and  the  less  the  circle  of 
heresy  or  dissent  it  cut  off.  This  breadth 
and  toleration  separated  them  alike  from 
Frelatists  and  Puritans. 

Whatever  we  may  think  of  the  position 
and  character  of  these  men  otherwise,  they 
were  the  true  authors  of  our  modem  reli- 
gions liberty.  To  the  Puritans  we  owe 
much.  They  vindicated  the  dignity  of 
popular  rights  and  the  independence  due  to 
the  religious  conscience.  Saye  Ibr  the  stem 
stand  which  they  made  in  the  seventeenth 
century,  many  of  the  elements  which  have 
grown  into  our  national  greatness,  and 
given  robustness  to  our  common  national 
life,  would  not  have  had  free  scope.  But  it 
aigues  a  singular  ignorance  of  the  avowed 
aims  of  the  Presbyterian  party,  and  the 
notorious  principles  of  the  Puritan  theo- 
logy, to  attribute  to  them  the  origin  of  the 
idea  of  religious  liberty.  As  a  party,  the 
Presbyterians  expressly  '  repudiated  this 
idea.  Their  dogmatism  was  inflexible. 
The  Church,  according  to  them,  was  abso- 
lutely authoritative  over  religious  opinion 
no  less  than  religious  practice.  It  could 
tolerate  no  differences  of  creed.  The  dis- 
tinction of  fundamental  and  non-funda- 
mental articles  of  belief,  elaborately  main- 
tained by  ChiUingworth  and  Taylor,  was 
held  to  be  dangerous  heresy;  and  the 
principle  of  latitude,  with  all  the  essential 
ideas  of  free  thought  which  have  sprang 
out  of  it,  was  esteemed  unchristian.  These 
ideas  are  to  be  found  in  the  writings  of 
the  liberal  Churchmen  of  the  seventeenth 
century,  and  nowhere  else  in  England  at 
that*time — at  least,  nowhere  else  broadly 
and  systematically  expounded. 

The  second  moyement  was  a  re- 
action in  part  against  the  dogmatic 
exclnsiyeness  of  like  Westminster 
Assembly,  and  in  part  against  the 
license  of  a  number  of  new  sects, 
each  claiming  Divine  anthoritj-  for 
its  fanatical  extremes  of  doctrine 
and  practice.  These  sects  having 
rapidly  mnltiplied  towards  the 
middle  of  the  century,  it  was  natu- 
ral that  thoughtful  minds  should 
consider  more  deeply  the  questions 
raised  by  their  pretensions,  should 
enquire  mto  the  nature  of  religion, 
the  means  of  discriminating  reli- 
^ouB  truth,  and  the  use  of  reason 


in  relation  to  it.  The  nltra^dogma- 
tic  character  of  the  Westminster 
Confession  of  Faith  tended  in  an- 
other way  to  provoke  the  same  en- 
quiries, and  was  thus  indirectly  a 
part  of  the  stimulus  towards  a  sim- 
pler, deeper,  and  more  rational 
theology.  In  the  presence  of  sec- 
tarian license  two  things  seem  espe- 
cially to  bave  impressed  the  younger 
and  more  tboughtful  minds  of  the 
age,  '  the  need  of  some  broader  and 
more  conciliatory  principles  of  theo- 
logy to  act  as  solvents  of  the  inter- 
minabledisputes  which  raged  around 
them,  and  the  need  of  bringing  into 
more  direct  prominence  the  practi- 
cal and  moreJ  side  of  religion.'  In 
relation  to  this  point  Principal 
Tolloch  says : 

The  Puritan  theology  in  the  seventeenth 
centmry,  with  all  its  noble  attainments,  was 
both  intolerant  and  theoretical  in  a  high 
degree.  It  would  admit  of  no  rival  near 
its  throne;  it  was  impatient  of  even  the 
least  variation  from  the  language  of  ortho- 
doxy. It  emphasised  all  the  transcendental 
and  Divine  aspects  of  Christian  truth,  ren- 
dering them  into  theories  highly  definite  and 
consistent,  but  in  their  very  consistency 
disre^^odfU  of  moral  facts  and  the  com- 
plexities of  practical  life.  Younger  theolo- 
gians, of  a  reflective  turn,  looked  on  the  one 
hand  at  this  compact  mass  of  doctrinal  divi- 
nity, measuring  the  whole  circle  of  religious 
thought,  and  careAUly  articulated  in  all  its 
parts ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  at  the  state 
of  the  religious  world  and  the  Church 
around  them.  The  sense  of  schism  between 
theory  and  practice— between  divinity  and 
morals — was  painfully  brought  home  to 
them.  It  was  no  wonder  if  they  began  to 
ask  themselves  whether  there  was  not  a 
more  excellent  way,  and  whether  reason  and 
morality  were  not  essential  elements  of  all 
religions  dogma.  Their  minds  were  almost 
necessarily  driven  towards  what  was  termed 
in  reproach  by  the  older  Puritans  *  a  kind 
of  moral  divinity.'  Longing  for  peace  and 
a  higher  and  more  beneficent  action  of 
Christian  brotherhood,  they  naturally 
turned  in  a  different  direction  from  that 
which  had  been  so  httle  fruitful  of  either. 
They  sought  to  soften  down  instead  of 
sha^ning  doctrinal  distinctions,  to  bring 
out  points  of  agreement  instead  of  points  (^ 
difference  in  the  prevailing  medley  of 
religious  opinions.  Especially  they  tried 
to  find  a  common  centre  of  thought  and 
action  in  certain  universal  principles  of 


748  Tulloch*8  *  Rational  Theology  and  Christian  Philosophy.*       [Jnne 


religions  sentiment  rather  than  in  the  more 
abstruse  conclusions  of  polemical  theology. 
Thej  became,  in  short,  eclectics  against  the 
theological  dogmatism  and  narrowness  of 
their  time,  yery  much  as  Hales  and  Chilling- 
worth  became  advocates  of  comprehension 
against  the  ecclesiastical  dogmatism  and 
oarrowness  of  theirs. 

Again,  in  tracing  more  fully  the 
inner  meaning  of  the  movement, 
Principal  TuUoch  points  out  that 
the  conception  of  religion  reached 
I77  the  Cambridge  Platonists  was  far 
deeper  and  truer  than  that  of  the 
Puritans  on  the  one  hand,  or  the 
Prelatists  on  the  other.  With  these 
rival  ecclesiastical  parties,  religion 
was  something  more  or  less  distinct 
from  humanity,  a  celestial  gift  in 
the  keeping  of  bishops  and  presby- 
ters of  the  Church  or  the  Westmin- 
ster Assembly.  The  rational  theolo- 
gians vindicated  the  realities  of 
religion  against  the  reactionary 
unbelief  produced  by  these  dominant 
forms  of  dogmatic  excess. 

They  were  Christian  apologists  as  well 
«s  Christian  rationalists,  and  their  true 
position  can  only  be  understood  when 
viewed  in  both  aspects.  On  the  one  side 
they  testified  to  the  need  of  reason  and 
faith,  of  morality  and  religion;  on  the 
other  side  they  testified — and  none  hare 
ever  done  it  more  nobly — that  reason  needs 
faith,  and  morality  religion.  This  double 
attitude  is  of  the  highest  significance. 
Beligion,  they  said,  is  not  a  set  of  forms  or 
ma^cal  round  of  rites ;  neither  is  it  a  set  of 
notions  or  elaborate  round  of  doctrines. 
It  is  a  life — a  higher,  purer,  nobler  expres- 
sion of  the  ordinary  human  life — a  *  deiform 
seed'  within  the  soul,  growing  up  into 
spiritual  blossom  and  fruit.  The  single 
condition  of  this  spiritual  culture  is  the 
Divine  Spirit  in  contact  with  the  human, 
•guiding,  educating,  enriching,  strengthening 
it  This  was  their  idea  of  religion,  alike 
against  the  formal  mysticism  of  the  Iiaud- 
ians  and  the  formal  opinionativeness  of  the 
Puritans.  The  essence  of  piety  was  not  in 
the  spiritual  performances  of  the  one,  nor 
the  spiritual  exercises  of  the  other,  but  ;n 
a  pure,  good,  and  beautiful  life.  But  then 
they  added — and  no  set  of  theologians  have 
«ver  more  emphaticalW  added — such  a  life 
can  only  exist  in  the  Divine,  and<he  Divine 
is  a  reality.  The  spiritual  is  as  truly  as, 
«nd  more  truly  than,  the  material.  While 
religion  is  never  to  be  dissociated  from  life, 
«nd,  apart  from  it,  exists  only  in  its  simu- 


lacra— 'rites*  or  'notions* — it  is  yet  no 
mere  culture  of  the  common  external  life — 
no  mere  moral  coating.  It  is  the  growth  of 
the  Divine  side  of  life,  and  this  side  is  as 
real  as  the  natural  side;  nay,  it  is  the 
deeper  reality  of  the  two.  In  this  sense  re- 
ligion is  distinctive,  but  in  no  other. 

The  concluding  chapter  of  the 
work,  from  which  this  extract  is 
taken,  and  in  which  Principal 
TuUoch  sums  up  the  resnlts  of  the 
exposition,  and  applies  them,  to  the 
present  and  future  religious  thought, 
is  perhaps  the  most  important  of  all. 
It  is  marked  not  only  by  an  earnest 
and  devout  Christian  spirit,  but  by 
a  comprehensive  insight  into  the 
essentials  of  religion  and  the  condi- 
tions of  its  advancement  amidst  the 
multiplied  requirements  of  a  critical 
and  scientific  age.  It  displays 
throughout,  moreover,  rare  powers 
of  thought  and  expression,  strength 
of  intellectual  grasp  combined  with 
subtle  reflective  analysis,  and  a 
glow  of  masculine  eloquence  com- 
bined with  the  finish  and  grace 
of  a  cultivated  literary  style.  The 
following  passage,  indicating  the 
requirements  of  a  comprehensive 
philosophy  of  religion,  will  illus- 
trate this  union  of  religious  earnest- 
ness with  philosophical  and  literary 
power: 

,  A  true  religious  philosophy  can  onlr 
be  built  up  slowly  by  the  process  which 
verifies  while  it  accumulates,  and  tests 
every  addition  to  the  fabric  of  diFCoreiy 
before  it  ventures  to  lay  it  to  the  pile. 
The  religions  experience  of  mankind 
tlirough  all  the  ages  of  historic  and  even 
pre-historic  growth,  is  as  much  a  reality 
as  any  other  phase  of  his  experience — a 
good  deal  more  a  reality  than  most  others. 
Beligion  has  been  and  remains  the  most 
powerful  factor  of  human  history.  Amidst 
all  its  changes  it  has  been  this,  and  is 
likely  to  continue  to  be  so.  The  idea  that 
human  progress  shall  ever  transcend  reli- 
gion, or  lay  it  aside,  is  the  wildest  dream 
that  ever  entered  into  the  uncultured  and 
semi-savage  heart  that  still  lurks  in  the 
bosom  of  modem  civilisation.  There  it  is, 
and  has  been  always  in  the  world,  moving 
in  some  form  or  other  its  highest  minds 
to  their  highest  significance.  There  is  no 
science,  however  exclusive,  can  refuse  t« 
recognise  such  £ut8,  by  the  veiy  right 


1873]       TulhcJCs  '  Batioml  Theology  and  Christian  Philosojphy.'  749 


which  it  itself  haa  to  exist,  and  enquire 
into  its  own  series  of  facts.  But  theolo- 
gians and  Christian  philosophers  must  come 
to  acknowledge  that  religious  facts  are 
noty  any  more  than  other  facts,  of '  private 
interpretation/  They  are  individuiu,  it  is 
true,  and  in  a  certain  sense  cannot  be 
investigated  too  closely  as  elements  of 
individual  experience ;  but  in  ordnr  to  be 
fully  and  comprehensively  understood, 
they  must  also  be  regarded  as  parts  of  the 
oonnnon  experience  of  humanity  through 
all  its  stages  of  growth.  They  must  be 
studied,  not  only  in  their  individualistic, 
but  in  their  generalised  form,  as  they  ap- 
pear in  their  gradual  and  complete  deve- 
lopment in  histoiy,  before  we  can  interpret 
them  right,  and  form  even  a  proximate 
theory  of  their  true  value.  We  must  have, 
in  short,  some  adequate  criticism  of  reli- 
gious ideas  in  all  their  mysterious  growth, 
dependency,  and  involvement,  before  we  can 
venture  to  construct  any  adequate  theory 
or  philosophy  of  religion.  All  true 
thought  is  merely  fact  idealised ;  all  right 
theory  is  merely  experience  generalised. 
No  thought  that  is  worth  anything  can 
ever  rise  above  an  historic  basis.  No  more 
than  science  can  transcend  nature,  can  re- 
ligious thought  transcend  history.  It 
may  illuminate  histoiy,  but  it  must  first 
of  all  grow  out  of  it ;  and  a  philosophy  of 
Teligion,  before'  it  aims  at  settling  for 
us  the  great  problems  which  it  involves, 
must  be  content  to  drudge  for  long  yet 
in  reading  the  varied  records  of  religious 
experience  which  modem  historical  criti- 
cism has  only  begun  to  unfold  and  arrange, 
light,  therefore,  is  not  to  be  sought  in  any 
sudden  illumination,  nor  progress  in  any 
pet  theories  of  modem,  any  more  than 
of  ancient,  thinkers— but  only  in  patient 
study  and  faithful  generalisation.  The 
vast  volume  of  religious  experience 
wiU  slowly  unfold  its  characters  to  induc- 
tive and  patient  thinkers,  as  other  volumes 


of  experience  have  done.  And  as  this  vo- 
lume is  steadily  read — its  pages  compared, 
and  their  facts  co-ordinated  and  explained 
— the  Divine  meaning  will  become  clearer. 
A  religious  philosophy  will  at  least  become 
possible  when  it  is  sought  in  this  way, 
not  in  any  favourite  speculation  of  this  or 
that  thinker,  however  great,  but  in  the 
comprehensive  interpretation  of  the  reli- 
gious consciousness  working  through  all 
history,  and  gathering  light  and  force  as 
it  works  onward. 

The  work  as  a  whole  is  a  valuable 
contribntioii  to  literatare  and  his- 
tory, as  well  as  to  theology  and 
philosophy.  It  presents  with  requi- 
site fulness  of  detail  a  most  im- 
portant but  hitherto  unwritten 
chapter  in  English  ecclesiastical 
history,  'and  completes  a  chapter 
almost  equally  interesting,  buir- 
hitherto  only  imperfectly  sketched,, 
in  the  history  of  English  philosophy^ 
And  the  historical  review  is  brought 
to  bear  so  directly  on  the  pre- 
sent, that  the  great  lines  of  re* 
ligious  progress  in  the  future  are,, 
as  we  have  seen,  clearly  traced  iu 
the  summary  that  concludes  the 
exposition.  To  the  question,  'Are  we- 
Christians  ? '  Principal  Tulloch  vir- 
tually replies.  Yes;  and  shall  become- 
more  and  more  so  as  we  advance  in. 
knowledge  and  goodness,  in  virtue 
and  truth,  since  these  things  repre- 
sent the  Divine  element  in  man^ 
whose  forther  development  will 
bring  him  nearer  to  the  source  of  all 
purity  and  all  truth. 

B.. 


7m 


tfc 


THE  COMING  TRANSIT   OF  VENUS, 
AND  FOREIGN  PREPARATIONS  FOR  OBSERVING  IT. 

By  Richabd  A.  Pboctor,  B.A. 

HOXOBABT  SbCBBTABT  OF  THB  BOTAL  AsTBOCTOiaCAI.  SoCIBTr, 

Aytthob  op  •  Thb  Su3*/  '^Othbb  WonLDS,'  &a 


LAST  March,  after  ddscribing  the 
general  principleB  on  which  the 
utilisation  of  the  transits  of  Venns 
depend,  I  gave  an  account  of  the  sug- 
gested arrangements  for  observing 
the  transit  of  1874,  so  far  as  this 
countrjr  is  concerned.  I  propose 
now  to  describe  what  other  countries 
intend  to  do.  It  is  manifest  that 
our  opinion  as  to  what  is  proper  for 
England  to  undertake,  must  in  part 
depend  on  the  arrangements  of  other 
countries.  It  would  be  absurd,  for 
instance,  to  expect  England  to  under, 
take  difficult  and  <mngerous  Ant* 
arctic  expeditions,  if  the  correspond- 
ing northern  stations  with  which 
comparison  should  be  made  were  not 
occupied  by  Russia,  in  whose  ter- 
ritory  they  mainly  lie.  Again  it 
would  be  less  manifestly  England's 
duty  to  occupy  Antarctic  or  sub- 
Antarctic  stations,  if  less  dangerous 
regions  suitable  for  observing  the 
transit  were  to  be  left  unoccupied  by 
other  countries.  In  such  a  case  the 
proper  course  for  England  would  be 
to  make  a  careful  Estimate  of  the 
relative  difficulties  as  well  as  of  the 
relative  advantages,  whereas  if  these 
regions  were  to  be  occupied  by 
America,  France,  or  Germany,  we 
should  have  no  choice  but  to  man 
the  less  inviting  stations  which  our 
great  Antarctic  explorers  have  made 
more  particularly  ours.  It  is  there- 
fore necessaiy,  in  order  to  the  com- 
plete recognition  of  our  position  with 
reference  to  the  coming  tran^t,  that 
the  arrangements  of  foreign  astro- 
nomers should  be  considered. 

But  in  the  first  place,  it  will  be 
desirable  to  discuss  what  has  hap- 
pened since  my  last  paper  on  tins 
subject  appeared.  It  will  be  seen 
that  while  on  the  one  hand  the 


justice  of  the  views  which  I  then  in- 
dicatedhas  been  implicitly  admitted, 
there  has  not  yet  l^n  that  explicit 
recognition  oF  the  position  of  aJkirs 
which  can  aldne  be  really  efiectire 
in  inducing  those  in  authority  to  do 
what  is  needfol. 

'  It  will  be  remembered  that  in  m j 
former  paperl  described  two  methods 
in  which  a  transit  can  be  utilised. 
One,  called  Delisle's  method,  depends 
on  the  determination  of  the  exact 
epochs  when  transit  begins  (or  endfi) 
as  seen  from  two  distant  stations — 
the  interval  between  these  ^x)chs 
affording  the  means  of  determining 
the  sun's  distance.  The  other, 
called  Halley*s  method,  depends  on 
the  determination  of  the  duration 
of  the  transit  as  seen  from  two  dis- 
tant stations — ^the  difference  between 
the  observed  durations  being  the 
circumstance  on  which  is  baaed  the 
determination  of  the  sun's  distance 
by  this  method. 

So  that  in  Delisle's  method  a 
certain  interval  of  time  has  to  be 
measured  by  two  persons  at  nearly 
antipodal  stations,  one  observer 
timing  ont»  end  of  the  interval,  the 
other  timing  the  other  end ;  while 
in  Halley's  method  each  of  two 
persons  times  the  duration  of  a 
certain  event.  It  is  manifest,  at 
the  outset,  that  the  latter  operation 
is  the  simpler  of  the  two.  For  when 
an  observer  has  estimated  a  duration 
there  is  an  end  of  the  matter ;  he 
has  that  duration  recorded,  and  the 
comparison  can  be  made  wiUi  the 
other  duration  in  the  most  diiect 
way.  Their  clocks  may  have  been 
wrong  by  many  minutes,  but  the 
durations  remain  correct  so  loog  as 
the  clocks  did  not  gain  or  lose 
appreciably  during   the    homs  of 


187S] 


Tiei3<mdn§  Ttwm$a^  Vemu. 


751 


transit,  which  of  course  woii}d  not 
happen  with  any  respectably  rated 
dock.  The  observers  bj  the  other 
method  have  a  far  more  difficult 
task.  They  must  be  certain  that 
they  have  referred  their  observations 
to  the  same  absolate  tin^e.  For 
instance,  if  each  knows  the  exact 
Greenwich  time  when  he  made  his 
observation,  the  interval  between 
their  observations  can  be  properly 
determined.  Bat  if  either  or  both 
be  at  all  in  doubt  as  to  the  true 
Greenwich  time,  even  by  a  few 
seconds,  the  estimate  of  the  interval 
will  be  correspondingly  in  error, 

A  simple  illustration  will  show 
the  difiference  in  the  principles  of 
the  two  methods,  so  far  as  the  com- 
parison of  results  is  concerned. 
Suppose  that  two  observers,  one  at 
Edinburgh  and  the  other  at  London, 
are  watching  a  display  of  meteors, 
and  that  they  agree  to  compare  the 
apparent  motions  of  remarkable 
meteors.  Then  they  might  arrange 
beforehand  either  to  take  the  dura- 
tion of  the  more  remarkable  meteors 
as  the  means  of  identifying  parti- 
cular objects,  or  else  to  take  the 
moment  of  apparition.  If  duration 
was  their  test,  the  matter  would 
be  simple  enough.  Thus  the  two 
observers  might  find  that  somewhere 
about  midnight  each  saw  a  meteor 
whose  train  remained  visible  twenty- 
five  seconds,  and  if  the  majority  of 
the  meteors  lasted  but  about  ten 
seconds  they  could  not  be  mistaken 
as  to  the  identity  of  this  particular 
meteor.  But  suppose theobserver  at 
London  saw  a  meteor  at  i  min.  40  sec. 
past  1 2  by  his  watch.  Then  the  ob- 
server at  Edinburgh  might havesome 
trouble,  if  there  were  many  meteors, 
in  identifying  this  particular  meteor. 
His  watch  might  differ  several 
seconds  from  the  watch  of  the 
Londoner.  Both  watches  might 
have  been  set  by  some  trustworQiy 
time-signal,  the  Londoner's  perhaps 
by  the  Greenwich  time-ball,  the 
Scotsman's  by  the  Edinburgh  gun- 
signal.    But  they  might  have  lost 


or  gained  in  the  interval  since  this 
was  done ;  and  the  probable  amount 
of  loss  or  gain  might  be  difficult  to 
determine,  because  perhaps  varying 
with  the  temperature  and  humidity 
of  the  air,  the  motions  to  which  the 
watch  had  been  subjected  in  the 
interval,  and  other  circumstances  of 
which  perhaps  no  exact'  account 
could  be  obtained. 

To  show  how  seriously  Halley's 
and  Delisle's  methods  differ  in  this 
important  respect — relative  sim- 
plicity— it  will  suffice  to  mention 
that  m  speaking  of  the  application 
of  Halley's  method  the  Astronomer 
Royal  has  stated  that  a  few  days' 
stay  at  the  selected  station  to  ^  rate ' 
the  dock  would  be  sufficient  for  all 
purposes,  and  that  for  Antarctic  ob- 
servation fixed  ice  would  serve  as 
well  as  land ;  whereas  he  considers 
that  to  apply  Delisle's  method  with 
advantage  each  station  should  bo 
manned  three  months  before  the 
day  of  the  transit,  the  observers 
being  kept  hard  at  work  determin- 
ing the  longitude  by  'moon  and  star' 
work  all  that  time.  When  to  this 
is  added  the  circumstance  that  much 
more  perfect  instruments  must  be 
provided:— the  clocks  especially 
bein^  required  to  be  firat-class 
specimens  of  horological  art — ^it 
will  be  manifest  that  provision  for  a 
.  Delisle  station  is  a  much  more 
costly  affair  than  provision  for  a 
Halleyan  station.  The  country 
would  not  grudge  the  difference,  no 
doubt,  if  it  were  really  true,  as  the 
Astronomer  BoyaJ  mistakenly  sup- 
posed, that  Halley's  method  cannot 
be  applied  with  advantage  in  1874. 
But  the  matter  assumes  another 
aspect,  even  as  a  money  question, 
now  that  it  has  been  demonstrated 
that  Halley's  method  is  the  more 
advantageous  of  the  two. 

Now  the  question  has  been  dis- 
cussed on  this  very  issue  since  my  last 
paper  appeared ;  and  I  cannot  but 
think  that  the  circumstances  of  the 
discussion  will  prove  at  once  interest- 
ing and  instructive  to  my  readers. 


7S0 


1 


THE  COMING  TRANSIT    OF 
AND  FOREIGN  PREPARATIONS  ^OR^, 

By  RiCHiLBD  A.  Peootor,  l^f^^ 

HOXOBABT  SbCBKTABT  OF  THB  KoTAI.    f^f^ff 

ArTHOB  OP  *Thb  Sr^/  '^>^tM^^  ^ 
J  AST  March,  after  dfeBcribing the    y^H^il^^ 


JJ  general  principles  on  which  the  ^.  i' 

J^*1* X* ^f    Xl>  ^      i  I     n  111  r»  T  t  r»      »^fi       \/  ^%w*9%tl    t»' 


ntiliBation  of  the  transita  of  Vennp,>;^^|'|. 
depend,  I  gave  an  account  of  the  BOfj^i  I  f  g,  ^ 
gested  arrangements  for  obaerrT:£^  ^St 
the  transit  of  1874,  ^  ^^  **^i  J  1 1  '  ^ 
country  is  concerned.     I  y>/|  s]    51*^ 


.1-. 
^^•, 


of 


^ 


as  observed  at 

j,tion,  and  at   the 

end  as  observed  at 

station.     In  each  case 


now  to  describe  what  other  0^?  > 
intend  to  do.  It  is  manj/Y| 
onr  opinion  as  to  what  is  /^  f  ^  r  *> 
England  to  undertake,  ^'/|*5  f 
depend  on  the  aacfsSigeTffi  |  '  ^ 
countries.  It  would  y  I 
instance, toexpect  ¥,^  f  ^'  uiethod, 
take  difl&cult  anc*,  '  /r  distinct 
arctic  expedition^:  ^ginning  and 
ing  northerii  ' 
comparison  sh 
occupied  by 
ritory  they* 
would  be  iV^^s  &om  the  difficulty 
duty  to  Jidning  the  exact  moment 
Antarc^  ygons  is  just  in  contact  with 
regior^'5  edge  on  the  inside.  An 
trau'W  illusion  occurs  by  which 
otl-  itf5  and  also  the  sun's  edge  are 
p-  J^d  at  this  critical  moment.* 
•'  0^  the  difficulty  in  question. 
f^m  a  very  careful  investigation 
^  the  observations  made  during 
^e  transit  of  1769,  Mr.  Stone,  late 
f^rst  Assistant  at  the  Greenwich 
Observatory,  found  that  the  greatest 
error  from  this  cause  did  not  exceed 
three  seconds  on  that  occasion. 
But  in  1874  Venus  will  cross  the 


b 
of 

4j 
'  in 

rroT  ia 

^e  greater 

'  HaJley'8 

-  «>ur  errors  (it 

-/        and    end  of  tJa 

-iromthetwostations) 
i^his  one  cause, 
m  Delisle's  method  error 
jomes  m  at  four  distinct  pointe. 
^e  northern  observer  must  in  the 
first  place  time  the  moment  when 
Venus  IS  just  fully  upon  tjbe  mi 
disc  (either  on  entry  or  before  exit), 
and  will  be  exposed  ,to  the  error 
described  above ;    so  also  wiD  the 
southern  observer.    Here,  then,  are 
two  errors  corresponding  exactly  to 
two  out  of  the  four  which  arise  in 
Halley's  method.      But  also  both 
the     northern    and   the   southern 
observer  must  know  what  is  the 
true  time  when  their  clock  shows 
such  and  such  time.     Each  may 
know  the  exact  second  ty  his  dock 
when  Venus  was  in  contact;  bnt 
he  wants  to  know  the  exact  second 
by  Greenwich   time.*     He  must 
therefore  know  his  longitnde,  which 
in  effect  means  the  time-difference 
between  his  station  and  Greenwich; 
and  not   only  that,  but  he  mnst 
know  what  his  local  time  \&.   Te 
explain    this  without  introducing 
Complex  astronomical  consideiationa 
— suppose  an  observer  is  exactly  15 
-degrees   west  of  Greenwich,  then 


'  The  phenomena  can  easily  be  reproduced  artificially.  A  ground  glass  lamp^lobfr 
makes  a  suitable  artificial  sun,  while  a  small  coin  makes  an  excellent  artificial  pUneL 
Fix  the  coin  anywhere  so  that  it  can  readily  be  brought  on  the  bright  disc  by  the  mm- 
ment  of  the  observer's  head.  Then  move  so  tliat  the  coin  appears  to  transit  the  brigbt 
disc,  and  not«  how  when  just  upon  the  bright  disc,  this  disc's  outline  seems  to  beud 
inwards  towards  the  black  disc  of  the  coin,  which  disc  in  turn  seems  to  extend  outiraid* 
as  if  helping  to  make  the  contact. 

*  I  take  Greenwich  time  for  convenieiice  of  expression  ;  but  the  time  really  wanted  is 
what  may  be  called  earth^ime.  When  Green-wlch  time  is  given,  Paris  time  is  kno*^. 
and  Washington  time,  and  so  03  ;  in  fact  the  time  at  evepv  station  of  ascertained  rUce 
on  the  earth.  ^ 


1873] 


The  Coming  TransU  of  Venus, 


753 


4he  Bon  will  be  due  south  exacilj 
OD6  hour  later  than  at  Greenwich, 
4md  the  knowledge  of  that  fact 
would  be  the  knowledge  of  the 
longitude,  which  is  one  of  the  points 
•A  transit  observer  requires.  Now 
•dearlj  an  error  comes  in  if  the 
longitude  is  not  exactlj  determined. 
An  observer  at  some  such  place  as 
Woahoo  or  Kerguelen  Island  would 
<oertainlj  not  Imow  his  longitude 
>quite  exactly,  and  by  whatever 
4unount  he  was  in  error  in  that 
respect  by  so  much  would  his  esti- 
znate  of  time  be  erroneous.  But 
returning  to  our  illustrative  station 
15  degrees  west  of  Greenwich,  an 
observer  there  who  set  his  clock 
by  the  sun  at  noon,  and  we  will  say 
set  it  exactly  right,  might  never- 
theless have  his  clock  wrong  on  the 
next  forenoon,  and  if  he  th&n  timed 
any  particular  phenomenon  his 
time-estimate  would  be  fro  tanto 
•erroneous.  Combining  the  two 
sources  of  error,  we  get  what  is 
-called  the  error  of  absolute  time. 
Our  northern  and  southern  obser- 
vers of  Venus  are  each  liable  to  an 
«rror  of  this  sort.  These  two 
errors  with  the  two  contact  errors 
make  up  the  four  above  mentioned ; 
And  the  smaller  they  are  likely  to 
be,  the  greater  is  the  advantage  of 
Delisle's  method,  which,  be  it  no- 
ticed, only  differs  from  Hallev's  in 
having  two  errors  of  this  kind  in 
place  of  two  errors  of  the  kind 
before  discussed.  Now  the  Astro- 
nomer Boyal  asserts  that  the 
absolute  time  errors  will  probably 
not  exceed  a  single  second.  Here, 
then,  Delisle's  method  seems  to 
Lave  a  great  advantage,  for  we  have 
two  errors  each  likely  to  be  no  more 
than  a  second,  as  against  two  each 
likely  to  be  about  4^  seconds. 

Applying  this  criterion,  it  fol- 
lows that  Delisle's  method  employed 
at  the  Astronomer  Royal's  select- 
ed stations — Woahoo,  Kerguelen 
Island,  Rodriguez,  Canterbury 
(N.Z.),  and  Alexandria — gives  re- 
sults very  little  inferior  to  Halley's 

VOL.  VU. — ^NO,  XLII.      NEW  8EBIIS. 


method  applied  at  Nertchinsk, 
Tchefoo,  Tientsin,  Jeddo,  Pekin, 
ftc.  in  the  north,  and  at  Kerguelen 
Island,  Kemp  Island,  Possession 
Island,  Crozet  Island,  Enderby 
Land,  Sabrina  Land,  and  elsewhere, 
in  the  south.  Absolute  equality  can- 
not be  asserted,  still  less  superiority, 
by  Sir  G.  Airy's  own  criterion. 
The  greater  cost  and  complexity  of 
Deli^e's  method  cannot  be  denied. 
Every  circumstance  seems  to  point 
to  the  advisability  of  at  least  doing 
something  by  way  of  employing 
Halley's  metnod.  Nothing  standb 
in  the  way  but  that  unfortunate 
error  which  led  to  the  verdict  that 
Halley's  method  'fails  totally'  in 
1874.  This  only,  I  conceive,  led  to 
the  amazing  circumstance  that  Mr. 
Goschen,  speaking  on  behalf  of  the 
Astronomer  Royal  in  the  House  of 
Commons,  positively  asserted  that 
even  at  a  station  where  there  will 
be  an  observing  party  and  where 
Halley's  method  chajuces  to  be 
applicable  as  well  as  Delisle's, 
*  little  reliance'  will  be  placed  on 
the  former  method,  although  by  the 
Astronomer  Royal's  own  criterion 
the  method,  even  at  this  station 
(selected  for  the  application-  of 
DeliaWa),  has  nevertheless  the  ad- 
vantage. I  have  heard  this  state- 
ment of  Mr.  Goschen's  (for  which, 
however,  he  is  in  no  sense  respon- 
sible) characterised  as  'simply 
astounding'  by  an  astronomical 
authority  of  the  greatest  eminence, 
and  simply  astounding  it  unques- 
tionably is  in  my  judgment. 

But  oefore  proceeding  to  enquire 
into  the  provision  whidi  is  actually 
being  made  for  HaU^an  northern 
stations  by  Russia,  Germany,  and 
America,  I  shall  venture  to  make 
the  enquiry  whether  the  criterion 
above  described  is  altogether  a 
proper  one;  whether,  in  fact,  it 
IS  not  altogether  overweighted  in 
favour  of  Delisle's  method. 

It  manifestly  is  natural  enough 
that  a  criterion  of  this  sort  shoiSd 
be  made  as  favourable  as  possible 


754 


The  Coming  Transit  of  Venus. 


[Jime 


for  the  meiliod  acinallj  selected  by 
the  official  representative  of  British 
aBtronomy,  when  we  consider  that 
if  the  other  method,  oTerlooked  by 
an.  nnfortimate  mistake,  should 
chance  to  be  the  better  of  the  two, 
a  certain  *  degree  of  regret  could 
scarcely  &il  to  be  odcasioned  by 
the  loss  of  an  important  opporta- 
nity.  One  could  not  blfune  the 
Astronomer  Boyal,  for  example,  if 
nnder  these  circumstances  the  pro- 
bable errors  of  contact  observa- 
tions erew  somewhat  beyond  their 
tme  dmiensions,  while  the  probable 
errors  of  absolnte  time  wore  corre- 
spondingly reduced.  Nevertheless, 
in  a  n[iatter  so  importantly  affecting 
the  science  of  astronomy  and  the 
reputation  of  this  countiy,  it  is 
necessary  to  weigh  most  scrupu- 
lously every  consideration  of  this 
sort. 

I  note,  then,  that  the  probable 
magnitude  of  contact  errors  is  in- 
ferred directly  from  the  results 
obtained  in-  1769)  without  any  al- 
lowance for  improvement  in  instru- 
ments, observing  skill,  and  so  on. 
In  1769  the  optical  error  was  not 
anticipated;  now  it  is  not  merely 
'  anticipated,  but  its  source  is  known 
and  understood.  In  1769  very  im- 
perfect instruments  were  used.^ 
The  observers  oertainlv  were  not 
so  skilful  as  those  of  our  time. 
Then  there  was  no  special  selection 
of  instruments  as  on  the  present 
pccasion.    Moreover,  a  variety  of 


ingenious  arrangements  have  been 
suggested,  the  best  of  which  wHl 
undoubtedly  be  employed,  to  make 
the  observation  of  contact  as  free 
as  possible  from  error. 

Does  it  not  seem  reasonable  to  infer 
that  these  improvements  combined 
should  reduce  our  estimate  of  the 
probable  error  to  an  appreciable  ex- 
tent? For  instance,  since  when  none 
of  these  considerations  are  taken 
into  account  the  error  is  assumed 
to  be  4^  seconds,  may  we  not  when 
aU  of  them  are  taken  into  account 
assume  the  probable  error  to  be  no 
greater  than  3  seconds?^  Per- 
sonally I  am  satisfied,  after  a  careful 
study  of  the  observations  made  on 
the  transit  of  Mercury  on  November 
5, 1868,  that  the  mere  knowledge  of 
the  cause  of  the  phenomena  observed 
at  contact,  by  directing  the  ob- 
server's attention  to  a  certain  inter- 
pretable  feature  (the  breadth  of  the 
*'  connecting  ligament,'  which  by  an 
optical  illusion  seems  to  form  be- 
tween Venus  and  the  snn),  affords 
the  means  of  reducing  the  errcft  to 
little  more  than  a  second.  But  I 
am  content  to  take  3  seconds  as 
an  estimate  certainly  more  reason- 
able than  that  resulting  from  the 
complete  neglect  of  all  that  has 
been  learned  since  1769. 

And  now  as  to  the  probable  emr 
of  absolute  time,  estimated  by  the 
Astronomer  Ko3ral  at  a  single 
second.  Have  we  any  means  of 
fbrming  an  opinion  on  this  point? 


'  Some  of  those  ofted  in  the  important  observations  in  the  South  Sea  had  fiillen  into  the 
hands  of  the  savages*  and  were  recovered  with  difficulty. 

*  To  show  how  our  knowledge  of  the  source  and  nature  of  the  contact  difficulty  mar 
be  applied  to  reduce  the  resulting  error,  I  shall  mention  one  fact  which  seems  to  me  venr 
notewoithy :  Ghieat  stress  was  laid  by  Mr.  Stone  on  the  peculiarities  observed  during  the 
transit  of  Mercury  on  November  5,  1868;  for  observers  with  large  telescopes  saw  the 
disc  of  Mercury  apparentl)r  connected  with  the  sun*8  edge  by  a  fine  filaaont  sevcni 
seconds  before  any  connection  between  the  disc  and  the  8un*s  edge  had  been  reoognised 
by  observers  with  small  telescopes.    This,  of  course,  was  simply  the  telescopic  rmdaiag, 
so  to  speak,  of  the  optical  illusion  I  have  spoken  of  above.    Now  in  1869,  wfaHa  a 
discussion  was  in  progress  between  myself  and  Mr.  Stone  on  the  subject  of  the  approaching 
transits,  I  showed  that  the  two  extreme  cases  of  difference,  where  no  less  than  14  seeondf 
intervened  between  the  observed  moments  of  contact,  could  be  brought  into  agreement 
within  the  tenth  part  of  a  second  by  simply  applying  to  the  observer's  statements  Mr. 
Stone's  own  interpretation  of  the  phenomenon  of  the  '  black  drop '  or  '  connedjiv  £1** 
ment.'    These  statements  indicated  the  breadth  of  the  filament  in  each  case,  and  ths  one 
£act  brought  the  observations  into  agreement,  when  rightly  understood. 


1873] 


The  Ooming  Trcmsit  of  Venus, 


766 


Have  anj  observationB  been  made 
which  enable  us  to  test  the  san^ 
gune  Tiews.  of  the  Astrononier 
Eojal  by  the  results  of  actual  ex- 
perience ?    Fortunately,  yes. 

In  the  United  States,  owing  to 
Ihe  great  extension  of  that  country 
in  longitude,  observations  to  deter- 
mine the  exact  longitude  are  of 
greatgeographical  importance.  But 
the  electeio  telegraph  affords  the 
means  of  directly  determining  the 
longitude  in  the  most  satisfaotoiy 
of  all  possible  ways,  by  instan- 
taneous time-sigp:iids.  Hence,  a 
longitude  determined  by  observa- 
tory work  can  be  at  once  tested  by 
telegraphic  communication.  Now 
the  following  are  the  results  of  the 
experience  thus  obtained.  Afber 
three  years  of  observatory  work  by 
practised  astronomers  and  by  the 
most  approved  methods  in  esta- 
blished observatories,  the  error  of 
longitude  is  found  to  amount  to 
i^  second.  Now  this  being  the 
case,  what  opinion  are  we  to  form 
as  to  the  probable  error  when  ob- 
servations have  only  been  made  for 
three  months  in  temporary  obser- 
vatories, and  that  not  by  men 
whose  whole  time  has  been  given 
for  years  to  astronomical  work,  but 
by  artillenr  ofBcers  trained  to  the 
work  but  for  a  short  time  ?  Surely 
we  must  dismiss  the  Astronomer 
Royal's  estimate  of  one  second  as 
altogether  inadmissible.  Nor  can 
we  take  i^  second  as  a  fair  esti- 
mate when  we  remember  how  £u* 
superior  all  the  conditions  have 
been  which  resulted  in  so  small  an 
error.  Can  it  be  thought  unfair 
to  take  i^  second  as  the  probable 
error,  thus  allowing  only  a  quarter 
of  a  second  for  the  un&vourable 
conditions  P  For  my  own  part  I 
am  convinced  the  error  cannot  pos- 
ably  be  reduced  so  low  ;  and  I  find 
that  very  eminent  authorities  share 
this  opinion.  Let  us,  however, 
take  i^  second  as  the  absolute 
time  error  (noting  that  clock  error 
is    thus  assumed  as  nothing,  al- 


though we  might  very  &Mj  add 
half  a  second  or  so  on  that  account). 

The  result  of  all  this  is,  that  our 
critenou  has  become  greatly  modi- 
fied. Before^  we  had  an  asspimed 
contact  error  of  4^  seconds,  or  4J 
times  the  assumed  longitude  error 
of  I  second :  now  we  have  an  as- 
sumed contact  error  of  3  seconds,  or 
only  twice  the  assumed  longitude 
error  of  i^  second. 

Singularly  enough,  when  the  As- 
tronomer Boyal  first  found  it  de- 
sirable to  employ  a  criterion  in 
defence  of  Delisle's  method,  he  did 
actually  adopt  precisely  the  criterion 
just  deduced.  'Now  I  hope,'  he 
wrote  early  in  1869,  *  that  with 
reasonable  care  the  probable  error 
of  the  geographical  longitude  will 
not  be  more  than  one-half,  of  the 
probable  error  of  ingress  or  egress.' 
By  what  process  of  reasoning  he 
was  led  to  substitute,  within  less 
than  two  months,  the  proportion 
'less  than  a  quarter,'  for  that  of 
'not  more  than  one-half,'  I  am  not  to 
enquire.  But  I  may  note,  aa  a  mere 
matter  of  fact,  that  in  the  interval 
I  had  announced  the  actual  degree 
by  which  the  available  difference 
of  duration  in  applying  Halley's 
method  in  1^74  Would  exceed  the 
available  time-interval  in  applying 
DeHsle's  method.  And  I  may  add 
that  the  earher  criterion  applied  to 
my  result  (the  accuracy  of  which 
was  not  questioned  then,  and  is 
now  established  by  the  Naidical 
Almanac  data)  would  leave  Halley's 
method  far  in  advance  of  Delisle's, 
whereas  the  later  criterion  veiry 
neaHy  brings  Delisle's  method  to 
an  equahty  with  Halley's  in  all  re- 
spects save  simplicity  and  expense. 

But  the  main  question  is,  afber 
all,  whether  other  nations  arp  pre- 
paring to  occupy  such  northern 
stations  as  woidd  be  useful  for 
applying  Halley's  method.  Be 
cause,  although  there  are  northern 
stations  which  England  might  very 
well  occupy,  as  Jeddo,  Pekin,  the 
Benin    Islands,    and    others,    yet 

3F2 


755 


Ths  Ooming  TransU  of  Vemu. 


[June 


if  England  made  a  proper  effort  in 
manning  sonthem  stations  she 
yronld  nave  accomplished  a  ver^ 
fidr  share  of  the  work;  and  it 
would,  perhaps,  be  requiring  too 
much  fix)m  her  to  expect  that  she 
should  provide  for  nortitiem  stations 
as  well. 

In  &nt,  the  Astronomer  Royal,  in 
replying,  at  the  request  of  the 
Hydrographer  to  the  Admiralty,  to 
my  strictures  on  British  prepara- 
tions, dwelt  strongly  on  the  pro- 
.  hability  that  no  effort  would  be 
made  to  occupy  northern  stations 
for  applying  Halley's  method.  So 
strongly  was  this  urged,  that  I  was 
for  a  time  under  the  impression 
that,  owing  to  the  neglect  of  this 
country  in  providing  for  southern 
stations,  Russia  had  given  up  the 
plans  she  certainly  had  once  enter- 
tained for  occupymg  Nertchinsk  in 
Siberia.  Even  then  it  remained 
certain  that  northern  stations  suit- 
able for  applying  Halley^s  method 
would  be  occupied  by  Germany; 
but  certainly  it  seemed  as  if  the 
very  best  regions  were  not  to  be 
^occupied.   ' 

Now,  however,  news  of  the  most 
encouraging  kind  has  come  from 
Russia.  Our  five  stations  for 
applying  Delisle's  method  seem 
scarcely  to  be  sufficient  for  Great 
Britain's  share  in  this  important 
astronomical  work,  when  we  hear 
that  Russia  proposes  to  occupy  no 
fewer  than  twenty  seven  stations, 
amongst  which  eight  are  specially 
selected  for  the  application  of  Hal- 
ley's  method.  Nertchinsk  and  three 
stations  in  the  same  region  appear 
in  the  list  of  the  Russian  Astronomer 
Imperial  When  it  is  mentioned 
that  these  stations  lie  close  to  the 
pole  of  winter  cold,  that  is  to  the 
region  where  is  experienced  the 
greatest  cold  to  which  any  part  of 
our  earth  is  subjected  at  any  time  of 
the  year,  it  will  be  seen  that  the 
occupation  of  these  stations  by  Russia 
in  December  is  as  great  a  sacrifice 
in  the  cause  of  science  as  would  be 


the  occupation  of  as  many  Antarctic 
or  sub- Antarctic  stations  at  a  seaaoii 
which  is  nearly  the  midsummer  of 
the  southern  hemisphere.  Winter- 
inff  in  Possession  Island  would, 
indeed,  be  a  greater  feat^  and  would 
make  this  country /octZe  princ^  in 
the  competition  for  national  distinc- 
tion in  this  matter.  But  wintering  in 
Possession  Island  is  by  no  means  a 
sine  gud  rum ;  and  the  occupation  of 
a  few  Antarctic  and  sub- Antarctic 
stations  would  quite  suffice  to  place 
this  country  in  ner  proper  position 
in  this  matter. 

Russia  occupies  a  series  of  sta- 
tions extending  from  the  extreme 
east  of  Siberia  to  the  Black  Sea 
in  an  unbroken  range.  Speaking 
generally,  it  may  be  said  that  the 
eastern  wing  of  ihe  Russian  army  of 
observers  is  intended  for  the  impli- 
cation of  Delisle's  method  by  obser- 
vation of  the  beginning  of  the  transii, 
while  the  western  wing  is  intended 
for  the  application  of  Delisle'smethod 
by  observation  of  the  end  of  the 
transit.  The  centre  of  the  Russian 
observing  army  is  the  Halleyanooips. 

And  in  passing  I  may  note  as 
one  marked  advantage  of  applving 
Halley's  method,  even  in  cases  where 
it  is  not  so  well  suited  for  use  as  it 
has  been  shown  to  be  in  1874,  that 
it  provides  for  the  occupation  of 
regions  Tone  northern  and  the  other 
soutiiern)  intermediate  between  the 
four  regions  (two  northern  and  two 
southern)  which  are  most  suitable 
for  Delisle's  method.  When  we 
remember  the  possibility  of  cloudy 
weather  at  many  of  the  observing 
stations  we  see  how  important  it  is 
that  the  chances  of  success  should 
be  made  as  numerous  as  possible. 
Especially  is  this  manifest  when  we 
note  that  &ilure  either  at  all  the 
northern  stations  or  at  aU  the 
southern  stations  would  be  absolute 
failure  in  the  whole  matter,  for  in 
all  methods  comparison  has  to  be 
made  between  observations  at  north- 
em  and  at  southern  stations.  Now 
bad  weather  in  December  is  too 


1873] 


The  Coming  TransU  of  Venus. 


767 


common  an  experience  in  the  nor- 
thern hemisphere  to  be  oyerlooked : 
it  mnst  indeed  be  regpeurded  as  the 
most  momentons  of  aU  the  possibili- 
ties of  failure.  It  is  not  connter- 
balanced  in  any  waj  bj  the  fact  that 
December  is  a  snmmer  month  in  the 
sonthemhemisphere,  since  ahnndred 
perfect  observations  in  the  soath 
wonid  be  utterly  useless  if  no  suc- 
cessful observations  Jiad  been  made 
in  the  north. 

But  it  maj  be  argued  that  the 
northern  observing  region  t8  to  be 
properly  manned,  and  that  tlierefore 
it  is  unnecessary  to  dwell  so  strongly 
on  the  necessity.  To  this  I  reply 
that  the  manning  of  northern 
Halleyan  stations  will  be  useless 
unless  corresponding  southern  sta- 
tions are  occupied.  So  that  by 
leaving  such  southern  stations  un- 
provided for,  we  should  in  fact  be 
nullifying  a  portion  of  the  efforts 
made  for  providing  against  weather 
contingencies  in  the  north. 

Before  passing  from  the  considera- 
tion of  the  Russian  preparations  I 
may  remark  that  the  Russian  central 
force  will  occupy  a  region  not  very 
far  from  that  part  of  North  India  to 
which  I  have  pointed  as  a  region 
which  this  country  ought  to  occupy. 
In  miles  the  distance  m>m  southern 
central  Siberia  to  North  India  is 
considerable ;  but  in  an  astronomical 
sense  and  with  special  reference  to 
the  approaching  transit  these  regions 
present  circumstances  far  more  nearly 
alike  than  would  be  supposed  from 
a  mere  study  of  a  geographical  chart. 
For  in  December  both  these  regions, 
as  seen  from  the  sun,  are  foreshortened 
and  thus  brought  into  apparent 
contiguity ;  in  other  words,  the 
circumstances  under  which  the  sun 
is  seen  from  these  regions  are 
rendered  similar.  It  is  to  be  hoped 
that  the  North  Indian  region  will 
after  all  be  occupied  by  this  coimtry, 
and  in  force. 

The  plans  of  France  for  observing 
tbe  approaching  transit  have  not  as 
yet  been  defimtely  aniiounced,  be- 


yond a  statement  (in  reply  to  a 
question  by  the  Astronomer  Koval) 
^at  the  Marquesas  Islands  wiU  be 
occupied  for  tne  purpose  of  apply- 
ing Delisle's  method.  Janssen,  now- 
ever,  has  devised  a  very  ingenious 
method  for  taking  contact  observa- 
tions by  photography,  and  this  is 
specially  intended  to  improve  the 
qualities  of  Halley's  method. 

Germany  has  in  a  very  decided 
manner  indicated  a  preference  for 
Halley*s  method  by  selecting  for  a 
northern  station  Tchefoo  (a  coast 
town  on  the  peninsula  which  lies 
between  thel  Yellow  Sea  and  the 
Gulf  of  Pe-che-lee),  since  this  sta- 
tion has  no  value  for  Delisle*smethod. 
Professor  Auwers,  of  Berlin,  in  a 
letter  addressed  to  Lord  Lindsay, 
mentions  that  besides  the  expedition 
to  Tchefoo,  there  will  be  one  to  the 
Auckland  Islands  and  one  to  the 
Macdonald  Islands,  '  bn  t  in  the  event 
of  the  last-named  islands  presenting^ 
too  many  difficulties,  the  e2q)edition 
intended  for  them  would  be  de- 
spatched to  the  Kerguelen  Islands.' 
The  Macdonald  Islands  lie  to  the 
south-east  of  Kerguelen  Island; 
the  Auckland  Islands  to  the  south 
of  the  New  Zealand  Islands.  Both 
the  Macdonalds  and  the  Aucklauds 
are  better  southern  stations  for 
Halley's  method  than  any  station  to- 
be  occupied  by  Great  Britain,  and 
it  is  not  a  little  creditable  to  a  nation 
like  Germany,  not  specially  mari- 
time, that  it  should  thus  show  both 
England  and  America  (as  will 
presently  appear)  the  way  towards 
the  Antarctic  and  sub-Antarctic 
regions,  which  one  or  other  ought 
to  occupy  in  force. 

The  special  aim  of  the  German 
astronomers,  however,  is  not  to 
apply  Halley's  method,  or  to  trust 
to  contact  observations  at  all,  but 
to  apply  what  is  called  the  direct 
methoa.  I  believe,  but  am  not  sure, 
that  I  was  the  first  to  point  out  not 
only  the  applicability  of  this  method, 
but  the  principles  on  which  the 
choice  of  stations  for  applying  it 


■J 


758 


,The  Goming  Transit  of  Venus. 


[June 


should  depend.  The  method  is 
simplicity  itself.  Halley's  and 
Delisle's  methods  are  both  of  them 
devices  substituting  time  measure- 
ments' for  actual  measurements  of 
the  apparent  position  of  Venus  on 
the  sun's  £Gbce.  If  Yenus's  place 
could  be  directly  determined  as 
seen  at  one  and  the  same  epoch 
from  different  parts  of  the  earth, 
then  the  sun's  distance  would  be 
determinable  in  the  simplest  of  all 
ways,  since  we  only  use  the  other 
methods  to  enable  us  to  infer 
Venus's  displacement.  Hitherto 
the  observation  has  been  regarded 
as  too  difficult  to  be  attempted,  but 
observational  skill  and  appliances 
have  increased  so  greatly  of  late  as 
to  suggest  that  at  least  the  effort 
might  be  worth  making.  In  a  paper 
read  before  the  Astronomical  Society 
in  December  1869,*  I  showed  how 
Venus's  place  need  not  be  com- 
pletely determined  if  stations  were 
properly  selected,  but  only  her  dis- 
tance from  the  sun's  centre.  The 
advantage  of  thus  reducing  the 
work  to  be  done  at  each  ob8er\'^ation 
is  obvious.  Venus  is  moving  all  the 
time  that  any  observation  is  being 
made,  and  therefore  each  observa- 
tion should  last  as  short  a  time  as 
possible.  Now,  if  one  had  to  deter- 
mine both  the  distance  and  bearing 
of  Venus  from  the  sun's  centre,  a 
considerable  interval  of  time  would 
necessarily  elapse  between  the  be- 
ginning and  end  of  the  operations ; 
the  more  so  that  the  two  elements 
are  determined  in  different  ways  ^ 
but  if  at  each  observation  only  the 
distance  of  Venus  from  the  sun's 
centre®  is  required,  the  time  is 
greatly  shortened.  The  Germans 
propose  to  observe  Venus  in  this 
way  at  the  above-named  stations 
and  at  the  Mauritius.  They  will 
also  send  a  photographic  expedition 
to  Persia. 


It  only  remains  that  I  should 
describe  how  America  proposes  to 
observe  the  approaching  transit. 

The  main  reliance  of  the  American 
astronomezii  will  be   upon  photo- 
graphs of  the  sun  with  Venus  on 
his  disc,  taken  on  a  plan  described 
by  Professor  Newoomb  in  tai  im- 
portant paper  on  the  subject  of  ihe 
transit.     The  choice  of  stations  for 
applying  this  method  depends  on 
nearly  the  same  conditions  as  for 
applying  Halley's  method.   Aocord- 
^gly  "vve  find  that  the  Americans 
will  occupy  stations  on  the  coast  of 
China,  Japan,  and  Siberia;    'one, 
probably,  at  Wladiwostok;  one  at 
or  near  Yokohama ;  one  near  Pddn, 
or  between  Pekin  and  the  coast; 
and  the  fourth  somewhere  in  Japan, 
China,  or  the  adjacent  islands.'  All 
these  may  be  described  as  excellent 
Halleyan  stations.     Now  for  sonth- 
em  observations,  the  selection,  as  the 
Americans  well  remark,    is    more 
difficult.     *"  Our  choice,'  says  Bear- 
Admiral  Sands,  in  a  letter  to  Sir  G, 
Airy,  'seems  to  be  confined  to  Ker- 
gnelen  Island,  Tasmania,  Southern 
New    Zealand,    and   Auckland    or 
Chatham  Island.    The  most  &vour- 
able  of  these  stations  is  probably 
Kerguelen  Island,  which  you  men- 
tion among  those  you  purpose  to 
occupy  yourself,  and  which  I  beheve 
the  Germans  also  intend  to  occupy. 
It  is  a  delicate   question  whether 
there  are  not  very  grave  objections 
to  having  so  many  stations  together.' 
'  In  addition  to  these  photographic 
stations,  it  is  our  wish  to  comply 
with   your  desire  that  we  should 
occupy  a    station    in  the  Padfic. 
Here  we  prefer  one  of  the  Sandwich 
Islands  as  distant  as  possible  from 
the  point  you  may  select.  The  ob- 
jection to  occupying   a  station  so 
near  yours   seems  to   be  counter, 
balanced  by   the  very  favourable 
conditions  of  that  group,  both  astro. 


^  It  appears  in  my  Essays  on  Mtronamy,  recently  published. 
I  writers  for  the  sake  of  simplicity  of  expression.     As  a  matter  of  feet  thedistaaee 
9t  Voaus  fixmi  the  edge  of  the  etm  is  what  the  obserrer  actually  determines. 


1873] 


Ihe  Coming  Transit  of  Venus. 


759 


nomically  and  meteorologically,  and 
by  its  accessibility  from  our  western 
coast.'  As  the  whole  transit  *  will 
be  visible  froia  all  the  photographic 
stations,  it  is  intended  to  observe 
them  with  five-inch*  telescopes. 

Now  let  the  following  startling 
&cts  be  noted  in  conclusion.  K 
there  is  bad  weather  either  in  the 
Sandwich  Isles  on  one  side,  or  at 
the  Mauritius  group  and  Kerguelen 
Island  on  the  other,  Delisle's  method 
applied  to  the  beginning  of  the 
transit  will  fail  totally.  If  there  is 
bad  weather  eitlier  in  the  New 
Zealand  Islands,  or  at  the  opposite 
northern  stations,  Delisle's  method 
applied  to  the  end  of  the  transit  will 
fail  totally.  There  would  remain, 
then,  only  the  chances  depending  on 
the  three  methods  which  require 
that  the  whole  transit  should  be 
seen.  For  these  methods  ample  pro- 
vision has  been  made  in  the  northern 
hemisphere,  by  Russia,  Germany, 
and  America ;  so  much  so  that  Eng- 
land's neglect  as  regards  her  North 
Indian  stations  becomes  of  relative- 
ly small  importance.  But,  in  the 
southern  hemisphere,  Kerguelen  Is- 
land is  the  only  really  well-placed 
station  to  be  occupied  for  applying 
these  methods,  and  at  Kerguelen 
Island  fine  weather  occurs  on  about 
one  day  in  ten.  There  remain 
the  Macdonald  Islands,  suggested 


only  for  occupation  by  Grermany, 
but  unlikely  to  be  occupied  except 
by  a  specially  nautical  nation.  Yet 
the  whole  space  between  Kerguelen 
Island,  Enderby  Land,  Possession 
Island,  and  Auckland  Island,  is 
suitable  for  the  three  methods  (and 
also,  be  it  noted  as  important,  for 
Delisle's method).  There  are  several 
islands  scattered  over  this  region, 
and  probably  many  others  which 
have  not  yet  been  discovered.  It  is 
most  unfortunate  that  nothing  has 
been  done,  during  the  four  years 
which  have  passed  since  I  noted 
these  facts,  to  make  reconnaissances 
over  the  whole  of  this  region ;  but 
surely  it  will  be  even  more  unfortu- 
nate if  no  station  is  occupied  in  it. 
Of  the  duty  of  Great  Britain  in  this 
matter  I  have  spoken  earnestly,  be- 
cause I  feel  warmly.  Viewing  the 
matter  as  an  Englishman,  I  may 
say  that  I  should  feel  concerned  if 
this  duty,  neglected  thus  far  by  us, 
should  be  undertaken  by  America, 
the  country  to  which,  next  after  us, 
the  duty  belongs.  Bat  viewing  the 
matter  as  a  student  of  science,  my 
great  wish  is  to  see  due  advantage 
taken  of  the  great  opportunity  af- 
forded by  the  approaching  transit, 
without  specially  caring  whether 
this  country  or  another  obtain 
more  honour  in  accomplishing  the 
task. 


760 


[Jane 


THE  ETHICS  OF  ST.  PAUL. 


IT  is  a  truism  to  say,  thongh  it 
is  scarcely  enongli  realised,  that 
the  writings  of  St.  Paul  are  hard  to 
be  understood.  Judging  from  what 
goes  on  before  our  eyes, — everybody 
trying  to  do  something  for  St. 
Paul,  everybody  who  can  got  a 
few  idiots  to  listen  aspiring  to 
interpret  this  mighty  inspiration, — 
it  would  seem  that  it  is  easy  enough 
to  understand  him.  The  fact  is, 
that  most  of  us  having  heard  him 
read  from  our  veiy  youth,  when, 
of  course,  we  could  not  understand 
a  single  syllable,  have  grown  up 
without  ever  asking  ourselves  what 
he  really  did  mean.  We  are  quite 
satistied  with  hearing  a  sound  of 
words  familiar  to  us,  and  it  suits 
our  laziness  admirably,  if  a  meaning 
must  need  be  adopted,  to  swallow 
wholesale  the  traditional  view 
stamped  with  the  etiquette  of  the 
Church.  It  is  only  when  we  set 
out  by  ourselves  that  we  discover 
that  we  are  in  a  land  bristling 
with  immense  fortresses  and  pre- 
senting well-nigh  insuperable  diffi- 
culties. Then  it  is  too  late  to  turn 
back,  and  we  must  go  on  with  the 
cry  of  the  brave  queen,  *  If  I  perish, 
I  perish.* 

There  are  many  reasons  why, 
after  eighteen  centuries  of  elaborate 
research  and  microscopical  investi- 
gation, it  should  still  remain  a 
matter  of  difficulty  to  interpret  St. 
Paul.  Difficulties  may  have  been 
and  are  being  removed  as  time  rolls 
on,  and  culture,  of  which  we  hear 
so  much,  advances,  but  others  come 
in  their  place.  Our  linguistic 
knowledge  is  greater  than  that  of 
our  ancestors,  it  is  true,  but  the 
study  of  that  strange  language, 
bom  of  a  union  between  Greece  and 
the  East,  the  Koivij,  is  still  sadly 
neglected.  Our  theologians  devote 
themselves  almost  exclusively  to  the 


study  of  classical  Grreek.  And  we 
have  hardly  any  idea  of  the  mightj 
revolution  made  by  Christismiij 
in  the  very  language.  The  new 
ideas  required  a  form  of  expres- 
sion ;  moreover  the  peculiar  Chris- 
tianity of  St.  Paul  stood  in  need 
of  a  special  phraseology.  Hence 
the  many  avaf  XtyofAeva^  tiie 
creation  of  new  words  and  the 
remodelling  of  old  ones.  Besides 
the  difficulty  of  the  language,  there 
is  the  peculiar  style  of  the  Aposde. 
The  readers  of  our  authorised  tnms- 
lation  find  him  ofb  quite  nnintd- 
ligible,  and  it  is  to  be  feared  that 
they  have,  on  the  whole,  no  high 
idea  of  his  literary  ability.  His  style 
is  indeed  oft  heavy,  his  sentences 
are  involved,  and  his  parentheses^ 
as  we  all  Imow,  seem  many  and 
endless.  Dormitat  quandoque  honns 
Paulus,  or  at  any  rate  his  amanu- 
ensis. Yet  his  style  is  wonderfhL 
Le  style  c'est  Vhomme,  He  lacks 
the  correctness  and  oft  wearisome 
polish  which  are  the  result  of  study 
and  training ;  but  his  language  is 
the  adequate  vehicle  of  his  thoughts 
and  the  spotless  mirror  in  which 
his  feelings  and  emotions  are  fidth- 
fnlly  reflected.  He  is  oft  very 
happy  in  the  choice  of  his  expres- 
sions, he  is  oft  the  reverse  ;  but  he 
is  always  himself.  There  is  his 
mighty  individuality  in  every  woid 
which  he  writes;  sometimes  his 
stylo  flows  on  majestically  and 
calmly,  at  other  times  it  rashes 
past  impetuously,  hurried  on  by  a 
mighty  tempest  of  ideas  and  a  veiy 
storm  of  emotions ;  at  all  times  it 
bears  the  stamp  of  truth. 

These  are,  however,  the  outlying 
forts.  After  having  mastered  tiiem 
the  real  difficultycommences.  Were 
the  thirteen  Epistles  in  our  Bible 
written  by  St.  Paul  himself?  If 
this  be  answered  in  the  affirmative, 
there  arises  a  question  of  chrono- 
logy, all-important  because  without 


1873] 


The  Ethics  of  8i.  Paid. 


761 


having  settled  it  we  caimot  trace 
the  development  of  doctrine  of  the 
Apostle.  Then  coming  to  the 
Epistles  themselves,  we  mnst  re- 
member that  they  were  all  pieces 
d*oec<uion.  They  were  written  for  a 
special  purpose  to  a  special  Church 
in  special  circumstances.  They 
were  ofb  written  to  combat  certain 
heterodoxies  and  heresies  with 
which  we  are  but  imperfectly  ac- 
quainted. The  Apostle  had  no  idea 
that  they  would  be  preserved,  and  in 
many  Ghurchesof  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tory  supplant  the  Gk)spel.  Else  sure- 
ly he  would  have  left  many  things 
unsaid,  and  said  many  other  things.^ 
There  would,  no  doubt,  have  been 
many  alterations  in  form  and  matter. 
Another  difficulty  arises  from  the 
fact  that  the  Apostle  was  too  fond  of 
paradoxes.  Truth  is,  no  doubt,  a 
great  paradox,  and  if  one  loves  not 
paradoxes  one  does  not  love  truth. 
The  Apostle  walks  like  a  powerful 
Blondin  on  the  cord  of  his  rea- 
soning over  the  Niagara  of  the  very 
deepest  questions  which  have  agi- 
tated the  heart  of  humanity  since 
its  creation.  Skilful,  confident,  bold, 
verging  on  the  reckless,  he  passes 
before  us — is  it  wonderful  that 
we  should  oft  be  unable  to  follow 
him  ?  Afler  all,  the  chief  difficulty 
is  that  he  was  a  thorough  Eastern 
Jew.  He  was  the  greatest  Jew 
the  world  has  seen.  His  classical 
calture  was  far  from  being  exten- 
sive or  profound.  He  writes  better 
Greek  than  the  author  of  the  Apo- 
calypse, or  than  the  Apostles  St. 
Peter  and  St.  John;  he  quotes 
Menander,  Epimenides,  and  Aratus, 
one  of  his  countrymen;  but  to  build 
on  such  a  foundation  the  fabric 
of    a  considerable    knowledge    of 


dassioal  literature  is  simply  absurd. 
At  first,  it  seems  strange  that  the 
Apostle  should  have  been  deficient 
in  Greek  culture.  '  I  am  a  Jew  of 
Tarsus,  a  city  in  Cilicia,  a  citizen 
of  no  mean  city,'  he  exclaimed,  as 
he  stood  on  the  steps  which  joined 
the  Boman  dtadel  to  the  Jewish 
temple.  The  fond  pride  with 
which  he  thus  mentioned  his  native 
town  was  more  than  justified. 
The  history  of  her  foundation  is 
shrouded  in  the  mists  of  a  fabulous 
antiquity,  but  as  she  emerges  in 
the  light  of  day  she  is  found  to 
be  one  of  the  great  commercial 
cities  and  chief  seats  of  learning  in 
Asia  Minor.  Under  her  voluptuous 
sky  flourished  arts  and  sciences 
and  trades;  along  the  banks  of 
her  river,  the  Cydnus — on  which 
Antony  and  Cleopatra  once  had 
met  for  an  interview  which  decided 
the  fate,  not  merely  of  Rome,  but 
of  the  world — ^wandered  the  great 
masters  whose  fame  was  spread  all 
over  Asia  Minor,  and  whose  learning 
attracted  young  men  eagerly  thirst- 
ing after  knowledge. 

In  this  city,  where  Athenodorus, 
the  master  of  Seneca,  was  bom,  was 
bom  the  great  Jewish  Stoic  Paul;  in 
her  streets  he  spent  the  days  of  his 
childhood  and  youth,  and  in  her 
schools  he  received  those  first  im- 
pressions which  are  indelible,  and 
that  culture  on  which  afterwards 
when  writing  to  the  Corinthians  he 
looked  down,  deeming  the  *  foolish- 
ness of  preaching'  far  above  the 
*  wisdom  of  the  world.*  But  most 
probably  he  left  Tarsus  when  fifteen 
years  old ;  and,  besides,  culture  is 
altogether  a  Japhetic  idea,  not 
understood  nor  appreciated  by 
Shem.^      The  young  enthusiastic 


*  One  cannot  be  too  careful  in  making  snch  a  remark.  Historical  criticism  is  pouring 
from  its  height  a  flood  of  light  on  the  darkest  comers.  We  now  know  that  the  cloak 
about  which  St  Paul  writes  was  a  cope,  and  that  he  used  the  word  not  to  offend  the  then 
Low  Church  party  The  parchment  he  mentions  contained  the  proof-sheets  of  the  first 
edition  of  the  Anglican  Prayer  Book.  As  ha  thought  that  he  might  possibly  visit  Great 
Britain  some  time  or  other,  ho  wished  to  cany  it  himself,  so  as  to  save  expenses. 

*  I  need  hardly  say,  that  though  the  Aryan  idea  of  culture  is  foreign  to  Shem,  it  has  a 
special  culture  of  its  own.  Mat&ew  Arnold,  '  treating  Hebrew  things  with  the  scornful 
insolence  natural  to  a  Greek/  might  allow  a  share  of  intellect  to  tJ^e  Hebrew  race. 


762 


The  Ethics  of  Bt  Paid, 


[Jnne 


Jew,  'brought  up  in  the  most  ortho- 
dox tenets  and  in  accordanee  with 
the  strictest  traditions  of  Judaism, 
most  likelj  did  never  more  than 
tolerate  it.-  He  had  no  love  for 
the  '  religion  of  the  beautiful ; '  he 
had  no  longings  to  recall  the  gods 
of  Greece  and  to  see  the  deserted 
shrines  once  more  peopled.  His 
traditions  led  him  to  look  upon  the 
worship  of  Tarsus  as  idolatry ;  as 
he  passed  her  temples  and  monu- 
ments, and  was  now  and  then  the 
involuntary  witness  of  the  mysteri- 
ous, oft  impure  rites,  which  formed 
part  of  the  services,  he  felt  what 
he  afterwards  embodied  in  the  first 
chapter  of  the  Epistle  to  the  Bo- 
mans,  and  would  fain  have  imitated 
the  example  of  the  iconoclastic 
young  Abraham.  What  attraction 
could  a  laughing  Venus  or  a 
charming   Gupid  exercise  on  this 

^  serious  Shemitic  nature,  which 
has  felt  more  than  any  that  in- 
expressible *  Weltschmerz  '  and  the 
deep  need  of  consolation  of  an  old 

^  world  lying  in  the  pangs  of  death  P 
Now  commences  the  *  Sturm  und 
Drangperiode'  of  St.  Paul.  He  was 
sent  to  Jerusalem,  and  became  one 
of  the  Pharisees.  The  Pharisees 
were  the  creators  of  Judaism  and 
the  national  party  pear  excellence. 
They  were  men  of  great  learning 
and  astonishing  ingenuity,  devoting 
themselves  to  the  study  of  law  or 
Jewish  Ghokma,  or  the  exercise  of 
practical  philanthropy.  They  were 
the  bearers  of  the  spirit  of  the  old 
theocracy,  stem,  uncompromising, 
exclusive,  with  its  twofold  motto: 
'Noli  me  tangere'  and  *Non  possu- 
mus.'  Such  an  atmosphere  was 
undoubtedly  congenial  to  him.  At 
Tarsus,  in  the  midst  of  Greeks,  he 
had  never  felt  at  home ;  and  though 
his  lot  was  afterwards  much  cast 
among  Greek  populations,  it  always 
cost  him  a  great  effort  to  under- 
stand them.  His  master  was  Bab- 
ban  Gamaliel,  *the  glory  of  the 
law,'  the  grandson  of  the  Liberal- 
Conservative    Hillel,  .the    famous 


rival  of  Shammai.  Gamaliel  is 
supposed  to  have  adYOcated  chanty 
above  dogmas,  and  to  have  recom. 
mended  the  non-intervention  policj, 
based  on  a  philosophical  cahn,  the 
characteristic  of  gods  and  the  en^ 
of  mortals.  He  seemed  to  have 
taken  to  heart  the  precept,  which 
liis  grandfather  gave  to  a  headien, 
who  wished  to  be  converted  and  to 
be  taught  the  whole  law  while  be 
stood  on  one  foot :  '  What  is  nn-  > 
pleasant  to  thyself  do  not  thou  to 
thy  neighbour.  This  is  the  whole 
law.  Ail  else  is  but  a  oommentarj 
on  it.     Depart  and  learn  it.'  < 

With  what  intense  ardour  the 
young  Pharisee  must  have  thrown 
himself  into  the  work  before  him 
can  scarcely  be  imagined.  Natnrallj 
of  a  melancholy-choleric  tempera- 
ment, owing  to  physical  causes,  he 
was  not  likely  to  underrate  the  diffi- 
culties in  his  way.  But  he  had  aa 
xmdaunted  spirit,  and  *  Jm  An&ng 
war  die  That'  was  the  great  maxiin 
which  he  endeavoured  to  canr  into 
prac;tice.  Gifled  with  a  brilliant 
versatile  intellect,  a  bold  intuitioiu 
and  great  powers  of  reflection,  he 
might  have  become  a  passionate 
HiUel^  and  poured  fresh  life  into 
the  veins  of  dying  Judaism. 

So  much  is  certain,  that  he  be- 
came a  master  in  Babbinism.  In 
all  his  life,  his  mode  of  expressing 
his  thoughts,  his  arguments,  andhijs 
style,  he  became  a  Babbinical  Jew. 
Hence  the  many  curious  expres- 
sions, the  strange  turns  of  thonght, 
the  sing^ar  proofa,  the  seeming 
quibbles,  the  apparent  want  of  logic 
(Gal.  iii.  i6 ;  iv.  24 ;  Bom.  iii.  i  &^ 
2  Cor.  V.  II  and  many  others) — 
phenomena  which  startle  the  Wes- 
tern reader,  but  do  not  at  all 
astonish  an  Oriental  Jew.  The 
method  of  St.  Paul  is  that  of  the 
Jewish  schools ;  he  has  nothing  to 
do  with  AristotJe.  He  is  an  essen- 
tial creation  of  the  first  eentoir 
and  the  school  of  the  Pharisees. 
His  logic  is  of  the  very  severest 
order,  but  it  ia  like  a  path  in  a 


1873] 


The  Ethics  of  St.  Paul 


763 


dense  forest,  clearlj  marked,  in- 
deed, to  the  children  of  the  forest, 
bat  traced  with  difficulty  by  the 
eyes  of  a  stranger.  Fop  there  are 
many  unforeseen  windings  and  huge 
trees  with  dense  foliage,  making  the 
search  difficult  and  throwing  their 
shadow  across  the  narrow  path. 
St.  Paul  displays  everywhere  i^ 
profound  knowledge  of  the  Jewish 
Scriptures  and  traditional  interpre- 
tations. The  basis  on  which  his 
theology  rests  is  that  of  the  Old 
Testament ;  nay,  more  than  this,  in 
his  theology  he  seldom  goes  beyond 
it.  He  has  created  no  new  theo- 
logy;  if  Christianity  is  theology, 
then  the  Christianity  of  St.  Paul 
is  at  the  very  best  a  Judaism  com- 
pleted. 

I  have  dwelt  long  on  the  Jewish 
character  of  the  Pauline  theology 
because  it  is  the  rock  on  which  so 
many  of  his  interpreters  are  miser- 
ably stranded.  To  stand  on  a  Greek 
platform,  to  interpret  him  in  accord- 
ance with  the  laws  of  culture,  must 
lead  to  strange  misconceptions  and 
huge  misunderstandings.  It  will 
fail  to  bring  out  the  real  St.  Paul. 
Oar  great  modem  Athenians  on 
the  banks  of  the  Seine  and  of 
the  Isis  must  become  Jews  if 
they  wish  to  tell  us  not  merely 
what  St.  Paul  may  have  meant,  but 
what  he  did  mean.  Otherwise  men 
will  hesitate  to  accept  the  salvation 
so  freely  bestowed,  and  continue  to 
ask  whether  these  '  Zeitbilder '  are 
not  in  reality  so  many  '  Zerrbilder.' 
Perhaps  on  a  future  day,  when  we 
have  taken  enough  of  the  '  lumps 
of  Amoldian  delight,  sweet  reason- 
ableness,' we  shall  rest  and  be 
thankful,  but  that  day  is  still  in 
the  dim  distance. 

Lastly,  to  close  this  chapter  of 
difficulties,  we  have  not  *  the  spirit,* 
as  St.  Paul  would  have  called  it, 
that  is,  we  are  not  in  sympathy 
with  the  intense  earnestness  and 
mysticism  of  the  Apostolical  age. 
What  to  us  seems  a  mere  figure  of 
speech  was  to  the  Apostle  an  int^ise 


reahty,  for  which  he  lived  and  died. 
We  play  with  his  ideas,  as  if  they 
were  toys  given  to  amuse  us,  and  we 
forget  that  to  him  they  were  ques- 
tions of  life  or  death.  We  forget 
that  he  obtained  them  at  the  price 
of  great  suffering,  that  he  trod  a 
fda  dolorosa,  and  marked  every 
step  with  tears  and  blood,  that 
he  found  them  on  the  edge  of  a 
deep  precipice.  We  know  no  longer 
'  den  Schmerz  der  Wahrheit,'  and 
hence  we  have  no  longer  the  intense 
love,  the  loyalty,  the  devotion  to  it 
which  characterised  our  Christian 
Demiurges.  Eighteen  centuries 
have  cooled  the  love  which  kindled 
the  fire  that  created  a  new  world. 
Mechanism  and  magic  have  taken 
the  place  of  that  living,  all-absorb* 
ing  love.  Surely  if  we  felt  more, 
we  should  understand  more,  on  to 
ofioioy  rf  ofjioi^  avayicp  Ati  ij^iXov 
eJyat.  ('And  Divine  things  must 
be  loved  in  order  to  be  known.') 

II 

We  shall  return  to  St.  Paul's 
theology  hereafter  :  meanwhile  we 
have  done  enough  in  stating  some 
of  the  difficulties  whic^  accompany 
every  enquiry  into  it ;  and  we  beg  to 
suggest  the  question,  whether  it  is 
worth  while  to  drag  her  down  from 
heaven  and  to  put  her  in  the  market 
place,  instead  of  leaving  her  amidst 
her  native  ur  ? 

Eichte  has  said,  *  Our  intellectual 
S3rstem  is  oft  nothing  but  the 
mstory  of  our  heart.'  This  is 
especially  true  in  the  case  of  St. 
Paul.  It  is  therefore  necessary  to 
touch,  however,  briefly  upon  his 
personal  history.  The  *  Sturm  und 
Drangperiode/  to  which  we  referred 
reached  its  climax  when  the  scholar, 
instead  of  trusting  to  an  intellectual 
defence  of  Judaism,  took  the  sword. 
Repose  was  never  one  of  his  charac- 
teristics— ^the  nature  of  the  wolf  of 
Benjamin  was  never  thoroughly 
tamed;  but  this  intense  restlessness, 
this  want  of  faith  in  a  moral  victory, 
this  active  hatred*— the  Devil  alone 


764 


T7is  EthtcB  of  St.  Paul. 


[June 


is  supposed  to  bate  for  the  mere 
pleasure  of  hating — ^reveal  to  us  his 
inward  state.  He  had  evidently 
misgivings ;  he  had  commenced  to 
doabt,  and  entered  on  the  first  stage 
of  that  intense  straggle  which  led 
him  to  the  very  gates  of  death  that 
thence  he  might  pass  to  his  resurrec- 
tion. The '  vermittelnde '  theology  of 
Gramaliel  had  not  been  able  to  satisfy 
this  thorough,  passionate  nature, 
abhorring  nothing  so  much  as  luke- 
warmness  and  halfness.  What  more 
natural  than  that  he  should  have 
made  an  attempt  to  drown  the 
unwelcome  doubts  which  were 
endeavouring  to  gain  the  mastery 
over  him  ?  He  took  to  persecuting 
those  with  whom  unconsciously  he 
had  points  of  afi&nity.  And  one  of 
the  martyrs  had  his  revenge.  What 
else  is  this  great  'Apostle  of  the 
Gentiles  'butacolossal  St.  Stephen? 
One  day  on  the  road  to  Damascus 
the  heavens  were  opened  to  him. 
There  flashed  upon  him  the  ideal,  and 
in  its  light  he  saw  the  real.  Over- 
powered he  fell  to  the  ground,  and 
when  he  rose  again  his  life  was 
changed.  For  li&  is  devotion  to  an 
idea,  the  pursuit  of  an  ideal ;  a  great 
revulsion  had  taken  place  in  his 
feelings  and  in  his  idea,  and  hence 
in  his  life.  Three  days  he  spent 
in  silence  and  solitude.  In  the 
seventh  chapter  of  the  Epistle  to 
the  Bomans  he  has  described  the 
struggle  through  which  he  passed. 
It  was  severe  and  protracted;  he 
was  one  of  the  violent  that  take  the 
kingdom  of  heaven  by  force.  Pro- 
strated before  that  great  new 
spiritual  power,  in  contemplation  of 
that  moral  grandeur  revealed  to 
him,  he  spent  three  weary  days. 
Intellectually  he  had  no  doubts  ;  it 
was  a  moral  struggle  in  which  he 
was  engaged.  Then  out  of  the 
doubt  iSiAt  weeps,  that  suffers,  that 
bleeds,  which  is  in  itself  religion, 
was  bom  the  system  afterwards 
matured  and  developed  by  reflection 
and  experience.  The  analysis  of 
his  religious  consciousness  followed 


hereafter,  but  when  the  three  days 
were  over  he  felt  above  all  a  Divine 
calm,  a  superhuman  peace,  a  more 
than  natural  joy.  '  Nehmt  die 
Gottheit  auf  in  euren  Willen  un^ 
sie  steigt  von  ihrem  Weltenthron.' 
For  his  conscience  hlid  received  the 
supreme  g^ood  and  His  reason 
acknowledged  it  as  tlie  supreme 
truth,  and  in  the  union  of  the 
two  his  heart  adored  the  supreme 
beauiy. 

A  moral  moralist  is  a  strange 
sight.  It  seems  that  l^ose  who  at- 
tempt to  cure  others  cannot  cure 
themselves.  But  in  the  very  highest 
moralist  there  is  no  such  antagonism 
between  theory  and  practice,  precept 
and  life.  St.  Paul  at  any  rate  could 
say  of  himself  when  standing  before 
the  highest  tribunal  of  his  nation : 
*  Men  and  brethren,  I  have  lived  in  ^ 
all  good  conscience  before  God  untO 
this  day.'  Before  the  change  that 
took  place  on  the  way  to  Damascus 
his  morality  had  been  t^t  of  the 
'  categorical  imperative ; '  afterwards 
it  had  been  that  of  Christ.  But 
throughout  he  had  exercised  him- 
self to  have  always  a  conscience 
void  of  offence  toward  God  and 
toward  men. 

The  conscience!  What  is  it? 
Whence  is  it  ?  What  place  does  it 
occupy  in  man  ?  Every  phQosophj 
that  soars  beyond  phosphorus  and 
bile,  that  finds  the  fatherland  of 
humanity  not  in  a  zoological  garden, 
but  believes  in  a  moral  life— a  spe- 
cial life  of  humanity,  a  moral  world 
governed  by  special  laws — must 
make  the  attempt  to  solve  the  ques- 
tion. Sfc.  Paul  is  the  first  among 
the  Hebrews  who  made  the  effort ; 
in  his  Epistles  the  idea  of  the  con- 
science is  for  the  first  time  dear- 
ly expressed,  and  its  significance 
pointed  out.  It  was  the  firuit  of 
those  hours  of  agony  when  the  tide 
of  a  mighty  revelation  swept  over 
him. 

The  Hebrew  language,  it  has 
been  remarked,  has  no  wend  to  re- 
press the  idea  of  the  oonscienoeL 


1873] 


The  Ethics  of  8t.  Paul. 


765 


The  very  ricIieBt  theological  lan- 
guage in  the  world  has  no  word  for 
the  moral  fiEunzlty.    The  conscience 
must  be  there,  for  it  oonstitates  the 
Tory  idea  of  man.    Bnt  its  cry  is 
feeble,  for  it  is  drowned  by  the 
thnnders  of   Sinai,  and  its  form 
shrinks  into  insignificant    dimen- 
sions before  the  lightning  that  sor- 
ronnds  the  mountain  top  with  a 
halo  of  fire.    An  intensely  theolo- 
gical age  is  not  favourable  to  the 
development  of  the  conscience.     It 
is  evidently  as  nn&ir  to  take  David 
as  the  representative  of  Old  Testa- 
ment Jadaism,  as  it  would  be  to 
take  Plato  aa  the  representative  of 
Hellenism.     The  effect    produced 
upon  the  masses  is  the  great  crite- 
rion of  a  theoloOT  or  a  rel^on.   The 
promulgation  of  the  law — and  here 
we  must  remember  that  the  distinc- 
tion between  the  Decalogue  and  the 
ceremonial  law  is  unknown  to  the 
Old   Testament  and  not  acknow- 
ledged by  St.  Paul,  and  that  every 
particle  of  the  law  was  equally  bind- 
ing— seemingly  resting  on  nothing 
else  but  ouWard  au^ority,  had  a 
twofold  result :  it  either  drove  men 
into  open  rebellion,  or  it  made  them 
yield  an  unreasoning,  implicit  obe- 
dience.    The  former  state  is  im- 
moral, and  the  latter  may  be  desig- 
nated as  not  yet  moral.    Hence  the 
prophets,   who  were  the   embodi- 
ment of  the  nation's  conscience, 
endeavoured  to  rouse  the  slumber- 
ing moral  consciousness.     In  those 
matchless  twenty-seven  chapters  of 
the  second  part  of  Isaiah,  where  the 
Old  Testament  reaches  its  climax, 
the  great  name  by  which  the  Gk)d 
of  Israel  is  known  is  the  Holy  One. 
For  when  God  is  acknowledged  as 
the  Holy  One,  when  His  will  as 
expressed  in  the  law  is  looked  upon 
as  Holiness,  then  only  is  the  indi- 
vidual placed  in  a  true  relation  to- 
wards the  objective  law,  because 
he  becomes  conscious  within,  not 
merely  of  a  feeling  of  absolute  de- 
pendence, inseparable  from  the  idea 
of  the  creature,  but  of  communion 


between  God   and   himself.    And 
thus  the  conscience  is  awakened. 

The  Bible  of  Hellas  is  the  IZia(2  and 
the  Odyssey,     The  word  avvtilrnnq 
is,  I  believe,  not  found  in  any  Greek 
author  before   the  Christian    era. 
But  it  would  have  been  strange  if 
the  anthropological  mind  of  Hellas 
had  been  without    the    idea.     In 
Homer  the  existence  of  the  con- 
science is  acknowledged,  and   he 
speaks  of  it  as  feeling  indignant  at 
the  sight  of  evil,  and  as  a  standing 
in  fear  of  the  gods.    In  the  terrible 
'£pivvvf(,  who  avenge  crimes  and 
torture  the  criminals,  the  poets  have 
embodied  the  terrors  of  an  evil  con- 
science.   Juvenal  excels  in  describ- 
ing the  anguish  of  a  bad  conscience. 
Many  passages,  too,  are  found  in 
'  Seneca  noster,'  where  he  speaks  of 
the  '  consciousness  of  good  '  within 
us.    He,  too,  aboimds  in  pictures  of 
the    wicked  trembling  after   they 
have  done  theiir  evil  deeds,  their  con- 
science not  permitting  them  to  rest, 
and  expectingthe  punishment  which 
they  deserve.    But  the  culminating 
point  is  reached,  I  need  hardly  say, 
in  Socrates  and  Plato.     Their  ap- 
pearance is  like  a  flash  of  lightning 
revealing  the  upward  path  along 
which  humanity  has  to  travel.    It 
would  be  easy  enough  to  multi- 
ply quotations,   and   it  might  be 
shown  that  amongst  the  leaders  of 
Greek  thought  there  were  many 
philosophical  ideas  about  the  con- 
science.    But  a  philosophy  of  the 
consciencethere  was  not,  there  could 
not  be.    The  ethical  is  always  sub- 
ordinate to  the  physical ;  that  they 
have  each  a  special  sphere  with 
laws  peculiar  to  each  is  not  acknow- 
ledged.   Though  Plato  has  indeed 
attnbuted  all   perfections   to   the 
Gbdhead,  he  has  never  attained  the 
idea  of  holiness  propagated  by  the 
prophets  of  Judea.  Power  belonged 
to  the  gods  of  Hellas,  but  not  holi- 
ness.   The  moral  ideal  was  not  in 
the  Olympus ;  it  was  the  privilege 
of  the  gods  to  be  immoral.     Mun 
was  in  reality  greater  than  the  gods, 


766 


The  Ethics  of  St.  Paid. 


[June 


and  the  moizient  be  became  con- 
scious of  it  bis  religion  was  doomed. 
For  religion  ia  the  ideal,  and  the 
ideal  cannot  be  beneath  ns.  Under 
such  circumstances  the  moral  sense 
of  the  individual  and  the  moral 
sense  of  the  nation  conld  not 
develop. 

St.  Paul  pronounced  for  the  first 
time  the  word  wvci^ifo-cc,  and  be- 
cameits  Apostle.  The  Apostle,  speak- 
iug  of  the  day  of  judgment,  *when 
Qod  shall  judge  the  secrets  of  men 
by  Jesus  Christ/  declares  that  the 
heathen,  though  to  them  is  given 
no  revelation,  can  be  saved.  '  For 
a  Gentile,  which  has  not  the  law, 
may  do  by  nature  the  things  con- 
tained in  the  law.  In  such  a  case, 
not  having  the  law,  he  is  a  law  unto 
himself.  But  he  might  say  that  he 
could  not  fulfil  the  law,  for  he  knew 
it  not.  Then  his  conscience  will 
rise  up  as  a  witness  to  declare  that 
the  law  was  written  in  his  heart. 
Thereupon  will  arise  a  struggle  be- 
tween Ins  tiioughts:  they  will  accuse 
or  else  excuse  one  another,  and  the 
conscience  will  listen  ia  silence  and 
confirm  the  sentence  that  will  be 
pronounced. '  This  is  the  principal 
passage  (Bom.  ii.  14,  15,  16)  in 
which  St.  Paul  speaks  of  the  con* 
science.  It  is  psychologically  in* 
teresting  because  it  shows  that  the 
Apostle  adopts  the  view  of  the  Old 
Testament,  according  to  which  tiie 
heart  ia  the  central  organ  in  man. 
But  the  centre  of  the  heart  is,  ac- 
cording to  the  Apostle,  the  con- 
science. Within  each  heajrt,  because 
he  is  a  hunum  being,  there  is  the 
consciousness  of  a  moral  relation  in 
which  man  is  placed  towards  the 
Moral  Ideal,  which  is  God  the 
*Holy  One.'  Higher  than  the  law 
written  on  pieces  of  stone  hewn 
out  of  the  rocks  and  given  to  a 
small  Shemitic  tribe,  is  that  law 
engraved  indelibly  by  God's  finger 
on  the  heart  of  humanity.  The 
will  of  God  revealed  to  the  Jews 
in  a  positive  law  is  manifest  in 
man's  moral  nature.     Man  knows 


it;  He: has  but  to  look  within,  or 
to  listen  to  the  voice  that  dedues 
the  &ct  of  this  Divine  manifesta- 
tion. Obey  the  law,  says  the  voice, 
live  in  accbrdance  with  thy  moral 
nature,  set  not  up  thine  own  will 
agaiiist  it,  but  submit  thyself  and 
thus  thou  shalt  do  thy  duty.  Ifihoa 
wilt  act  thus,  thy  act  is  to  be  ap- 
proved of;  if  not,  thy  act  is  to  be 
condemned. 

Here,  then,  is  the  hict  of  the 
conscience  not  merely  acknow- 
ledged,  but  its  genesis  and  its  fimc- 
tions  defined.  It  testifies  of  ft 
moral  relation,  it  ooznmands  a 
manifestation  of  it  in  Hfe,  and 
points  to  man's  moral  destiny.  On 
such  a  basis  the  Apostle  codM 
appeal  to  the  heathen  world.  He 
appealed  to  that  of  which  ihey 
werie  conscious  themselves.  No 
responsibility,  hence  no  guilt,  coold 
possibly  have  attached  to  them  had 
they  been  bom  without  a  conscnenoe, 
or  had  any  event  been  able  to 
destroy  it.  But  now,  planting 
himself  on  the  fact  acknowledged 
by  themselves,  he  can  boldly  ask 
them  to  interrogate  their  con- 
science. What  is  its  testimony? 
Does  their  conscience  commend  or 
condemn  them  ?  If  it  commends 
them,  it  is  because  iliey  have  obeyed 
the  law  of  their  moral  nature,  and 
they  will  have  a  good  conscneDoe; 
if  it  condemns  them,  it  is  because 
they  hiskve  been  disobedient,  and 
they  will  have  an  evil  oonsdence. 
In  the  one  case  they  will  be  con- 
scions  of  harmony,  in  the  oilier 
case  of  disharmony. 

To  the  Jews  also  the  Apostle  is 
able  to  address  himself.  They  have 
a  law ;  according  to  their  rel^bn  to 
it  they  shall  !«  judged.  If  they 
are  conscious  of  having  fulfilled  its 
commands,  they  shall  be  saved;  if 
not,  they  shall  be  punished.  To 
know  that  our  will  is  in  xmison 
with  the  Divine  will,  that  is  peace ; 
to  know  that  it  is  not,  is  oonfizaon. 

St.  Paul  had  interrogated  his  own 
conscience,  and  this  was  the  oonclu- 


1873] 


The  Ethics  of  8t  Paul. 


767 


sion  to  which  he  had  come  :  '  0 
-wretched  man  that  I  am,  -who  shall 
deliver  me  ?  *  *  Video  meliora  pro- 
boque,  deteriora  sequor,'  sighs  a 
Koman  poet.  *  Nitimnr  in  vetitnm 
semper  cnpimnsqae  negata,'  is  a 
well-known  complaint.  It  was  not 
mere  imagination  when  St.  Paul 
described  the  whole  creation  as 
groaning  and  travailing  in  pain. 
Joyous  Hellas  and  earnest  Jndea  join 
in  the  voice  of  lamentation.  There  is 
conftLsion  and  disharmony;  the  will 
refoses  to  obey  the  dictates  of  the  con- 
science. This  is  the  testimony  of  the 
elect  among  the  nations ;  the  masses 
continne  in  moral  stnpidity. 

There  is  no  more  tragic  picture 
in  all  human  writings  than  that 
painted  by  St.  Paul  in  the  last 
verses  of  the  seventh  chapter  of  his 
Epistle  to  the  Romans:  *I  am 
carnal,  sold  under  sin,  for  that  which 
I  do  I  allow  not ;  for  what  I  would 
that  do  I  not,,  but  what  I  hate 
that  do  I.  I  know  that  in  me  dwell- 
eth  no  good  thing.  The  good  that  I 
would  I  do  not,  but  the  evil  which 
I  would  not  that  I  do.  I  see  a  law 
in  my  members  warring  against  the 
law  of  my  mind  and  bringing  me 
into  captivity  to  the  law  of  sin 
which  is  in  my  members.'  He  has 
dipped  his  pencil,  so  to  speak,  in 
his  heart's  blood;  with  undying 
sombre  coloprs  he  has  embodied  his 
experience  of  those  days  which 
were  the  crisis  of  his  life.  A  moral 
giant,  he  has  sounded  the  very 
depths  of  hell  that  he  might  after- 
wards penetrate  into  Qie  very 
heights  of  heaven.  He  has  given 
utterance  to  the  cry  of  the  con- 
science protesting  in  the  name  of 
the  right  Divine  against  the  usur- 
pation of  pretenders  bom  of  the 
revolution.  Qoing  to  the  viery 
centre  of  his  heart  dnd  listening  to 
the  echo  of  the  voice  resounding 
within,  he  becomes  conscious  of  a 
disturbed  relation  between  himself 


and  the  ideal  conscience:  instead 
of  peace  he  finds  war;  instead  of 
harmony,disharmony.  In  one  word, 
he  becomes  conscious  of  sin.  Sin 
is  the  consciousness  of  the  sever- 
ance between  the  ideal  and  the 
real ;  it  is  the  consciousness  of  dis- 
harmony in  our  moral  jiature. 

The  source  of  sin  is  *  &rri,'  says 
Homer.  It  is  a  blindness.  The 
great  sin  of  his  heroes  is  *  i//3/otc ; ' 
conscious  of  great  strength,  they 
think  that  there  are  no  limits  to  it, 
and  boldly  transgress  the  boun- 
daries which  separate  the  mortal 
from  the  immortal.  Deeper  is  the 
view  of  Plato,  who  speaks  of  it  as 
'  TO  &dioy  Ka)  tTKOTttvov,^  We  know 
how  they  accounted  for  it ;  it  is  to 
be  found  in  the  dualism  between 
spirit  and  matter.  This  is  also  the 
doctrine  of  Philo,  in  whom  the 
East  and  the  West,  the  religion  of 
Moses  and  the  philosophy  of  Plato, 
whom  he  considers  as  an  ^Athenian 
Moses,'  are  united  in  a  'religious 
philosophic'  Matter  is  evil ;  the 
imperfection  of  matter  is  the  source 
of  evil.  The.  universal  soul  is 
polluted  by  coming  into  contact 
with  matter.  Evil  was  necessary ; 
a  sinless  life  was  an  impossibility. 
Plato  did  not  believe  that  evil  oould 
be  wholly  conquered.  Grecian  phi- 
losophy has  not  understood  the 
moral  foundation  of  evil. 

A.  different  solution  is  that 
given  by  the  Apostle.  Matter  per 
se  is  not  evil,  according  to  the 
Hebrew  Scriptures.  For  when 
God  created  all  things  it  is 
stated :  He  saw  that  it  was  good. 
Its  source  is  therefore  not  in  the 
imperfection  of  matter.  Nor  can 
it  be,  according  to  the  Apostle's 
view,  in  the  senses,  for  not  merely 
are  they  a  creation  of  God,  who 
made  all  things  so  that  they  were 
good,  but  thus  sin,  being  an 
inevitable  result  of  creation,  be- 
comes a  necessity.*     Nor  can  it  be, 


'  Moreover,  snch  a  theory  does  not  account  for  the  many  sins  of  the  spirit  which  the 
Apostle  enomerates. 


768 


The  Ethics  of  8t  Paul 


[Jane 


I  need  hardly  renuurk,  in  Ood.  For 
according  to  Plato  the  source  of 
moral  good  is  in  the  eternal  ideas. 
The  obligation  to  do  good  is  derived 
from  the  nature  of  the  Gbdhead. 
To  become  like  the  Godhead  is  to 
be  our  endeavour.  All  that  is  good 
comes  from  Grod,  who  is  the  source 
of  good,  for  He  is  holy,  says  Philo. 
St.  Paul's  view  of  the  *  holiness  of 
God'  is,  of  course,  much  more 
intense,  and  therefore  he  cannot 
consider  Him  as  the  source  of  evil. 
Whence,  then,  this  anarchy  in 
our  moral  nature  P  It  is  because  of 
the  antagonism  which  has  arisen 
between  <rap5  and  vrevfia.  *  The 
flesh  lusteth  against  the  spirit 
and  the  spirit  against  the  flesh,  and 
these  are  contrary  the  one  to  the 
other,  so  that  ye  cannot  do  the 
things  that  ye  would.'  The  distinct 
tion  between  the  two,  which  is  an 
act  of  creation,  became  an  antago- 
nism.  The  vytvfjM,  the  Divine 
breath,  was  to  permeate  the  aap^^ 
and  to  transform  it  into  its  own 
likeness  by  means  of  the  i/^vx^) 
which  is  the  bond  between  the  two. 
And  thus,  if  the  ideal  had  been 
reached,  man  would  have  been 
9ri/£v/iaru'oc,  a  word  peculiar  to  St. 
Paul,  instead  of  being  what  he  is 
now,  ffapKixdc  But  man  would  have 
it  otherwise.  The  will,  which  is  the 
substratum  of  every  being,  when 
called  into  exercise,  manifested  itself 
as  arbitrariness.  The  soul  tears  itself 
loose  from  the  spirit,  moved  by  the 
fialse  representation  that  its  Creator 
is  neither  Love  nor  Holiness,  but 
Power,  which  shows  itself  in  a 
despotic  command.  It  rebels,  calls 
in  the  aid  of  the  senses,  and  having 
disturbed  the  centre  of  graviiy, 
causes  a  revolution  which  makes 
the  true  development^  that  of  the 
spirit,  which  is  liberty,  impossible. 
It  has  no  magic  formula  wherewith 
to  make  recede  the  tide  which  it 
has  called  forth.  The  adpi  masters 
the  vf/vx^,  and  the  irvcv/ia  feels  the 
evil  influence.  So  fje^r  does  the  usur- 
pation of  the  ffopi  extend,  that  the 


Apostle  uses  the  word  in  an  ethical 
sense.    '  I  know,'  he  says,  ^  that  in 
my  flesh  dwelleth  no  good  thing.' 
The  word  denoted  primarily  nothing 
else  but  the  substfuice  out  of  which 
man  is  formed.    It  is  used  to  dis- 
tinguish man  from  Gk>d — ^the  creature 
frx>m  the   Creator.     But   St.  Paul 
gives  it  a  new  meaning;   to    him 
it   is  human   nature    in   its    state 
of  estrangement,   in  its  rebellion. 
Everywhere  does  he  see  the  traces 
of  the  conflict  between  the  inward 
and    outward    man — ^between    the 
higher,  better  part  of  self,  and  the 
lower.  And  everywhere  does  he  find 
the  subjugation  of  the  ir vevfia.     In 
the  Jewish  world  he  finds  breaking 
of  the  law,  and  hence  dishonouring 
of  Qod ;  turning  to  the  Oentiles,  he 
finds  that  they  have  changed  the 
truth  of  God  into  a  lie,  and  served 
the  creature  more  than  the  Creator. 
They  are  filled  with  all  unrighteous- 
ness ;  they  have  given  themselves  up 
to  all  manner  of  iniquity,  and  ihej 
have  pleasure  in  them  that  do  such 
things.     Seeing  all  this,  and  inter- 
preting  the  cry  of  the  conscience,  it 
IS  not  strange  that  he  should  ex- 
claim,  ^  There  is  none  righteous,  no 
not  one.     All  have  sinned  and  come 
short  of  the  glory  of  God,' 

This  view,  therefore,  of  the  cause 
of  evil  is  opposed  to  tiiat  of  Greek 
philosophy.  Spirit  and  matter  are 
now  in  a  state  of  hostility ;  but  this 
is  not  the  source  of  evil,  but  its  oat- 
fiow.  The  rule  of  the  trapi  over  the 
wevfia  is  not  the  original  institu- 
tion. Plato  himself  looks  upon  the 
soul  as  having  committed  some 
crime  in  a  former  existence,  and 
being  for  its  punishment  imprisoned 
in  the  body.  It  opposes  all  theories, 
too,  which  look  upon  evil  as  fi)unded 
in  man's  original  organisation,  and 
make  it  hence  a  necessity  and  de- 
rive it  in  reality  from  Gfod.  And 
whilst  other  theories  perpetuate 
evil,  it  holds  out  the  possi^tf  o( 
a  complete  triumph  of  good  and  a 
total  defeat  of  evU. 

Man  comes  in  the  world  as  a  free 


1873] 


The  Ethics  of  St.  Paul 


769 


being.     The  conscience  assures  him 
that  it  lies  in  his  power  to  fulfil  his 
moral  destiny.    All  that  is  required 
of  him  is  to  live  in  accordance  with 
the  dictates  of  his  conscience.    The 
question  is,  therefore,  in  what  rela- 
tion he  will  put  his  will  towards  his 
conscience.    Is  he  to  be  goyemed  hy 
the  conscience,  the  consciousness  of 
the  Diyine  law  ?  Thus  he  shall  attain 
the  end  of  life :  good.     If  his  will  is 
not  free,  if  he  has  not  the  power  to 
carry  out  what  he  wills,  his  moral  life 
is  an  illusion ;  he  has  mere  natural 
and  not  personal  life.  But  the  will  in 
itself  is  not  moral ;  it  can  only  be- 
come moral  when  acting  in  accord- 
ance with  the  dictates  of  the  con- 
science. Now,  besides  the  conscious- 
ness of  God,  man  has  the  conscious- 
ness of  self.    He  lives  under  the  law 
of  deyelopment;  the  very  idea  of 
deyelopment  implies  that  of  a  want 
to  be  supplied,  of  imperfection.    His 
conscience  tells  him  that  perfection 
consists  in  the  unison  of  the  twofold 
consciousness.  In  choosing  to  seyer 
the  two,  and  putting  the  one  in  op- 
position to  the  other,  man  giyes 
eyidence  of  selfishness  and  becomes 
immoral.    He  isolates  himself;  he 
makes  himself  the  yery  centi*e  of 
the  uniyerse,   and,    in   accordance 
with  this  notion,  exercises  his  will. 
In  doing  so  he  yiolates  a  fundamental 
law  of  his  moral  being,  and  the  effect 
of  this  departure  cannot  but  make 
itself  felt  all  throughout.     His  con- 
sciousness of  self,  of  the  world,  of 
God,  is  considerably  modified. 

St.  Paul,  then,  in  accordance  with 
the  general  yiew  of  the  Old  Tes- 
tament, does  not  look  upon  eyil 
as  natural,  but  as  unnatunkl ;  it  is 
not  a  deyelopment,  but  an  obstacle, 
a  hindrance,  a  deyiation.  Looking 
at  it  in  the  hght  of  the  conscience, 
it  appears  to  him  as  the  negation  of 
morality.  Man  now  lags  on  the 
way ;  he  has  called  a  ^vvafHQ  into  ex- 
istence, called  by  the  Apostle  dftaprca, 


which  retards  his  progress  in  eyery 
possible  way.    This  2vva/xcc  develops 
and  establishes,  its  sway  over  the 
whole  of  human  nature.     The  senses 
are  the  instrument  made  use  of,  and 
by  means  of  them  the   yovc   and 
IT  v€Vfia  and  ypvxh  a^ro  perverted .   The 
vovQ  becomes  vovq  rife  trapKog ;   the 
TTvivfia  Tov  vooQ  requires  to  be  re- 
newed ;  the  \lfvx7i  stands  in  need  of 
deliverance;    the  will  becomes  the 
will  of  the  flesh.     We  shall  haye 
occasion  to  refer  afterwards  to  St. 
Paul's  yiew  of  human  liberty  ;^  he 
certainly  does  not  deny  the  capa- 
bility of  man  to  choose  between  good 
and  evil :    *  to  will  is  present  with 
me,'  he  declares  expressly.    Lastly, 
the   conscience    itself   is    affected. 
It  becomes  conscious  of  the  dualism 
between    man   and  God,   and  the 
thought  of  it  fills  it  with  inexpressi- 
ble pain  and  sorrow.     In  spite  of 
its  warnings  man  has  deliberately 
acknowledged    that    nature    is     a 
higher  power  than  the  moral  spirit 
and  has  refused  obedience   to  its 
commands.     In  the  tumult  of  pas- 
sions its  voice  died  away  unheeded. 
He  might,  he  should,  have  listened 
to  those  calm,   majestic  tones,  for 
reason    itself  proclaims  that  they 
are  the  utterance  of  truth.      He 
should  have  allowed  his  conscience 
to    guide    him    into  the    path    of 
obedience,  along  which  is  the  way  to 
liberty,  and  thus  his  development 
would  have  been  a  true  an^  undis- 
turbed one,   and   he    would    have 
reached  salvation ;  that  is,  he  would 
have  lost  himself  in  the  harmony  of 
the  all.    Instead  of  this  his  avrovo/i/a 
is  indeed  avofiia^  his  freedom  licen- 
tiousness, the  caricature  of  liberty,, 
and  his  development  retrogression. 
No    wonder    that    the    conscience 
should  weep  for  him.      Surrounded 
on  all  sides  by  symptoms  of  de- 
generacy and  decay,  she  sits  on  her 
throne  in  garments   of   mourning 
beseeching  and  entreating,  aa  if.  the 


*  I  have  not  .been  able  to  do  so,  aa  I  feared  that  my  article  would  already  take  up  too 
much  space. 

yOL.  Vll. — ^NO.  XLH.      NEW  SBEIBS.  3   0 


770 


The  EtUcB  of  St.  Paul. 


[June 


very  sight  of  her  impotence,  to 
'whom  should  hare  belonged  all 
power,  would  surely  melt  the  stony 
hearts  of  men.  But  at  other  times 
she  commands  and  threatens  and 
condemns;  for  man  has  sinned 
against  her.  Her  wrath  is  roused 
against  all  ungodliness  and  un- 
righteousness of  men,  because  they 
hold  the  'truth  in  unrighteousness.' 
'They  knew  God  and  yet  they 
glorified  Him  not  as  Grod,  neither 
were  thankful,  but  became  vain  in 
their  imaginations,  and  their  foolish 
heart  was  darkened.'  'They knew 
the  judgment  of  the  conscience,  that 
they  which  commit  such  things  are 
worthy  of  death,  and  yet  they  do 
the  same.'  Then  man  rises  in  self- 
defence;  he  must  either  renounce 
self  that  he  may  save  himself,  in 
other  words  yield  to  his  conscience, 
or  maintain  self,  that  is  destroy  him- 
self by  attempting  to  kill  the  con- 
science. Therefore  did  men  kill  the 
prophets  and  Christ,  the  conscience 
of  humanity,  as  an  act  of  self-preser- 
vation. But  in  truth  it  was  an  act 
of  suicide.  If  the  conscience  could 
be  completely  destroyed,  if  all  traces 
of  it  could  be  obliterated,  humanity 
itself  would  have  ceased  to  exist. 

We  now  come  to  a  second  point 
in  St.  Paul's  system.  The  great 
fact  of  'sin,'  to  use  a  theological 
word,  based  on  the  testimony  of  the 
empirical  conscience,  is  undoubted. 
Humanity  stands  in  need  of  help,  for 
it  is  weak;  the  conscience  proclaims  it 
loudly.  The  end  of  creation  cannot  be 
frustrated;  how  is  it  to  be  realised  P 
St.  Paul  points  to  the  revelation 
of  God's  righteousness.  'The  in- 
visible things  of  Him  from  the  crea- 
tion of  the  world  are  clearly  seen, 
being  understood  by  the  things  that 
are  made.'  In  nature  and  in 
history — ^both  are  contained  in  St. 
Paul's  words — God  reveals  Himself. 
The  purpose  of  revelation  is  edu- 
cation ;  the  idea  of  revelation  is  that 
of  the  education  of  liumanity.  It  is 
now  generally  acknowledged  that 
its  necessity — if  there  be  any  such 


thing — ^is  independent  of  the  so- 
called     'doctrine     of    the     EalL' 
Education  requires  neoessarily  an 
agent  from  without  to  impart  Imow. 
ledge,  to  give  an  impulse  and  to 
guide.    However  high,  according  to 
St.  Paul,  man's  original  state  m^ 
have  been,he  acknowledges  that  there 
were  latent  powers  which  xeqnire  to 
be  brought  out.      6od*s  revelatioD 
is  to  be  the  irat^ywyoc  of  humanity. 
Without  entering  into  the  question 
whether  the  'heavens  declare    the 
glory  of  God '  or  the  '  glory  of  the 
astronomer,'   it  is  interesting  from 
an  ethical  point  of  view  to  state  in 
a  few  words  St.  Paul's  view  of  the 
heathen  or,  as  he  generally  calls  it, 
the   Gtreek   world.       The    heathen 
knew  GK>d.      '  He  left  Himself  not 
without  a  witness  in  that  He  did 
good,  and  gave  the  rain  from  hesTen 
and    fruitful    seasons,   filling   their 
hearts  with  food  and  gladness.'     He 
revealed  Himself,    '  making  of  one 
blood  all  nations  of  men  for  to  dwell 
on  all  the  &ce  of  the  earth,  and  deter- 
mining the  times  before  appointed 
and  the  bounds  of  their  habitation.' 
They  were  called  upon  to  seek  in 
the  things  that  are  made  the  Lord 
that  made  them.     Nature  was  full 
of  signs  and  symbols,  which  it  was 
their  task  to  interpret.     They  had 
also,  as  we  have  seen,  the  conscience 
'  bearing  witness  of  the  law  within 
in  their  hearts.'      The  'nndicum- 
cision'   could  fulfil  the  law;  some 
of  the  Gentiles  had  done  '  by  nature 
the    things  contained  in  the  law.' 
For  to  perceive  the  truth  is  to  love 
it,  and  to  love  it  is  to  obey  it    There 
is  no  trace  in  St.  Paul  of  the  austere 
theology  which  explains  the  viitoes 
of  the  neathen  world,  which  it  can- 
not deny,   as  'splendid  vices;'  on 
the  contrary,  God  is  no  respecter  of 
persons ;  '  He  will  render  to  eveiy 
man  according  to  his  dedeiff :  to  tiiem 
who  by  patient  continuanee  in  wdl- 
doin^  seek  for  glory  and  honour 
and  mmiortality,  etenial  life.'    The 
question  put  to  them  is  not  so  touch, 
What  hast  thou  done?   bu^  How 


1878] 


Ths  Ethics  of  8L  Paid. 


771 


hast  thou  done  it?  The  earnest 
etriying  after  the  ideal,  the  purity 
of  mind  and  heart,  the  passionate 
search  after  truth,  the  moral  e£fort 
of  the  will — ^in  all  these  things  lies 
the  kingdom  of  heaven. 

Thus  are  the  nations  to  be  edu- 
cated. The  Apostle  speaks  of 
them  as  children  in  bondage  under 
the  elements  of  the  world.  The 
things  of  the  world,  on  which,  to 
quote  Fhilo,  'Ood  impressed  the 
ideas  and  powers  of  the  Logos,*  are 
to  be  their  tutors  and  governors 
antil  the  time  appointed  of  the 
Father.  It  is  a  difficult  task  which 
is  set  before  them.  It  is  difficult, 
says  Plato,  to  find  the  Creator,  and 
impossible,  afber  one  has  found  Him, 
to  make  Him  known.  And  Cicero 
complains :  '  Igpaiculos  nobis  dedit 
paryulos  quos  celeriter  malis  mo- 
ribus  opinionibusque  depravati  sic 
resting^uimus  ut  nusquam  natursB 
lumen  appareat.'  But  these  words 
were  written  after  the  nations  had 
plunged  into  heathendom.  For  the 
education  had  failed.  There  is  a 
grand  description  in  the  fortieth 
chapter  of  Isaiah  of  the  Gcd  of 
Israel,  concluding  with  the  question, 
^  To  whom  then  will  you  liken  Me,  or 
shalll  be  equal?  saith  the  Holy  One.' 
And  satirically  the  prophet  speaks 
of  the  '  workman  who  melteth  a 
graven  image.'  '  He  that  is  so  im- 
poverished that  he  has  no  oblation 
ckooseth  a  tree  that  will  not  rot ; 
he  seeketh  with  him  a  cunning 
workman  to  prepare  a  graven  image 
that  shall  not  be  moved.'  St.  Paul 
is  on  the  whole  wonderfully  free  of 
Jewish  prejudices  in  regard  to  oi^er 
religions.   The  cause  of  heathenism 

_lie  finds  in  these  two  principles: 
*  That  when  they  knew  Gk)d,  they 
did  not  glorify  Him  as  God,  neither 
were  thankful.'  They  did  ^ot  fflo- 
rify  Holiness,,  they  did  not  adore 
Love.    For  their  heart  was  not  in 

'  confoimity  with  their  conscience. 
And  thus  the  oonscioasness  of  the 
truth  within  them  was  weakened, 
their   minds   became   vain,    their 


wisdom  was  foolishness,  they  fol- 
lowed no  longer  after  righteousness, 
but  'gave  themselves  up  to  un- 
cleanness  through  the  lusts  of  their 
own  hearts.'  It  need  hardly  be 
remarked  that  this  description 
applies  to  the  condition  of  the  world 
in  general. 

The  education  of  humanity  was 
to  be  progressive;  from  stage  to 
stage  man  was  to  be  led  onward 
and  upward.  But  it  goes  not 
beyond  the  first  stage,  for  humanity 
refuses  to  be  educated,  and  turns 
from  the  Tatdaytayog,  Bat  there 
still  remains  another  method  to  be 
tried.  A  i^velation  is  made  differ- 
ing not  in  kind  but  in  degree  from 
the  one  made  to  the  Greek  world. 
It  is  a  revelation  not  in  symbols  but 
in  words.  The  'will  of  God'  is 
declared,  and  written  down  in  order 
that  jhe  who  'runs  may  read.'  The 
objective  ideal  conscience  is  put 
before  humanity.  The  law  is  'good 
and  holy;'  its  purpose  is  to  stimu- 
late the  individual  conscience.  The 
contemplation  of  the  'moral  ideal ' 
is  the  basis  of  moral  life.  It  stood 
before  the  eyes  of  the  nation ;  there 
was  no  doubt  about  it;  all  possibi- 
lity of  amistskke  was  excluded.  The 
Apostle  looks  upon  this  as  a  great 
advantage,  for  when  he  asks,'  What 
advantage  then  has  the  Jew,  and 
what  profit  is  thereof  circumcision?' 
he  answers,  '  Much  every  way ; 
chiefly  because  that  unto  them  were 
committed  the  oracles  of  God.'  But 
the  mentor  of  the  individual  con^ 
science  succeeds  not  in  gaining  the 
affection  of  the  pupil.  His  '  thou 
shalt'  and  'thou  shalt  not,'  with 
additions  of 'blessings'  and  'curses,' 
reducing  morality  to  a  subtle  form 
of  egotism ;  his  endless  multipHca- 
tioti  of  commandments,  hiding  the 
basis  on  which  they  rest,  and  veil- 
ing the  unity  which  ought  to  reign 
tlm>ughout;  in  short,  the  form  in 
which  he  presents  himself  calls 
forth  the  opposition  of  the  vapi. 
What  was  seen,  according  to  the 
Apostle,  in  AcUuni  is  seen  on  a 
SQ2 


772 


TJie  Ethics  of  8L  Paul. 


[June 


larger  scale  in  the  Jewish,  nation. 
In  very  bold  language,  most  liable 
to  be  misunderstood,  the  Apostle 
describes  the  effects  of  the  law. 
*What  shall  we  say  then?  Is  the 
law  sin  ?  God  forbid.  Nay,  I  had 
not  known  sin  but  by  the  law,  for 
I  had  not  known  lust  except  the 
law  had  said,  Thou  shaJt  not  covet. 
But  sin,  taking  occasion  by  the 
commandment,  wrought  in  me  all 
manner  of  concupiscence.  For 
without  the  law  sin  was  dead.  For 
I  was  alive  without  the  law  once ; 
but  when  the  commandment  came, 
sin  revived  and  I  died.'  In  the 
Epistle  to  the  Corinthians  he  says, 
*  The  strength  of  sin  is  the  law.' 
And  in  another  chapter  he  describeei 
the  whole  ministration  of  Moses  as 
the  ministration  of  death.  For  it 
was  the  ministration  of  the  letter. 
The  letter  killeth.  It  is  the  spirit 
alone  which  giveth  life.  From 
these  statement,  then,  we  gather 
the  effects  of  the  law.  Sin  being 
the  consciousness  of  sin,  it  may 
be  said  that  the  law  created  sin. 
It  tore  man  violently  out  of  the 
state  of  moral  unconsciousness,  or 
rather  semi-consciousness,  in  which 
he  was  before  the  commandment ; 
it  roused  his  evil  desires  and  pas- 
sions ;  it  drove  him  into  by-paths, 
and  made  him  go  astray.  It 
brought  the  ideal  and  the  real  in 
hitherto  unknown  collision;  it 
widened  the  gap  more  than  ever. 
Thus  it  failed,  and  must  needs  pass 
away  to  make  room  for  something 
higher  and  better. 

The  idea  of  the  law  was  good; 
its  form  was  calculated  to  produce 
evil.  What  makes  the  Apostle  look 
with  such  great  terror  upon  the  law 
is  his  Pharisaical  training  and  the 
experience  of  those  days.  It  is  a 
well-known  £Eust  that  the  law  be- 
comes graduaUy  a  greater  protec- 
tion for  the  criminflJ  than  for  the 
honest  man.  By  means  of  ingenious 
though  not  ingenuous  interpreta- 
tions the  former  manages  to  keep 


to  the  letter  of  the  law,  howeTer 
much  he  may  oppose  its  spirit.  It 
would  be  impossible  to  give  a  cata- 
logue  of  the  legal  immoralities 
committed  by  humanify.  More 
criminals  have  escaped  by  the  law 
than  have  been  pnnished  by  it. 
Now,  the  Pharisees  who  dissected 
the  law  in  numberless  atoms,  and 
who  applied  to  it  their  traditional 
exegesis,  were  the  very  men  to  pro- 
duce a  clinging  to  the  letter  of  the 
lawand  anevadingof  its  spirit.  Thus 
under  the  very  shadow  of  the  law, 
with  its  name  on  their  lips,  morality 
was  in  danger.  Besides,  the  Apostle 
contrasts  ihe  state  of  the '  iryEvpa, '  in 
which  he  is  now,  with  that  of  the 
*  letter,*  in  which  he  was  formerly. 
At  the  very  best  the  law  is  imper- 
fect. This  arises  from  the  £eu^  that 
it  must  be  embodied  in  a  form  which 
is  the  product  of  the  age,  and  c^ 
the  *Zeit-Geist'  in  which  it  is  given. 
And  the  utmost  it  can  do  in  a  cer- 
tain period  is  to  create  a  nation  of 
obedient  servants,  doing  their  dn^ 
for  fear  of  the  whip.  Bat  it  can- 
not create  loving  children. 

However,  though  the  doers  of  the 
law  shall  be  justified,  it  remains 
necessary  to  impart  a  new  revela- 
tion, in  order  to  manifest  more  fully 
the  Divine  ideal,  and  to  complete 
the  educaiSon  of  humanity.  Th& 
idea  of  education  is  more  than  a 
mere  conmiunication  of  knowledge. 
But  by  the  deeds  of  the  law,  ac^ 
cording  to  the  Apostle,  no  flesh  is 
justified,  and  therefore  a  Divine  in- 
terposition is  all  the  more  necessary. 
There  is  a  gulf  fixed  between  the 
objective  ideal  and  the  subjective 
reality,  which  it  seems  cannot  be 
bridged  over.  In  order  to  make  the 
real,  as  it  ought  to  be,  ideal,  it  is 
necessary  to  establish  that  the  ideai 
is  real.  This  is  Christianity.  This 
is  given  in  Christ.  Chiist  and 
ChnstianitY  are  identical. 

It  is  well  known  how  the  Greeks 
endeavoured  to  embody  their  ideslsi 
The  iipweCf  ^^fudiify  y£yo£  ar^r^' 


1873] 


The  Ethics  of  St.  Paul 


773 


were  the  representatives  of  the 
Oreek  ideaa  of  perfection.  Beauti- 
frd,  bold,  fearless,  strong,  oyercom- 
ing  all  resistance,  and  exalted  afler 
l^eir  death  above  ordinary  mortals, 
thej  stood  on.  the  ideal  heights  to 
whicb  human  nature  mnst  aspire. 
The  Greek  nation,  whatever  a  soli- 
tary philosopher  may  have  done, 
did  not  soar  beyond  nature.  Higher 
is  the  ideal  of  Seneca,  for  it  is  the 
intellectual  ideal,  when  he  describes 
the  perfect  philosopher.  He  lifts 
him  far  above  the  gods  and  above 
the  world.  But  the  awaOna  is  the 
great  imperfection  of  his  ideal ;  it 
is  the  perfection  of  a  block  of 
marble,  icily  cold.  Much  gi*ander 
is  the  ideal  of  St.  Paul,  for  it  is  the 
moral  ideal.  It  is  the  embodiment 
of  the  highest  good.  This  was 
the  thought  which  struck  him  on 
the  way  to  Damascus,  when  the 
▼oice  said,  *  I  am  Jesus,  whom 
thou  persecutest.'  Engaged  in  the 
search  after  righteousness,  this 
identification  of  Christ  with  His 
martyred  saint,  this  manifestation 
of  the  highest  love,  seemed  to  him 
the  very  highest  type  of  morality. 
And  immediately  he  wished  to  shape 
his  life  in  accordance  with  it:  'Lord, 
what  wilt  Thou  have  me  to  do  ?* 

The  moral  ideal  embodied  in  a 
person !  The  concrete  Jewish  mind 
— and  shall  we  not  add  the  world, 
with  the  exception  of  the  philo- 
sopher?— cannot  rest  satisfied  with 
the  mere  abstract  idea.  The  intellect 
demands  the  idea ;  the  conscience 
calls  for  its  realisation.  The  Apostle 
points  to  Christ.  Ecce  Homo — Be- 
hold the  Man.  He  is  the  ideal  Man, 
Uie  second  Man,  the  last  Adam. 
He  stands  on  the  very  summit  of 
humanity,  and  becomes  the  Author 
of  a  new  creation.  In  Him  the 
heavenly  ideal  is  fulfilled ;  He  gives 
expression  to  the  Divine  idea  of 
Beauty.  He  is  good;  He  'knew 
no  sin.'  He  had  the  crapi^  but  not 
the  €rapi  itfiaprlat.  *  The  Apostle,  in 
his  eagerness,  fearing  that  his  Gen- 


tile hearers  might  conclude  that  the 
possession  of  the  €rapi  necessarily 
involves  that  of  afjLopria^  borders  on 
Dpcetism  when  he  speaks  of  Christ 
as  being  sent  'in  the  likeness  of 
sinful  flesh.'  Yet  from  other  pass- 
ages, as  when  he  speaks  of  Christ 
being  crucified  and  dying,  it  follows 
that  the  Apostle  ascribed  to  Christ 
the  real  aapE,  But  it  is  ideal,  for 
He  has  the  Spirit  of  Holiness.  All 
men,  it  is  true,  have  the  Tvivfia,  but 
it  is  no  longer  in  them  the  spirit  of 
holiness.  By  virtue  of  it  there  is  in 
Him  not  the  antagonism  between  the 
trapi  and  the  vrtdfia  which,  as  we 
have  seen,  is  found  amongst  Jews 
and  Gentiles.  He  is  irvfv/uarucdc ; 
his  will  is  in  harmony  with  the 
Divine  Will,  and  His  self-conscious- 
ness and  consciousness  of  God  are 
one,  so  that  He  can  say,  '  I  and  the 
Father  are  one.' 

'The  Holy  One  of  Israel,'  who  had 
ever  before  Him  the  ideal  *  to  be  per- 
fect even  as  His  Father  which  is  in 
heavenisperfect,' withwhom  toknow 
the  good  was  to  do  it,  in  whom  vir- 
tue had  become  incarnate,  stands  in 
absolute  grandeur  before  the  Apostle. 
He  had  not  known  Him  in  the  days 
of  His  flesh,  when  He  moved  in  the 
midst  of  His  GkLlilean  fishermen ;  he 
knew  little  of  the  circumstances  of 
His  life  spent  amidst  the  hills  of 
Nazareth  and  the  seaside  of  Caper- 
naum. He  had  first  seen  Him  in  hea- 
ven, on  the  throne  of  God,  amidst 
the  Divine  glories.  Hence,  every  idea 
of  relativity  is  at  once  excluded; 
Christ  comes  before  him  as  the  ab- 
solute ideal  of  humanity,  indepen- 
dent of  time,  circumstances,  and 
nationalities.  He  has  felt  the  trans- 
cendent power  of  the  moral  ideal,  the 
very  highest,  and  he  adores  it,  and 
proclaims  it.  Ho  preaches  to  the 
world  the  reality  of  the  ideal  con- 
science, and  demands  its  allegiance 
and  worship.  For  the  hour  has 
come  when  the  true  worshippers 
shall  worship  the  Father  in  spirit 
and  in  truth.    The  reign  of  Mount 


774, 


The  Ethics  of  St.  Paid. 


[June 


Oeriaiim  and  of  Jemaalem  htiA  come 
to  an  end;  religion  is  no  longer  a 
theology,  it  is  morality. 

The  contemplation  of  the  moml 
ideal,  we  said,  is'  the  basis  of 
moral  life.  It  says  to  those  that 
are  fallen,  that  are  sinking,  that 
are  struggling  in  the  waters 
below :  *  Giye  not  thyself  np  to  de- 
spair ;  become  not  nnbelieving,  but 
beHeving.  Thou  too  ctmst  rise, 
thon  too  canst  progress,  thon  too 
canst  overcome.'  And  it  speaks 
with  authority,  for  in  Christianity 
it  is  the  yoice  of  a  living  person. 
The  yearning  heart  and  the  dis- 
tracted conscience  are  pointed  to 
an  immacnlate  life.  Snrely  to  be- 
hold it  gives  strength,  encourage- 
ment, consolation.  Bat  the  mere 
contemplation  does  not  suffice,  for  it 
might  have  a  depressing  influence 
and  might  send  men  away  filled 
with  doubts  and  fears.  Faith  is 
needed  in  order  that  the  moral 
ideal  may  bring  forth  fruit.  The 
author  of  the  Epistle  to  the  He- 
brews, a  brilliant  disciple  of  the 
Pauline  school,  has  explained  to  ns 
what  faith  is.  It  is  the  evidence 
of  the  reality  of  the  ideal.  We  are 
inclined  to  hold  that  what  is,  ought 
to  be—that  what  is,  is  of  necessity. 
But  against  this  view  the  human 
conscience  protests.  Faith  is  the  em- 
bodiment of  that  protest.  It  is  the 
heart  lifting  itself  above  the  visible, 
with  its  manifold  contradictions  and 
numerous  dissonances,  to  a  higher 
world,  whence  it  returns  with  the 
message  that  the  ideal  is  the  true 
reality,  that  men  ought  to  strive 
after  it,  and  that  true  harmony  can 
only  be  found  when  the  ideal  and 
real  form  part  of  one  whole.  But 
this  is  not  all.  This  temper  of  the 
soul  plunged,  so  to  speak,  in  the 
ideal,  must  needs  call  forth  a  moral 
act.  It  stirs  up  the  will  to. attach 
itself  to  and  to  act  in  accordance 
with  the  knowledge  which  it  has 
obtained.  Thus  faith  becomes  sym- 
pathy with  the  ideal ;  by  means  of 
it  we  lift  ourselves  out  of  the  lower 


foriiL  of  life,  ttmitig  aroand  aeSf 
into  that  higher  form  the  centie 
of  which  is  Christ.  Thus,  &ith  in 
its  highest  meaning  is  not  opposed 
to  works ;  it  is  itself  ft*  work,  a  great 
moral  act. 

*«  Faith  in    Christ,'  in  tihat  Bfe 
which  matdfested  itself  most  in  IBs 
death,  when  He  became  *  obedient 
even  unto  the  death  of  the  cross/ 
must  of  necessity  become  theprin. 
ciple  of  a  new  Kfe.      The   mivoi 
avOpwirog  is  •  born  and  grows  under 
its  influence.     A  restoring  process 
is  carried  on  as  man  is  giadoallj 
cleansed.      The*  eammunion  with 
Christ,  the  power  of  His  life,  makes 
itself  felt  within  ns.     The  Epistle 
to  the  Hebrews  and  St.  John  de- 
scribe it  as  a  KaOapiZiip.  The  former, 
oontrasting  the  Old  and  New  Tes- 
teunentSy  declares  that  Christ  jwr^^ 
the   conscience  from  dead  works, 
which  are  the  works  of  the  kw, 
to  serve  the  living  God.    The  Spi- 
rit of  Christ  becomes  the  centre 
within  us,   and  from    it   proceed 
light  and  life  giving  rays,  pene- 
trating to  the  very  darkest  and 
most  hidden  comers.   It  tianfifarms 
ihe  heart,  and  thenoe  it  proceeds  to 
renew  the  mind  and  the  spirit.  The 
union  between  the  new  ideal  Hfe 
and  ourselves  is  strongly  inflsted 
upon  and    illustrated    by  images 
taken  from  nature,   as  when  the 
Apostle  speaks  of  Christ  being  the 
head  and  we  being  the  members. 
He  exhorts,  *  Let  ^s  mind  be  in 
you  which  was  also  in  Christ  Jesus.* 
He  tells  his  hearers  that  thej  most 
die    with    Christ    and   rise  with 
Christ.     He  bids  them  to  taibnp 
the  new  life,  to  receive  it  within 
them,  and  to  let  it  do  its  work. 
To  us  the  ideal  is  something  with- 
out,  which  we  must  pursue  with 
all  our  powers.     The  Apostle,  on 
the  other  hand,   plants  the  ideal 
within.     To  us  the  boundaries  be- 
tween the  ideal  and  real  are  weB 
marked  and  strongly  defined;  to 
the  Apostle  they  are  oblitoiM 
for  heaven   descends  upon  earth, 


1873] 


The  EtUoe  of  St.  Paul. 


77& 


andeayih  ascends  to  heaven.  The 
ideal  grows  within  him  and  trans- 
forms  the  real  after  its  own  like- 
ness. And  at  last  the  purpose  of 
creation  is  fulfilled:  the  antagonism, 
tlie  diaharmoBy,  is  at  an  end.  The 
new  man  rejoices  in  the  ahsolnte 
conscionsness  of  peace.  The  Spirit 
of  God  and  his  own  spirit  are  one, 
and  they  declare  the  fact  with  one 
voice.  We  mnst  confess  that  we 
stand  here  before  a  deep  mystery. 
We  are  transplanted  in  the  sha- 
dowy land  of  mysticism.  The  ori- 
gin of  life  is  shrouded  in  mystery. 
To  expect  legal  definitions  and  ma- 
thematical accuracy  is  absurd.  The 
place  whereon  we  stand  is  holy, 
and  only  the  heart  filled  with  reve- 
rence can  hope  to  stand  within 
sight  of  the  sauctuaiy. 

It  has  been  well  said  that  Greece 
and  Borne  could  not  produce  a  great 
man.  They  might  give  birth  to  a 
^reat  Oreek  or  a  great  Eoman,  but 
beyond  this  they  could  not  go.  The 
same  remark  may  be  applied  to  their 
creation  of  a  moral  type.  Their  re- 
ligion was  Patriotism ;  their  ideal 
was  the  State.  It  was  the  love  of 
their  native  land,  of  the  joyous  sky 
above  them,  of  the  hills  and  valleys 
around  them,that  created  those  god- 
like heroes  of  whom  it  may  be  said, 
^  Es  kann  die  Spur  von  ihren  Erden- 
tagen  nicht  in  Aeonen  unterge- 
hen.'  The  a£Pection  with  which  they 
looked  upon  their  countiy  was  their 
great  source  of  inspiration;  it  led 
them  to  those  deeds  of  valour  which 
compelled  the  admiration  of  their 
enemies ;  it  made  them  forget  the 
tie  of  home  and  kindred,  and  sacri- 
fice every  prospect  of  life ;  it  made 
them  endure  without  a  murmur  all 
hardship  and  toil,  and,  having  re- 
sisted unto  the  bitter  end,  accept 
inevitable  death  with  resignation. 
Patriotism  has  never  been  such  a 
passion  as  it  was  in  ancient  Hellas. 
The  chieftain,  wounded  to  death, 
joyfully  laid  himself  dowu  to  die  in 
the  oonsciottsnessthat  he  bequeathed 
to  his  country  two  immortal  vic- 


tories. He  had  been  a  good  citizen ; 
that  was  the  realisation  of  the  Qreek 
ideal.     The  best  evidence  of  this 
is.fbnnd  in  Plato's  ideal  republic. 
The  State  is  called  upon  to  make  its 
citizens  moral.  Morality  has  its  basis 
in  ffo^io,  on  which  rest  liydpeia  and 
akftf^poffvyrij  and  diKatotruyrf  is  the  cli- 
max. To  obey  the  laws  of  the  State  is 
the  great  duty  of  which  Socrates 
speaks.    Plato  has  not  surpassed  his 
master.  His  State,  with  its  absolute 
power,  disposing  according  to  its 
good  pleasure  of  the   life   of  the 
citizen,  and  looking  upon  him  as  a 
mere  machine,  does  in  reality  destroy 
the  idea  of  morality.    For  the  idea 
of  a  free  personality  is  reduced  ta 
a  very    minimum.      But,   at    the 
best,   what    is    the    htKatovuvT)    of" 
Plato?  It  is  rot  avrov  irparreLv  koI  fit) 
TtoKvvpay^ovuy.    It  is  to  respect  the 
right*  of  others ;  it  is  conceived  of 
in  relation  to  the  State.     And,  be- 
sides,  morality  is  a  state  to  which 
but  few  can  attain.  The  philosopher 
stands  at  the  head,  and  in  vain  do 
the  masses  endeavour  to  follow  him. 
There  is  no  admission  ;  the  gates  to 
them  are  barred.  Christianity  alone 
understands  the  idea  of  humanity, 
and  no  one  has  painted  so  vividly 
the  hitherto   unknown    picture   of 
the  '  New  Man  '  as  the  great  idealist 
of  Tarsus.  Considering  his  birth,  his- 
training,  and  former  life,  it  is  the 
most  marvellous  achievement  in  the 
religious  history  of  humanity.    The^ 
*  new  man '  belongs  to  no  country,, 
and  is  not  the  child  of  circumstances ;; 
going  back  to  his  very  deepest  origin, 
he  is  a  creation  of  Heaven,  a  child 
of  grace.     *  Das  Hochste  ist  nicht 
im  Bingen  und  Streben,  sondem  in 
dem  Empfangen  freier  Qaben.'     He 
is  humble,  meek,  gentle,  filled  with 
infinite  sympathy,  putting  himself 
in  the  place  of  others,  slow  in  judg- 
ment, never  daring  to  condemn.  He 
deems  nothing  that  is  human  strange 
or  common ; .  he  looks    upon  the 
world  not  as  the  possession  of  a 
Satanic  power,  but  as  one  of  the 
many    mansions    of    his    Father's 


776 


The  Ethics  of  Bt.  Paul: 


[June 


house.  He  does  not  separate  himself 
from  the  world  or  from  his  fellow- 
men  ;  he  sees  everywhere  the  Divine 
imprimatur,  however  obscured  by 
the  dust  of  earth;    he  discovers 
everjTwhere  the  latent  germ  waiting 
for  the  gentle  spring  to  make  it 
bud  and  bring  forth  fruit.    To  raise, 
to  exalt,  to  ennoble  all  that  is  hu- 
man, is  his  constant  endeavour.  As 
for  himself  he  leads  a  great  inner 
life,  known  to  none  out  lumself.   He 
appears  oft  to  himself  like  Lazarus 
coming  out  of  the  grave,  *  bound 
hand  and  foot  with  grave-clothes, 
and  his  face  bound  about  with  a 
napkin.'     He  has  to  carry  on    a 
great  work,  and  the  great  law  of 
labour  is  also  for  him:     *Xn  the 
sweat    of    thy    face    shalt    thou 
labour.'     He  nas  to  free  his  mind, 
to    open    his    heart,    to    let    the 
light  of  heaven    stream    through 
the  windows  of  his  soul,  to  learn 
discipline,  to  acquire  habits  of  self- 
control,  to  exercise  his  will  in  ac- 
cordance  with  the    Divine  ideal. 
He  is  a  free  man,  not  a  servant. 
He  is  under  the  law  of  the  spirit, 
under  the  law  of  love.     The  ques- 
tion   he    has    to   put   to    himself 
is,  whether  he    is    in  accordance 
with  the  mind  of  Christ.     He  has 
to  find  the  very  highest  freedom  in 
the  highest  form  of  obedience — ^the 
obedience  of  love.     Strong  in  the 
consciousness  of  an  ever  increasing 
faith,  with  a  love  strong  enough  to 
he  just,  and  not  the  fruit  of  in- 
di£Perentism,  towards  Ood  and  the 
world,  he  carries  within  his  heart 
the  hope,  against  which  the  gate 
of  hell    cannot    prevail,  that   all 
God's  children  will  one  day  throw 
themselves  in  the  embrace  of  their 
Father.     Quietly,  but  energetically, 
he  labours,  doing  his  duty,  advienne 
que  pourra,  passionately  searching 
after  what  is  true,  what  is  good, 
what  is  beautiM ;  dreading  with  a 
great  fear  selfishness  in  every  form ; 
studying  and  cultivating  self-renun- 
ciation and  sacrifice.     A  holy  in- 
fluence sustains  him  through  life, 


makes  him  resigned  in  the  midst  of 
persecution  and  suffering,  and  gladly 
lay  down  life  in  the  bosom  whence 
it  came.  And  he  desires  no  other 
epitaph  but  that  he  laboured  for 
the  kingdom  of  God,  where  ih 
ideal  and  real  are  one ;  where  the 
streams  of  humanity  mingle  mth 
the  ocean  of  the  Divine,  and  where 
flows  in  an  uninterrupted  harmonj 
the  music  of  the  universe. 

Ill 

The  battle  is  still    raging  aroimd 
St.  PauL     The  theologians  are  stall 
at  war,  and  the  reconciliations  wit- 
nessed now  and  then  are  but  a  sus- 
pension of  arms.     It  must  be  so 
for  ever.     The  atmosphere  of  iheo- 
logv    is    strife.      She    was    bom 
amidst  the  stormy  waves  of  tion- 
bled  seas.     She  owes  her  birth  to 
the  heretics,   who   took  one  troth 
which  was  a  truth,  and  prodaiined 
it  as  if  it  were  tmth  itself.    She 
is    developed   amidst    the  shiieb 
of  comba^ts,  and  marches  to  the 
music  of  drums.      But  when  ihs 
fury  of  the  warriors  is  exhausted, 
when  the  age  to  which  she  belonged 
is  laid  in  the  midst  of  those  ^t 
rest  in  uneasy  dreams,  the  new 
generation  will  ever  ask  whether 
what  was  once  orthodox  is  not  nov 
becoming  heretical,  or  it  will  pas 
by  and  look  at  her  with  the  vene- 
ration or  curiosity  with  which  it 
regards  a  mummy.     It  will  call  for 
change,  for  progress,  for  dcTclop- 
ment.    It  will  foUow  St.  Paul,  the 
apostle  of  development,  tho  great 
protestant  against  all  kind  of  nar- 
rowness   and    limitation,  the  de- 
nouncer of  fossils,  and  of  the  ten- 
dency which  sets  up  the  letter  and 
clings  to  it  as  if  it  were  the  spirii 
St.  Paul  was  a  great  theologian- 
The  age  after  the  Beformatioo,  an 
a^  of  reaction,  has  looked  npon 
lum  almost  exclusively  as  a  theo- 
logian and  a  lawyer.    On  the  doc- 
trine of  predestinatioD,  boldly  azid 
mysteriously  stated  by  St.  Paali 
misunderstood  and  exaggerated  by 


1873] 


The  Ethics  of  St.  Paid. 


777 


St.  Augustine  and  Calvin — on  an 
exaggerated  exaggeration  of  what 
miist  always  remain  a  mysteiy,  is 
built  Puritanism.  It  is  a  theology. 
Its  basis  is  the  absolute  sovereignty 
of  Qod.  It  sits  on  the  throne  with 
God;  judging  from  prayers  and 
sermons,  it  is  the  great  ministry  of 
Heaven.  The  nations  where  it 
reigns  are  fond  of  calling  themselves 
*  a  second  Israel/  and  of  imagining 
that  a  special  Providence  watches 
over  the  chosen  nation.  But  they 
are  entirely  mistaken ;  their  morality 
is  either  below  or  above  the  Old 
Testament,  and  their  theology  is, 
after  all,  more  Ghreek  than  Hebrew. 
Israel  was  not  revived  in  the  stern 
Puritans  of  the  North  or  in  the 
mild  Calvinists  of  Holland. 

The  present  century  is  the  age 
of  humanity.  It  believes  in  hu- 
inanity ;  it  is  intensely  interested 
in  all  that  concerns  man  and  human 
life.  It  is  intent  upon  solving  the 
problem ;  in  the  midst  of  its  rest- 
lessness and  agitation  it  is  willing  to 
listen  to  every  voice  which  has  some- 
thing to  say  upon  that  question.  It 
maybe  true  that  metaphysics  are  at  a 


discount ;  but  moral  questions — ^the 
relation  in  which  Christianity  stands 
towards  society  and  the  individual 
— exercise  a  strange  fascination. 
The  spirit,  the  heart,  the  con- 
science, assert  their  raison  d'Hre^ 
and  call  out  for  the  ideal  in  the 
face  of  an  increasing  worship  of 
nature  and  a  growing  deification 
of  matter. 

It  seems  that  the  way  to  Ood  is 
through  humanity.  No  more  hu- 
man heart  ever  beat  in  this  world 
than  that  of  St.  Paul.  His  sym- 
pathies were  wide-spread  ;  his  love 
seemed  to  have  no  limits.  With 
his  high  idealism  he  was  exceed- 
ingly practical ;  he  was  not  one  of 
those  dreamers  sitting  behind  their 
desks  and  writing  their  Utopias  in 
absolute  ignorance  of  the  world  to 
which  they  announce  the  millen- 
nium. He  was  intensely  religious, 
intensely  moral ;  how  to  establish 
humanity  on  a  moral  foundation, 
how  to  make  righteousness  reign, 
was  his  great  problem.  He  will 
lead  us — if  anyone  can — to  the 
feet  of  Christ. 

A.  S. 


778 


[June 


OUR   IRISH   POLICT. 


PUBLIG  inteinst  in  Ireland 
centres  at  present  in  the  ap- 
proaching general  election.  The 
present  Parliament,  so  &r  as  Ire* 
land,  is  concerned,  is  regarded  as 
virtually  dead.  It  may  linger  to 
the  full  period  of  natural  dissolu- 
tion, or  it  may  come  to  a  speedier 
end,  but  in  either  case  its  proceed- 
ings  are  not  likely  to  be  of  any 
very  great  importance.  Neither  the 
wishes  nor  the  fears  of  the  different 
parties  are  likely  to  be  realised,  nor 
does  there  appear  any  probability 
of  any  great  measures  being  passed. 

But  it  is  different  with  the  Parlia- 
ment that  is  to  succeed  the  present 
one.  As  regards  it,  if  Ireland  only 
proves  true  to  herself^  there  is  scope 
for  the  wildest  imagination  as  to 
legislation  on  the  most  blazing 
principles.  To  it  therefore  eveiy 
^e  is  now /directed.  Already  the 
duL  of  preparation  is  heard  through* 
ont  the  land;  already  the  present 
representatives  are  being  tried  in 
the  scales,  and  where  they  are 
found  wanting,  new  men  are  being 
selected,  who,  when  their  day  of 
reckoning  comes,  will  be  able  to 
give  good  account  of  their  steward- 
ship. 

The  defeat  of  the  Government  on 
the  Irish  University  Bill  startled 
the  country  with  the  prospect  of  an 
immediate  general  election;  and 
though  subsequent  events  rendered 
such  a  proceeding,  for  a  short  time 
at  least,  unnecessary,  the  appeal  to 
the  country  must  sooner  or  later  be 
made.  The  probable  results  of  such 
an  appeal  as  regards  Ireland,  and 
the  course  which  we  should  subse- 
quently pursue,  are  the  subjects 
upon  which  we  wish  to  offer  a  few 
brief  observations. 

The  debate  on  the  Irish  Univer- 
sity Bill  was  in  some  respects  more 
damaging  to  the  Government  than 
the  division.  After  long  and  fre- 
quent heraldings,when  public  curio- 


sity was  rooaed  io  the  greabeab  de- 
gree, and  public  ^ezpeotation  wound 
to  the  highest  pitch^  ihe  great  ntta- 
Bure,  wfateh  was  to  cat  down  the 
third  and  last  branch  of  tha  deadly 
upas  tree^  was  tntrodnced.  .  Eyery 
one  now  knows  its  &Jte ;  but  we  are 
inclined  to  tdiink  that,  had  the  difi- 
sion  on  the  Bill  been  taken  without 
a  debate,  the  result  wonld  not  hare 
been  so  detrimental  to  the  Qovem^ 
ment,  or  so  injurious  to  the  tmee 
of  English  government  of.  Ireknd. 

The  debate,  however,  broa^ 
conspicuously  to  light  the  Ikope- 
lessly  irreconcilable  antagomsni  be- 
tween Irishidea«and  Imperial  ideas  *^ 
it  has  demonstrated  the  incompey^- 
bility  of  English  '  Liberaliam  mtk 
Irish  Ultramontanism,  and  it  hs 
loosed  the  tie  whicdi  h^  the  English 
Liberal  and  Irish  Ultramontane 
parties  together. 

This  latter  fact  may  not  be  pa- 
latable to  some,  but  it  is  none 
the  less  a  fact,  and  the  sooner 
it  is  recognised  as  such  the  bet- 
ter. As  speaker  after  speaker  rose 
on  the  memorable  nights  of  the 
great  debate,  and  as  one  Liberal 
Member  of  distinction  after  another 
delivered  his  opinions,  not  only  upon 
the  Bill  itself,  but  upon  the  princi- 
ples which  should  be  pursned  in 
legislating  for  Ireland,  and  upon  the 
relations  of  that  country  to  onn,  the 
antagonism  of  Irish  ideas  and  Im- 
perial ideas  became  more  glaring. 
For  a  time  the  Irish  Liberal  Mem- 
bers suspended  their  decision  on  the 
measure.  At  first  they  seemed  in- 
clined to  support  it,  upon  the  under- 
standing that  it  should  be  amended 
in  committee ;  but  as  it  became  evi- 
dent that  aU  amendments  would  be 
in  an  opposite  direction  to  their 
views,  that  all  the  concessions  which 
had  been  offered  to  them  by  the  Go- 
vemment — the  gagging  clauBe,  tte 
exclusion  of  modem  history  and 
philosophy,  probably  abo  the  conati- 


1873] 


Our  Irish  Tolicy. 


779 


tation  of  the  Council— would  be,  hj 
the  almost  nnanimous  Toioe  of  the 
House  of  Commons,  condenmed, 
and  were  already  abandoned  by 
the  Government,  their  resolve  was 
taken,  and  they  voted  for  the  rejec- 
tion of  the  measure. 

Efforts  have  been  made  to  prove 
that  it  is  solely  upon  this  question 
that  there  is  a  difference  of  opinion 
between  the  English  Liberals  and 
the  Irish  Liberal  members,  and  that 
the  latter  are  otherwise  true  to 
their  allegiance ;  but  this  opinion  is 
based  npon  an  imperfect  know- 
ledge of  facts,  and  in  blissful  ignor- 
ance that  a  change  has  come  over 
the  spirit  of  the  Irish  Liberal  con- 
stituencies.  We  are  quite  willing 
to  believe  that  as  long  as  the  pre- 
sent Irish  Liberal  non-Home-Bule 
Members  remain  in  Parliament  they 
will  continue  generally  to  support 
the  Gbvernment,  but  their  opinions 
appear  more  moderate  than  those 
which  their  constituents  avow,  and 
it  is  beyond  doubt  that  a  very  dif- 
ferent class  of  representatives  will 
be  returned  at  the  next  general 
election.  Every  vacancy  that 
has  occurred  within  the  last  few 
years  in  the  representation  of 
an  Irish  Liberal  constituency  has 
been  filled  up  by  a  Home  Ruler, 
audit  is  more  than  probable  that 
the  same  conduct  will  become 
general  when  the  occasion  arises. 
Government  candidates  either  have 
not  come  forward,  or,  when  they 
have,  were  in  the  most  unmistak- 
able manner  rejected ;  and  so  hope- 
less is  the  present  position,  that  none 
of  the  Irish  Law  Officers  of  the 
Crown  have  a  seat  in  Parliament. 

Facts  such  as  these  do  not  prove 
the  popularity  in  Ireland  of  the 
English  Liberal  Government,  nor 
the  existence  of  any  genuine  bond  of 
union  between  the  Irish  and  Eng- 
lish Liberals.  That  union  had  beg^un 
when  English  Liberalism  set  itself 
the  task  of  emancipating  the  Eoman 
Catholics,  and  it  would  continue  only 
until  complete  religious  equality  had 


been  established.  If  the  English 
Liberals  believe  that  this  alliance 
still  exists,  the  Irish  people  are  not 
so  blind  to  the  true  state  of  the  case. 
They  have  not  waited  until  this 
debate  to  learn  the  lesson  which  it 
teaches:  to  them  it  was  but  the 
crowning  evidence  of  English  bigot-, 
ry  and  English  hostility  to  Ireland's 
interests. 

Special  circumstances  had  within 
the  last  few  years  drawn  .the  two 
parties  more  closely  together,  and 
given  fresh  life  to  the  alliance  be- 
tween them — English  Liberalism  in 
what  it  conceived  to  be  the  noble 
work  of  removing  nnjust  class  or 
sectarian  advantages,  Irish  Liberal- 
ism in  its  desire  to  deprive  its  oppo- 
nents of  ascendency.  The  F^iian 
conspiracy  had  attracted  greater  at- 
tention to  Ireland  than  was  usually 
bestowed,  for  it  led  people  to  think 
that  there  must  be  something  radi- 
cally wrong  in  a  country  where  such 
a  movement  took  place.  The  Irish 
Church  and  Irish  land  tenure  were 
considered  by  discerning  statesmen 
to  be  the  plague  spots.  To  redress 
these  grievances  and  to  remove,  the 
anomaly  of  the  Irish  Church,  and 
with  the  policy  of  governing  Ireland 
according  to  Irish  ideas  emblazoned 
on  their  standard,  the  Liberals, 
English  and  Irish,  were  returned  in 
overwhelming  numbers  to  the  new 
Parliament.  The  disestablishment 
of  the  Irish  Church  was  the  first- 
fruits.  This  measure,  it  may  be  re- 
marked in  parentheses,  was  the  logi- 
cal result  and  the  necessary  comple-. 
tion  of  Roman  Catholic  emancipa- 
tion. Then  came  the  Irish  Land  Act. 
Both  measures  received  the  support 
of  Irish  Liberals  and  of  the  Irish 
people  as  to  a  certain  extent  remov- 
ing the  grievances ;  but  however 
complete  the  first  of  these  measures 
may  have  been,  the  Land  Act  was 
quite  insufficient.  *  Fixity  of  tenure 
at  a  fair  rent  *  was  the  least  with 
which  the  people  would  be  satisfied. 
They  accepted  the  measure  as  an 
instalment  of  justice,  as  a  partial 


780 


Our  Irish  Policy. 


£Jime 


recognitdon  of  their  claims,  bnt  they 
were  far  from  being  satisfied.  And 
as  it  came  to  be  administered  and 
material  was  afforded  npon  which 
to  form  a  judgment  as  to  its  real 
nature  and  effects,  the  load  praise 
with  which  it  was  received  subsided, 
and  there  arose  instead  vehement 
denunciations.  Already  the  faith  of 
the  Irish  people  in  the  liberal  pro- 
mises of  the  English  Parliament 
was  beginning  to  be  shaken,  already 
it  was  becoming  clear  to  them  that 
only  an  Irish  Parliament  would  deal 
with  their  grievances  in  a  manner 
consonant  with  their  ideas. 

The  refusal  to  pardon  the  political 
prisoners,  that  is  to  say  those  who 
hcLd  been  convicted  of  Fenianism,  was 
another  proof  that  it  was  useless  to 
appeal  to  a  British  Government  for 
anything  they  desired.  The  amnesty 
of  the  majority  of  these  men  was 
not  sufficient:  there  should  be  no 
distinction  between  the  prisoners,  all 
must  be  released.  But  no,  a  deaf 
«ar  was  turned  to  their  petitions ;  an 
Irish  Parliament  would  alone  enter- 
tain their  prayers. 

A  ciy  went  forth  too  at  this  time, 
and  one  that  had  some  truth  in  it, 
that  Irish  interests  were  being 
neglected  by  Parliament,  that  no 
time  could  be  got  to  carry  Irish 
Bills  through  Parliament^  that  de- 
bates on  Irish  subjects  were  post- 
poned till  the  small  hours,  when  but 
little  attention  could  be  given  them. 
And  so  gradually  a  party  calling 
itself  a  Home  Rule  party  grew  up. 
In  the  exasperation  of  the  Orange 
parW  with  the  treatment  they  had 
received  in  the  disestablishment  of 
the  Church  lay  the  probability  of  the 
Orange  and  Green  blending  together 
to  strive  for  that  form  of  govern- 
ment under  which  such  measures 
would  not  be  repeated;  but  the 
Orange  party,  unable  to  accept  as 
true  the  ardent  professions  of 
liberality  and  toleration  made  to 
them,  and  consdions  that  their  wel- 
fare lay  in  a  loyal  adherence  to  the 
Englidi  connection,  resolutely  de- 


clined to  enter  into  any  compacL 
Their  refusal,  however,  had  bat 
little  effect  upon  the  Home  Rule 
party,  which  gained  daily  foesh 
adherents,  as  its  programme 
became  more  decidedly  national, 
growing  by  degrees  sufficaently 
powerful  to  control  elections,  and 
ultimately  to  return  their  own 
nominees  to  Parliament.  Some  of 
these  were  elected  Members  with  the 
countenance  and  support  of  the 
Roman  Catholic  clergy,  hence  their 
conduct  in  Parliament  did  not  differ 
much  from  that  of  the  non-Home^ 
Rule  Liberal  Members,  and  ihey 
were  ready  generally  to  support  the 
Government,  from  whom  the  Irish 
people  had  received  so  many  benefits, 
partial  and  incomplete  though  those 
benefits  might  be.  In  other  cases, 
however,  the  elections  were  carried 
against  even  the  influence  of  the 
IU>man  Catholic  clergy,  and  this 
small  section  of  the  party  either 
offered  only  a  partial  support  to  the 
Government  or  absented  themselves 
altogether  from  the  debates  and 
divisions.  Their  numbers  were 
not,  however,  suffi^cient  to  render 
their  votes  of  much  importance,  and 
the  rest  of  the  Irish  Liberal  Members 
were  true  to  the  Government. 

One  way  or  the  other  the  English 
Liberal  party,  or,  to  speak  more 
correctly,  the  Imperial  Govenmient, 
has  been  fast  losing  its  adherents  in 
Ireland ;  and  although  it  was  ex- 
tremely probable  even  if  an  Irish 
University  Bill  satisfactory  to  the 
Roman  Catholic  hierarchy  had  been 
carried,  the  Roman  Catholic  clergj 
propitiated  thereby,  and  their  sap- 
port  gained,  that  the  return  of  Home 
Rulers  as  representativea  of  Irish 
constituencies  would  not  have  been 
checked,  yet  that  probability  has 
become  a  certainty  when  the 
Roman  Catholic  hierarchy  and  the 
Roman  CathoHo  press  pronoonoe 
in  favour  of  Home  Role.  It  u 
probable  that  sooner  or  later  tbe 
Roman  Catholic  clergy  must  haTO 
taken  this  step.      Powerfol  as  is 


1873] 


Our  Irish  Policy, 


781 


their  inflaence  over  their  flocks,  thej 
are  not  at  all  times  able  to  guide. 
Occasionallj  they  mnst  follow ;  and 
in  the  present  daj,  when  education, 
and  the  press,  and  the  namerons 
other  sources  of  enlightenment  have 
rendered  the  people  more  indepen- 
dent and  self-asserting,  this  course 
is  becoming  more  necessary.  The 
Irish  people  have  long  been  listening 
to  the  voice  of  their  press,  whose 
nnchanging  text  has  been  the  re- 
storation of  their  national  Legislature 
— *an  Irish  Parliament  for  Ireland.' 
This  has  been  the  burden  of  every 
discourse,  the  moral  of  every  event ; 
it  has  now  become  the  first  article 
of  the  political  creed  of  the  Irish 
people.  But  be  the  cause  what  it  may, 
the  pastorals  of  some  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  bishops,  the  speeches  of 
numerous  Soman  Catholic  priests, 
and  the  leading  articles  of  their 
organs  show  that  the  great  majority 
of  the  Irish  Roman  Catholic  clergy 
have  thrown  in  their  lot  with  the 
Home  Rule  party. 

The  alliance  between  the  English 
Liberals  and  the  Irish  Liberals  was 
not  one  which  in  the  nature  of  things 
could  last  long.  That  they  were 
allies  for  so  many  years  was  due  to 
the  fact  that  to  a  certain  extent  they 
had  common  objects  in  view.  But 
the  motives  which  swayed  each  were 
not  similar.  Many  of  the  Irish 
Liberals  aimed  at  nothing  further 
than  the  establishment  of  religious 
equality;  but  behind  the  action  of 
the  great  majority  of  them  were 
those  motives,  we  should  rather 
say  extreme  objects,  which  are  now 
finding  expression  in  Ireland,  objects 
far  more  important  and  immeasur- 
ably greater  than  the  petty  acquisi- 
tions of  the  moment — ^behind  the 
action  of  the  .English  Liberals  was 
the  wish  to  be  freed  from  all  self- 
accusations  which,  judging  by  an 
English  standard,  had  any  real 
foundation,  the  wish  to  set  ourselves 
right  in  the  opinion  of  other  nations, 
and  the  desire  to  be  unshackled  in 
future  dealings  with  Ireland.     'We 


have,'  said  Lord  Eimberley  in 
his  speech  last  April  at  Ipswich, 
'purged  our  consciences  of  whatever 
injustice  we  have  committed  towards 
Ireland.' 

During  this  process  the  two  parties 
held  together,  but  during  it  also  a 
change  was  going  on  in  the  Irish 
constituencies,  and  Irish  Liberalism 
was  assuming  an  extreme  type.  On 
the  one  hand  the  policy  of  the 
Ultramontane  party  was  becoming 
more  declared ;  on  the  other  hand 
the  voice  of  the  Nationalist  party 
was  growing  in  strength.  Between 
these  two  extremes  Irish  Liberalism 
of  a  moderate  character  is,  or  rather 
will  at  the  next  general  election  be 
almost  if  not  quite  unable  to  find 
expression,  for  these  extremes  are 
now  the  prevailing  powers  in  Irish 
Liberal  constituencies.  With  nei- 
ther of  them  can  English  Liberal- 
ism or  English  patriotism  have  any- 
thing in  common. 

This  state  of  affairs  need  not,  how- 
ever, form  any  subject  of  self-gratu- 
lation  with  the  Conservative  party. 
They  likewise  have  suffered  in  the 
change,  and  will  have  to  surrender 
many  of  their  seats ;  and  the  power 
too  which  is  to  be  employed  against 
the  Liberals  will  be  employed  equals 
ly  against  them  should  they  assume 
the  reins  of  office.  The  question  is,, 
in  fact,  no  longer  one  of  party.  It 
has  become  an  Imperial  one,  and  aa 
such  can  only  be  disposed  of  by 
Englishmen  of  different  parties  unit- 
ing. 

Once  more,  then,  are  we  brought 
face  to  face  with  an  Irish  difficulty. 
With  a  suddenness  which  was 
scarcely  expected,  yet  with  that  in- 
evitability which  we  have  long  fore- 
seen, this  difficulty  is  upon  us.^  What 
course  are  we  now  to  pursue  ? 

To  enable  us  to  come  to  a  conclu- 
sion, we  must  first  understand  the 
nature  of  the  proposals  made  to  us, 
or  rather  demands  made  from  ns,  by 
the  Home  Bule  parfy,  who  are  so 
fast  supplanting  the  Irish  Liberal 
Members. 


782 


Owr  Irish  PoUoy. 


[Jime 


It  has  been  the  policy  of  the 
more  thoughtful  leaders  of  the  Home 
Rule  party  to  be  studiously  mode- 
rate in  their  language  and  ideas. 
They  haye,  in  fact,  dressed  up  the 
wolf  in  sheep's  clothing,  and  they 
disclaim  the  language  and  views 
and  ulterior  designs  of  their  more 
noisy  and  outspoken  supporters. 
They  call  simply  for  a  readjustment 
of  the  relations  between  the  two 
countries  with  the  view  of  prevent- 
ing the  evils  of  over*centralisation. 
The  Imperial  Parliament  is  breaking 
down  under  the  amount  of  work  it 
has  to  perform — ^relieve  it  of  the 
management  of  Irish  internal  do- 
mestic affairs;  'let  each  country 
manage  for  itself  what  concerns  it- 
self only,  let  both  manage  in  a  com- 
mon assembly  what  concerns  botk 
collectively.  Thus  healthy  national 
aspirations  will  be  satisfied,  and 
the  dead-lock  of  Imperial  business 
prevented.  Thus  will  a  desirable 
mean  be  found  between  the  separa- 
tion of  countries  which  have  so 
many  interests  in  common,  and  the 
over-centralisation,  which  has  been 
found  to  work  so  badly  for  both.'* 

It  looks  very  reasonable  and  very 
simple  ;  and  then,  to  make  the  plan 
appear  less  dangerous,  'if  deemed 
desirable,  it  might  be  arranged  that 
the  establishment  of  any  religious 
ascendency,  or  the  alteration  of  the 
Acts  which  settled  Irish  property 
in  the  reign  of  Charles  II.,  should 
be  placed  beyond  the  jurisdiction  of 
the  Irish  Parliament.' 

If  we  seek  the  reason  for  the  re- 
adjustment of  relations  between  the 
two  countries,  we  are  told  that  Irish 
interests  are  neglected  in  the  Im- 
perial Parliament,  or  that  in  things 
which  concern  Ireland  most,  Englifidi 
views  are  adopted  in  preference, 
often  in  direct  opposition  to  Irish 
ones ;  but  if  we  do  not  accept  either 
of  these  reasons  as  sufficient  for 
80  great  a  change  as  the  establish- 


ment of  separate  and  independent 
Legislatures,  we  are  at  once  ocmfraDt- 
ed  with  .the  usual  rhetoric  abooi 
Ireland's  inalienable  light  to  selt 
government,  and  then  we  see  clear- 
ly through  the  disguise. 

'  A  large  and  intelligent  conmui- 
nity  geographically,  historically, 
and  actually  distinct,'  says  ]^. 
MacGarthy,  '  it  is  denied  the  ma- 
nagement of  its  own  affairs. . . .  Tk 
results  which  generally  follow  ao 
objectionable  an  arrangemeafc  bare 
followed  here.  How  can  a  calm 
and  candid  enquirer  resist  the  con- 
clusion that  it  wonld  be  desinhle  to 
revert  to  the  natural  order  of  things, 
and  restore  to  this  distinct  ancieni; 
and  idiosyncratic  communitj  the 
control  of  its  domestic  affiors?  Un- 
less all  the  world,  and  all  political 
thinkers  and  all  sagacious  obseirers, 
and  all  orators  and  poets,  hare  ut- 
terly deceived  themselves  as  to  the 
practical  advantageousness  of  civil 
liberty,  this  restoration  must  be  at- 
tended with  the  political  advantages 
which  ordinarily  follow  the  posses- 
sion of  such  liberty.'* 

There  are  many  statements  made 
by  the  Irish  National  parfy  in  treat- 
ing of  this  question  which,  on  inies- 
tigation,  appear  to  be  scaicelj  ^war- 
ranted by  facts.  One  would  thini: 
from  the  tenor  of  the  language  used 
that  all  Ireland  participated  in  their 
views ;  one  would  thmk  that  the 
Irish  people,  whose  name  is  so  po^ 
petually  and  glibly  used,  consiitated 
the  whole  population  of  the  island. 
The  sound  is  imposing,  for  tiiemere 
idea  of  a  people  canies  a  mght 
with  it  which  no  other  term  woali 
The  actual  meaning  of  the  term 
*  Irish  people '  is  much  less.  Ithas 
no  such  deep  flignificance  as  the 
whole  population  of  the  island;  it 
does  not  indude  the  Protestants^  it 
does  not  include  a  lazgemimber— 
and  that  the  wealthiest  and  mo^ 
respectable  portion— <}f  the  Bonos 


>  A  JPUafor  the  Horns  Goftenmmt  ^Itdtmd,  hy  V.Q.  MacGarthy, 


•P.34. 


1878] 


Our  Irish  PoUey. 


783 


Catholics,  it  has  not  even  the  merit 
of  meaning  persons  of  pnrelj  Celtic 
as  opposed  to  Saxon  blood ;  but  it 
does  mean  simply  and  solelj  those 
persons  who  process  their  belief  in 
Ireland's  inalienable  right  to  self- 
goyemment,  who  look  npon  what 
they  consider  their  counhy  as  suf- 
fering under  the  tyranny  of  an  alien 
role,  and  who  hold  other  equally  Na- 
tional opinions.  The  *  Irish  people ' 
as  at  present  in  use  in  Ireland  is  the 
name  of  the  followers  of  a  pohtical 
creed,  and  not  of  a  distinct  nation- 
ality, and  this  is  a  fact  which  should 
be  remembered  when  considering 
the  demands  of  the  Home  BnlerB. 

Another  tacit  sort  of  assumption, 
and  one  rather  amusing  in  its  way, 
is  that  things  cannot  go  on  as  they 
are  going  new — ^that  we  must,  so  to 
speak,  at  our  peril  at  once  make  the 
choice  of  '  separation '  or  *  federal- 
ism.' A  specimen  of  this  may  be 
seen  in  the  first  extract  which  we 
quoted  from  Mr.  MacGarthy's  book. 
It  may  be  a  yery  conyenient  way  of 
putting  the  question,  and  one  which, 
if  perseyered  in,  might  on  a  less 
yital  point  possibly  lead  people  to 
think  that  the  choice  had  to  be 
made ;  but  we  distinctly  decline  to 
recognise  the  necessity  for  making 
any  such  choice.  If  Ireland  is  a 
source  of  weakness  to  England 
under  the  present  form  of  goyem- 
ment,  it  would  not  alone  be  a  much 
greater  source  of  weakness,  but 
would  probably  be  a  source  of 
danger  under  any  other  form  of 
goyemment  or  relationship  between 
the  countries.  This  much  is  eyident, 
for  Ireland  is,  to  borrow  National 
phraseology,  '  garrisoned '  in  a  way 
which  at  least  secures  us  the  pos- 
session of  the  country,  and  our  own 
position  as  a  great  power,  much 
more  than  if  the  countries  were 
connected  by  some  federal  compact 
for  the  endurance  of  which  there 
could  be  no  possible  guarantee. 
All  those  persons  who  are  well  af- 
iectedto  this  country  are  immense- 
ly strengthened  by  the  moral,  to 


say  nothing  of  the  physical,  support 
which  the  Imperial  Ooyemment 
affords ;  and  from  the  Union  many 
who  might  otherwise  be  hostile  to 
us  deriye  such  adyantages  as  to 
make  their  interests  one  with  ours. 
Granting  eyenwhat  the  Nationalists 
are  so  constantly  trying  to  din  into 
our  ears,  that  a  goyemment  which 
is  not  founded  on  the  will  of  the 
people  cannot  be  strong,  we  not 
alone  haye  nothing  to  induce  us  to 
belieye  that  if  we  cast  off  Ireland 
to-morrow  and  granted  all  her  de- 
mands, the  Imperial  Goyemment 
would  be  in  a  stronger  position  than 
it  is  under  present  circumi^tances, 
but  we  haye  positiye  reason  to 
belieye  that  it  would  be  in  a  much 
weaker  position.  The  yiews  and 
tendencies  of  England  and  Ireland 
in  matters  of  foreign  policy  are  so 
directly  opposed  to  each  other,  and 
the  national  leanings  of  each  are  so 
entirely  at  yariance,  that  the  same 
differences  which  now  prompt  only 
to  the  acquisition  of  self-goyemment 
or  control  in  domestic  affairs  would 
prompt  then  to  goyemment  as  re- 
gards foreign  affairs.  Although  the 
Irish  are  now  loud  in  asserting  that 
once  in  possession  of  Home  Rule 
they  would  link  their  &te  irreyoc- 
ably  with  us,  we  cannot  bdieye  that 
whero  suck  great  diyergence  of 
yiews  exists  any  permanent  alliance 
oould  exist  between  the  two  nations. 
We  aro,  howeyer,  it  appears,  not 
to  be  left  the  choice  of  deciding  in 
the  matter.  Ireland's  opportunity 
has  come.  She  will  shortly  be  in  a 
position  to  demand  the  restoration 
to  her  of  her  natiye  Legislature. 
The  £>rm  in  which  this  demand  is 
to  be  made  from  us  will,  we  are 
told,  be  a  compact  number  of  Irish 
Members,  not  ambitious  plaoe 
hunters,  for  these  will  be  carefully 
purged  from  Irish  representation, 
but  men  pledged  in  the  most  solemn 
manner  to  a  fixed  and  definite  line 
of  policy,  acting  on  it  in  season  and 
out  of  season,  seizing  eyery  oppor- 
tunity to  embarrass  eyery  Gk>yem- 


784 


Our  Irish  Policy. 


[June 


ment^  opposing  every  Government 
measure  which  by  coalition  with 
the  Opposition  they  would  be  able 
to  defeat,  and  thus  by  placing  suc- 
cessive Oovemments  in  minorities 
render  our  Parliamentaiy  institu- 
tions unworkable,  and  oring  the 
Government  of  the  country  to  a 
dead-lock.  By  a  course  of  conduct 
such  as  this  they  hope  to  render 
themselves  so  obnoxious,  that  for 
the  sake  of  convenience  we  will  cast 
them  out  from  our  Imperial  Parlia- 
rnent^  and  send  them  back  to  make 
a  Parliament  for  themselves. 

Various  estimates  have  beenmade 
as  to  the  number  of  Home  Rule 
Members  which  will  be  returned  to 
the  next  Parliament.  Sixty  is  con- 
sidered the  most  approximate,  but 
even  if  only  fifty  are  returned  this 
will  represent  loo  votesona  division, 
and  with  the  two  great  English 
parties  at  all  evenly  balanced,  it 
cannot  be  denied  that  even  fifty 
Members  might  cause  serious  ob- 
struction to  the  government  of  the 
country.  A  line  of  conduct  such  as 
this  is  one  against  which  our  Parlia- 
mentary forms  and  usages  appear  to 
afford  us  no  protection.  Hitherto 
Irish  discontent  has  assumed  a  form 
hostile  to  property,  life,  or  govern- 
ment, and  has  consequently  been 
easily  dealt  with  by  iAie  Executive 
Government ;  now  it  comes  forward 
under  the  protection  of  a  consti- 
tutional gnise,  penetrating  within 
the  walls  of  Parliament,  and  assum- 
ing a  form  not  so  easily  dealt  with. 

Supposing  that  all  this  actually 
comes  to  pass,  why  should  we  not 
rid  ourselves  of  this  trouble,  concede 
the  demands  urged  upon  us,  and 
restore  to  Ireland  her  national  Legis- 
lature? The  question  is  a  useful 
one,  for  its  answer  affords  us  a 
guide  as  to  what  our  course  must  be. 

Suppose,  then,  Ireland  set  free 
from  this  country,  the  only  remain- 
ing  ties  between  us  the  same  as 
those  now  existing  between  Gfreat 
Britain  and  Canada.  This  form  of 
oonneotion    seems  to  be  the    one 


most  in  favour  at  present  The 
constitution,  however,  would  be 
different  in  so  far  that  in  Ireland 
there  is  a  titled  aristocracy,  which 
would  form  the  Superior  Chshmber. 

It  is  not  too  much  to  assume  that 
the  Parliament  would  be  a  popular 
one,  based  upon  a  lower  fianchise 
than  the  present,  and  consequently 
representing  to  a  greater  extent  than 
the  present  Irish  Members  of  ParHsr 
ment  do  a  lower  class  of  the  people. 
Kor  is  it  probable  that  the  Irish 
House  of  Lords  would  have  more  if 
even  as  much  power  in  opposing 
popular  measures  as  our  British 
House  of  Lords  has.  A  free  scope 
would  therefore  be  afforded  to  the 
Irish  people  for  carrying  into  effect 
all  their  projects  for  making  Irdand 
wealthy  and  prosperous,  happy  and 
free.  The  policy  which  would  be 
pursued  by  the  Irish  Parliament  is 
easily  to  be  surmised  from  the 
speeches  of  Home  Rulers  and  from 
the  articles  of  the  National  press. 

Naturally  all  the  evils  ascribed 
to  the  Union  would  be  quickly  re- 
moved, and  laws  passed  embodying 
the  principles  now  announced  as  the 
proper  remedies  for  these  grievances. 

One  of  the  first  charges  against 
the  Union  is  its  disastrous  effects 
upon  Irish  commerce  and  mann- 
fiMstures.  The  Union  drains  Ireland 
of  her  income. 

'  If  we  estimate  the  exported  re- 
venue,' says  a  prominent  Home 
Bole  speaker,  *  the  absentee  rents, 
and  the  loss  on  Irish  manu&ctoreas 
conjointiy  amounting  to  5,000,000^ 
a  year  for  the  72  years  the  tjmxm 
has  lasted,  the  result  will  show  a 
money  drain  of  36o,ooo,oooL  dnrinj^ 
that  period.  .  .  .  Home  Govern- 
ment would  take  the  robber  hand  of 
England  out  of  our  pocket.  Home 
Government  would  arrest  the  per- 
petual drain  of  Irish  income.' 

Although  such  language  may  be 
regarded  as  slightly  exaggerated, 
having  been  used  in  the  neat  o( 
addressing  a  public  audience^  it 
nevertheless  expresses  more  or  leas 


1878] 


Our  Irieh  Policy, 


785 


truly  Irish  views,  for  Irish  National 
wi-iters  agree  in  believing  that  the 
Union  injures  Irish  commercial  and 
manufacturing  interests.  But  it  is 
manifest  that  an  Irish  Parliament 
could  not  remedy  this  state  of  things 
except  by  legislation,  and  the  only 
legislation  possible  would  be  a  re- 
turn to  the  old,  and  with  us  long 
exploded,  system  of  protection.  It 
is  the  only  way  by  which  Irish 
manufactures  can  be  put  on  a  par 
with  English,  and  unless  some  laws 
were  made  on  the  subject,  trade 
would  continue  in  its  present  chan- 
nels. Home  Government  or  no  Home 
Government,  and  would  have  the 
same  effects  in  draining  the  country 
as  it  is  now  considered  to  have. 
Any  laws,  therefore,  made  on  this 
subject  by  the  Irish  Parliament, 
would  be  in  a  spirit  hostile  to  free 
trade.  That  bo  shortsighted  a 
iwlicy  could  be  adopted,  would  be 
a  matter  of  surprise  if  the  Home 
Kulers  were  not  perpetually  parad- 
ing their  ignorance  of  the  first 
maxims,  the  commonest  truisms,  of 
political  economy.  To  them  this 
science  seems  unknown.  They  ad- 
vance, as  sound,  doctrines  which 
have  long  since  not  only  been  proved 
to  be  entirely  false,  but  absolutely 
mischievous.  We  have  not  space 
here  to  enter  into  a  discussion  on 
the  comparative  merits  of  protec- 
tion and  free  trade,  nor  is  any  such 
discussion  necessary.  Experience 
testifies  to  the  mischievous  effects 
of  the  one,  and  to  the  vast  benefits 
of  the  other ;  experience,  too,  would 
soon  teach  Irish  protectionists  that 
the  protection  policy  which  they 
had  adopted  was  rapidly  impover- 
ishing their  country  instead  of  en- 
riching it. 

Another  evil  mentioned  in  the 
last  extract  we  have  quoted,  and 
one  to  remedy  which  is  a  spe- 
cial reason  for  demtmding  Home 
Bale,  is  absenteeism.  There  are  few 
prac^ces  which  have  been  more 
bitterly  inveighed  against.  Even  in 
temperate  assemblies  the  idea  of  an 

VOL.  VII. — NO.  XLII.     NEW  SEBIB8. 


absentee  tax  has  been  proposed ;  but 
as  absenteeism  is  one  of  the  crying 
evils  of  Ireland,  as  it  is  looked  upon 
as  the  main  cause  of  Ireland's 
poverty,  and  as  any  partial  mea- 
sure would  be  only  an  imperfect 
remedy,  very  effectual  steps  would 
probably  be  adopted  for  its  suppres- 
sion. Whilst  we  beheve  that  ab- 
senteeism is  in  more  ways  than  one 
disadvantageous  to  the  country,  we 
are  unable  to  see  how  it  could  be 
remedied  except  by  some  violent 
interference  with  the  rights  of  pri- 
vate property.  Yet  we  have  ample 
reason  to  believe  that  the  popular 
party  in  Ireland  would  not  long 
tolerate  a  practice  which  they  re- 
gard with  such  hatred. 

Another  evil  to  be  remedied  is 
the  tenure  of  land;  and  here  all  the 
deepest  passions  of  the  Irish  pea- 
santry are  involved :  their  cherish- 
ed traditions  point  to  it  as  theirs, 
ancient  prophecies  have  foretold  its 
future  restoration  to  them.  Their 
aspirations  are  fixed  upon  this  one 
object :  they  were  defrauded  of  the 
land,  usurpers  possess  it ;  shall  they 
not  re-demand  it  when  they  are  in  a 
position  to  do  so  ?  The  prospect  of 
liberal  legislation  on  this  subject  is 
the  motive  power  of  the  Home  Rule 
agitation  ;  by  Home  Rule  they  see 
the  means  of  attaining  their  end, 
means  which  would  be  quickly 
made  use  of  to  attain  it.  The  re- 
form to  be  satisfactory  must  be  in 
accordance  with  popular  ideas ;  and 
as  these  ideas  would  be  represented 
by  a  large  majority  in  any  Irish 
House  of  Commons,  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that  the  land  question  would 
be  quickly  legislated  for  in  a  man- 
ner  consonant  with  the  wishes  and 
interests  of  the  Irish  people.  Those 
wishes  have  been  sufficiently  often 
and  sufficiently  clearly  enunciated. 
The  reduction  of  the  landowners 
to  mere  annuitants  would  be  the 
first  step,  the  practical  termination 
of  these  annuities  the  next. 

We  have  no  wish  whatever  to 
impute  unreasonably  to  a  mythical 

3  H 


786 


Ow  Irish  Policy, 


[June 


Irish  Parliament  a  policy  so  sub* 
versive  of  order,  so  opposed  to  all 
moral  laws,  and  so  deeply  fhiught 
with  evil.  We  take  as  grounds  for 
our  conjectures  as  to  the  probable 
policy  of  an  Irish  Parliament,  the 
speeches  of  the  Home  Rulers  and 
N'ationalists.  These  may  naturally 
be  considered  to  afford  an  exposition 
of  the  tenets  of  the  spokesmen  and 
of  the  party  to  which  they  belong, 
nor  can  we  be  accused  of  any 
unfairness  in  thus  treating  their 
speeches.  That  we  have  under- 
stated rather  than  over-stated  the 
popular  views  will  be  patent  to  any 
one  who  takes  the  trouble  of  refer- 
ing  to  the  accounts  of  the  popular 
meetings,  of  perusing  the  speeches 
delivered  at  them  by  the  popular 
leaders,  and  of  noticing  the  senti- 
ments which  meet  with  most  ap- 
proval. 

So  far,  then,  for  the  material 
interests  of  the  country.  In 
measures  affecting  its  oUier  in- 
terests, namely,  the  social  and  moral 
welfare  of  the  people,  the  guiding 
power  would  be  the  Irish  Eoman 
Catholic  priesthood.  People  in  this 
oountzy  are  sufficiently  familiar  with 
the  aims  and  policy  of  that  Church, 
and  its  opposition  to  social  progress, 
to  enable  them  to  estimate  the  pro- 
bability of  a  nation's  progress  with 
such  a  hand  at  the  helm.  The  con- 
stantly recurring  declarations  of  the 
Head  of  that  Church,  and  the  con- 
duct of  the  Eoman  Catholic  clergy 
in  nearly  every  European  country, 
do  not  leave  us  in  the  dark  as  to  its 
objects.  The  increase  of  the  power 
of  the  Church,  the  subordination  of 
the  State  to  the  Church,  the  ex- 
clusive control  not  only  over  the 
education  of  the  people,  but  over 
the  people  themselves,  these  are  its 
first  objects,  and  with  a  Parliament 
composed  mainly  of  Roman  Catholic 
Members  these  objects  would  sooner 
or  later  be  carried  into  effect. 

Such,  we  believe,  would  be  the 
nature  and  policy  of  an  Irish  Parlia- 
ment ;  and  as  a  consideration  as  to 


Ireland's  future  must  torm  an 
essential  element  in  helping  us  to 
arrive  at  a  conclusion  as  to  how  to 
deal  with  the  demand  for  Home 
Rule,  an  enquiry  such  as  we  baYe 
here  made  is  necessary. 

In  coming  to  a  decision  on  tk 
question  of  Home  Rule,  it  must 
be  borne  in  mind  that  Ireland  is  not 
united  on  this  subject.  This  is  a 
fact  which  would  not  need  to  be 
stated,  but  that  it  is  not  alone  per- 
sistently questioned,  but  often  di- 
rectly contradicted  by  those  whose 
interest  is  to  make  it  appear  other- 
wise.  Not  alone  have  the  Orange 
party,  as  we  have  before  said, 
opposed  themselves  to  this  new  agi- 
tation, but  a  very  large  portion  of  the 
Roman  Catholic  inhabitants  of  the 
country  are  by  no  means  inclined  to 
favour  it.  Their  property,  their 
prosperity,  and  their  interests  are 
linked  with  the  present  form  of 
government,  and  any  change  wonld 
but  place  them  in  a  more  disadvan- 
tageous and  less  secure  position ;  in 
fact,  the  people  who  are  opposed  to 
the  movement  are  those  whose 
judgment  is  most  entitled  to  onr 
consideration,  whose  interests  are 
of  the  most  importance  to  the  wel- 
fare of  the  country,  and  who  them- 
selves constitute  the  most  industrious 
and  law-abiding  portion  of  the  com- 
munity. 

Nor  is  the  statement  so  commonlj 
made  by  Home  Rulers  true,  that  the 
different  religious  sects  in  Ireland 
have  become  so  mutually  tolerant 
that  there  would  be  no  probalnlity 
of  their  quarrelling  with  each  other, 
nor,  if  Home  Rule  were  granted,  anj 
danger  of  their  coming  to  blows. 
It  is  true  that  there  is  more  mntnal 
toleration  now  than  formerly,  but  it 
exists  chiefly,  if  not  solely,  among 
the  higher  and  more  educated  classes. 
Amongst  the  lower  orders,  especiallr 
in  places  where  the  two  sects  are  la 
nearly  eqttal  numbers,  the  bitterest 
animosity  exists  between  them.  Tbe 
constantly  recurring  party  riots  m 
the  North  of  Ireland  are  undeniable 


1873] 


Our  Lish  Policy. 


787 


evidence  of  this.  These  originate 
from  pore  sectarian  hatred.  There 
is  no  principle  to  be  fought  for; 
neither  party  can  by  any  possibility 
benefit  anything  by  defeating  the 
other ;  no  conceivable  object  can  be 
gained ;  and  yet  these  disturbances 
axmually  occur:  men  are  killed,  pro* 
perty  is  destroyed,  and  these  scenes 
of  diminutive  civil  warfare  are  only 
prevented  from  becoming  general  by 
the  strong  arm  of  the  law. 

It  is  simply  the  superincxmibent 
weight  of  the  British  connection, 
and  the  powerful  hand  of  a  strong 
Executive  Government,  which  pre- 
serves the  peace  in  Ireland.  That 
connection  places  out  of  the  reach 
of  Irishmen  of  either  sect  the  pos- 
sibility of  attaining  that  supre- 
macy which  each  is  so  eager  to 
acquire,  and  it  removes  from  their 
ai'bitrament  those  subjects  which 
men  regard  with  interest  so  vital  as 
to  make  them  ready  to  sacrifice  their 
property  and  their  lives  in  the  cause. 
Remove  the  weight  of  the  British 
connection,  transfer  to  an  Irish 
Parliament  the  power  of  making 
laws,  and  at  once  the  motive  to 
peace  is  destroyed,  the  incentive  to 
strife  is  given.  Nor  would  that  strife 
be  long  in  coming.  The  very  first 
measures  of  an  Irish  Parliament 
would  deal  with  subjects  a  difference 
of  opinion  upon  which  has  before  this 
deluged  countries  with  blood,  and 
would  have  the  same  effect  in 
Ireland.  Firmly  convinced  that  so 
disastrous  a  calsunity  would  be  the 
inevitable  results  of  the  restoration 
of  a  separate  Legislature  to  Ireland, 
we  are  bound  in  the  interests  of 
peace  and  all  its  blessings  positively 
to  refuse  the  demand  for  Home 
Rule  which  a  portion  of  the  inhabit- 
ants of  Ireland  are  now  so  loudly 
making. 

We  differ  entirely  with  the  Home 
Bulers  as  to  what  is  best  for  Ireland. 
— *  What !  do  we  not  know  our  own 
case  much  better  than  you  can?' 
they  will  impatiently  exclaim.  We 
answer,  'No.'     It  is  like  a  case  in 


which  the  patient  imagines  that 
some  drug  would  cure  him  ii^^hicb 
the  physician  knows  would  be  his 
destruction. 

We  believe,  and  we  have  good 
reason  for  our  belief,  that  Ireland's 
interests  will  be  best  advanced  by 
the  peace  and  freedom  which  the 
present  form  of  government  affords^ 
Our  objects  and  those  of  the  Home 
Bulers  agree  ui  this,  that  we  both 
desire  that  Irishmen  shall  enjoy  the 
fullest  freedom — that  we  both  wish 
to  see  Ireland  prosperous,  wealthy, 
and  happy ;  but  we  have  different 
ideas  as  to  freedom,  and  different 
ideas  as  to  how  to  attain  the  wished- 
for  goal  as  regards  those  other 
objects. 

Home  Rule  will  not  increase 
Irish  commerce,  it  will  not  develop 
her  resources,  it  will  not  convert 
her  into  a  manufacturing  country. 
These  great  changes  are  only  effected 
by  industry,  and  industry  can  only 
exist  where  the  people  are  able  tb 
follow  their  pursuits  in  peace,  and 
where  they  have  the  guarantee  that 
they  will  be  permitted  to  reap  the 
fruits  of  their  industry.  That  peace 
is  at  least  secured  to  them,  and  that 
guarantee  exists  under  the  present 
form  of  government.  Protected 
from  external  violence,  they  can 
devote  themselves  to  industrial  pur- 
suits. •  It  is  our  duty  to  protect  • 
them  also  from  internal  violence, 
which  is  more  fatal  to  the  welfare  of 
a  country.  Prosperity  cannot  exist 
except  where  peace  exists.  Capital 
shuns  the  shores  where  there  is  in- 
security, and  dearly  has  Ireland  al- 
ready paid  for  the  successive  popular 
agitations  which  have  made  her 
notorious.  The  very  suspicion  of 
danger  drives  the  wealthy  and  in- 
dustrious inhabitants  of  a  country 
to  lands  where  undisturbed  they 
can  pursue  that  conduct  which  had 
they  remained  at  home  would  have 
proved  a  blessing  to  their  country ; 
and  the  very  symptoms  of  distorb- 
anoe  in  Ii*elana  have  not  alone  re- 
tarded her  own  sons  raising  her 


788 


Our  Irish  Policy. 


[June 


from  poverty,  but  have  deterred 
others  from  brmging  their  wealth, 
talents,  and  industry  to  her  aid. 
What  Ireland  wants  is  peace,  even 
if  it  is  only  an  enforced  peace.  Then 
shall  we  find  men  tnmingto  indastry, 
and  as  they  increase  in  wealth  so 
will  they  come  to  have  a  greater 
interest  in  the  established  order  of 
things.  That  peace  can  alone  be 
maintained  by  the  present  form  of 
government,  by  a  strong  ezecative 
freely  endowed  with  those  powers 
which  shall  enable  it  to  deal  with 
all  disturbers  of  the  peace.  The 
agitation  for  Home  Rule,  Mnt 
as  is  the  prospect  of  Home  Rule 
bein^  gained,  is  acting  injuriously 
on  the  material  prosperity  of  the 
country.  How  much  more  in- 
jurious, indeed  how  utterly  ruinous, 
the  realisation  of  Home  Rule  would 
be,  it  is  not  difficult  to  conceive. 

That  Irishmen  would  gain  any- 
thing  in  freedom,  or,  more  correctly 
speaking,  in  civil  liberty,  by  Home 
Rule,  is  another  proposition  from 
which  we  dissent.  The  name  of 
England  and  freedom  are  almost 
synonymous  ;  a  Constitution  such  as 
England  enjoys  has  been  and  is  the 
goal  to  which  all  nations  in  their 
march  to  freedom  are  striving  ;  in 
no  country  is  there  greater  personal 
liberty,  in  none  is  there  such  entire 
toleration  of  various  religious  and 
political  creeds.  What  additional 
freedom  Irishmen  hope  to  obtain  by 
Home  Rule  it  is  difficult  to  see. 
Exceptional  laws  are,  we  admit,  in 
force  in  certain  parts  of  the  country, 
but  this  is  because  men  have  turned 
liberty  into  license,  and  they  have 
only  themselves  to  blame  for  the 
restrictions  imposed  on  them.  We 
have  ever  been  ready  to  extend  to 
Irishmen  the  same  amount  of  civil 
liberty  which  we  ourselves  enjoy 
if  Irishmen  would  not  abuse  it- 
more  than  that  we  cannot  do. 

In  coming  to  a  conclusion  stead- 
fitstly  to  resist  the  demand  for  Home 
Rule,  it  becomes  our  duty  to  see 
that  the  charges  brought  against  the 


Imperial  Parliament  of  neglectic^ 
Irish  interests  are  enquired  into; 
and  where  found  to  be  based  on 
&ct,  that  a  remedy  shall  be  applied. 
Although  we  are  not  disposed  to 
countenance  an  Irish  Parliament 
such  as  existed  from  1782  to  1800, 
or  any  single  representative  Irish 
assembly,  we  do  not  wish  to  he 
understood  to  say  that  legislation 
must  be  carried  on  exactly  as  it  is 
at  present.  There  is  a  good  deal  of 
truth  in  the  statement  that  the 
Imperial  Parliament  is  overburdened 
with  work :  matters  connected  with 
all  parts  of  the  world  have  to  be 
legislated  for  by  it,  the  most  intri- 
cate social  problems  and  inter- 
national compUcations  have  to  be 
solved  by  it,  questions  of  world-wide 
importance  come  before  it  for  settle- 
ment ;  yet  with  all  this  important 
business,  it  is  hampered  with  railway 
Bills,  gas  Bills,  canal  Bills,  towns 
improvement  Bills,  and  other  matters 
of  comparatively  petty  interest  and 
purely  local  importance.  Not  un- 
natundly,  therefore,  m.any  local 
interests  suffisr  in  the  annu&l 
slaughter  of  innocents,  Irish  in- 
terests along  with  others.  Public 
attention  is  being  increasingly 
directed  to  this  subject,  and  some 
remedial  measure  may  soon  be 
adopted.  The  Local  Government 
Act  was  a  step  in  this  direction; 
but  a  greater  step  will  have  to  be 
made  before  the  desirable  fiuslfties 
are  afforded  for  legislation  oonoem- 
ing  local  aSairs.  The  present  system 
of  obtaining  such  legislation  is  ex- 
pensive, lengthy,  andunsatisfactory. 
Irishmen  correctly  state  that  they 
are  put  to  heavy  expense  by  being 
obliged  to  proceed  to  London  to  do 
what  could  not  alone  be  eqnally 
well,  but  more  quickly  and  far  more 
satisfactorily  done  on  the  spot ;  bat 
the  hardship  is  felt  also  by  Scotch- 
men and  Englishmen,  and  any  re- 
form must  apply  equally  to  all  partt 
of  the  United  Kingdom. 

To  this  extent  it  is  desirable  to 
accord  Home  Rule  to  Ireland ;  vid 


1873] 


Our  Irish  PoUcij. 


789 


if  the  Home  Bale  agitation  efiects 
this  reform,  good  will  have  sprung 
from  evil.  Moreover,  in  carrying 
into  effect  a  reform  which  shall 
relegate  to  the  inhahitants  of  a 
locality  the  means  of  obtaining  at 
home  the  legislation  which  they 
are  at  present  obliged  to  go  to 
Westminster  for,  we  shall  be  re- 
moving all  jnst  grounds  for  com- 
plaint. 

But  that  this  reform,  however 
beneficial,  would  satisfy  the  present 
cry  for  Home  Bule,  is  an  idea  which 
no  one  need  for  a  moment  entertain ; 
that  we  should  make,  however,  the 
satisfaction  of  unreasonable  Irish 
demands  the  object  of  our  policy, 
especially  where  the  granting  of 
them  could  not  £eu1  to  react  dis- 
advantageously  on  the  Empire  at 
large,  is  another  idea  which  can 
still  less  be  entertained.  This  much 
is  certain,  that  we  cannot  gain  any- 
thing whatever  by  concession  to 
the  demand  for  the  re-establishment 
of  an  Irish  Parliament;  we  shall 
not  advance  one  single  step  towards 
Imperial  unity  or  consoUdation  of 
our  power.  Supposing  even  that 
we  compHed  with  Irish  demands 
and  gave  Home  Rule,  we  have  not 
the  feiintest  guarantee  that  we  have 
then  disposed  of  the  Irish  difficulty. 
The  same  tactics  which  are  now  to 
be  pursued  to  compel  us  to  grant 
Home  Rule  might  be  pursued  again 
in  the  Imperial  Parliament  to  compel 
us  again  to  comply  with  some  fresh 
Irish  demand,  nor  would  fresh  de- 
mands cease  until  Ireland  was  a 
totally  independent  nation.  And 
as  regards  the  present,  we  believe 


that  in  complying  with  the  demand 
for  Home  Rule  we  should  be  opening 
the  flood-gates  of  strife  and  blood- 
shed, and  bringing  ruin  on  the 
country  united  to  us  by  the  closest 
ties. 

"We  are,  however,  threatened  now 
with  conduct  which  is  to  force  us  to 
comply.  But  we  need  not  pay 
much  attention  to  such  threats.  A 
Httle  plain  speaking  now  may  save 
an  infinity  of  trouble  hereafter.  We 
will  not  be  deterred  from  following 
a  pohcy  which  we  conceive  to  be  the 
best  and  most  just.  Cost  what  it 
may,  we  must  uphold  that  form 
of  government  which  recognises 
and  protects  the  rights  of  property, 
which  places  all  rehgious  sects  on 
an  equality — so  far  as  equaUty  can 
exist — which  affords  the  freest 
scope  for  the  utiUsation  of  the 
natural  wealth  of  the  country,  and 
which  gives  the  greatest  faciUties 
for  the  intellectual  and  moral  pro- 
gress of  the  people.  We  know  that 
such  a  poHcy  cannot  but  be  unsatis- 
factory to  either  sect  seeking  for 
an  ascendency,  for  under  such  a 
(Jovemment  no  ascendency  would 
be  possible.  We  know,  too,  that 
it  would  be  distasteful  to  a  large 
portion  of  the  '  Irish  people,'  whose 
desires  could  thus  never  be  realised ; 
but  we  are  thoroughly  convinced 
that  such  a  poHcy,  based  as  it  is  on 
principles  of  justice  and  toleration, 
must  in  the  end  be  productive  in 
Ireland  of  that  peace  and  prosperity 
and  mutual  good  will  winch  it  has 
of  late  been  the  object  of  high- 
minded  Englishmen  to  establish 
and  promote. 


INDEX 


TO 


VOLUME  Vn.  NEW  SERIES. 


Address  delivered  on  November  30,  187a, 

in  the  Association  Hall,  New  York,  by 

J.  A.  Froude,  I 
A  few  Words  on  Philolo^,  304 
Alienation,  Of,  by  A.  K.  H.  fi.  67 
America,  Extension  of  Bailways  in,  702 
Ancient  Etmria,  A  Peep  at,  500 
Animal  Life,  On  some  Gradations  in  the 

Forms  of,  458 
A  Note    of    Interrogation,    by    Florence 

Nightingale,  567 
A  Plea  for  Black  Bartholomew,  by  James 

Macdonell,  279 
Armour,  Gnns  and,  by  Commander  Wm. 

Dawson,  ILN.  257 
A  Sketch  of  Charles  Lever,  190 
A  Sketch  of  M.  Thiers,  94 
Aspects  of  the  Labour  Question,   by  an 

Artisan,  597 
A  Visit  to  Shamyl's  Country  in  the  Autumn 

of  1870,  by  Edwin  Ransom,  F.R.G.S.  27 
A  Week  of  Camp  Life  in  India,  693 

Becher,  Lady,  The  Late,  477 

BeeSt  The  Fable  qf  the,  by  Leslie  Stephen, 

713 

Black  Bartholomew,  A  Plea  for,  by  James 
Macdonell,  279 

Bodley  and  the  Bodleian,  by  Richard  John 
Kintf,  647 

Brambleberries,  74,  222,  358 

Buckle's  Contribution  to  the  New  Philo- 
sophy of  Histoiy,  by  J.  S.  Stuart-Glennie, 
482 

Camp  Life  in  India,  A  Week  of,  693 

Canada,  The  Dominion  o^  by  Cyril  Graham, 

Causes  of  the  Friction  between  the  United 
States  and  England,  by  the  Author  of 
Premier  and  President,  293 
Charles  de  Montalembert,  180 
Charles  Lever,  A  Sketch  of,  190 
Christian  Philosophy  and  Rational  Theo- 
logy, Principal  TiUloch  on,  738 


Church  of  Scotland,  Stanley's  Itecttn  » 

the,  by  Alexander  Falconer,  442 
Cologne,  Wittenberg  and,  by  I^.  Schwss. 

Commune,  The  Paris,  of  1 871,  by  Geo?d 

Cluseret,  360 
Contribution  to  the   New  Philosophy  d 

History,  Mr.  Buckle's,  by  J.  S.  Stnait 

Glennie,  482 
Copenhagen,    Thorwaldsen    in,    by  J.  B 

Atkinson,  52 
Criticism,  Some  Curiosities  of,  43 

Daily  Work  in  a  North-West  District,  bj 

an  Indian  Official,  197 
Darwin's  Philosophy  of  Language,  Lectur^ef 

on,  by  Professor  Max  Miiller,  525,  659 
Death  of  Thomas,  Earl  of  Strafford,  Ih« 

Story  of  the,  by  Reginald  F.  D.  Palgrave 

391 
De  Montiilembert,  Charles,  iSo 
De  Nerval,  Gerard,  by  A.  Lang;  559 
Dominion  of  Canada,  The,  by  Crril  Gra 

ham,  131 
Dulwich  College,  109 

England  and  the  United  States,  Causes  o; 

3ie  Friction  between,  by  the  Author  o 

Premier  and  President^  293 
England,  Peasantry  of  the  South  oi;  by  i 

Wykehamist,  542,  679 
Episodes  in  the  Life  of  a  Musicias,  by  M 

Betham-Edwaids,  422 
Ethics  of  St.  Paul,  760 
Etruria,  Ancient,  A  Peep  at,  500 
Europe,  Over  the  Marches  of  Civilised,  57! 
Expiusion  of  the  Jesuits  from  German} 

Extension  of  Railways  in  America,  702 

Fable  of  the  Bees,  The,  by  Leslie  Stephes 

713 
Forms  of  Animal  Life,  On  some  Grsdstiom 
in  the,  458 


Index  to  Voh  VII.  New  Series. 


791 


Friction  between  the  United  States  and 
£ng1and.  Causes  of  the,  by  the  Author  of 
Premier  and  President^  293 

Gerard  de  Nerval,  by  A.  Lang,  559 
Grermany,  Expulsion  of  the  Jesuits  from, 

Gradations  in  the  Forms  of  Animal  Life, 

458 
Guns   and   Armour,  by  Commander  Vfm, 

Dawson,  B.N.  257 

Hereditary  Improvement,  by  Francis  Oal- 

ton,  F.R.S.  116 
History,  Mr.  Buckle's  Contribution  to  the 

New   Philosophy  of,    by  J.  S.  Stuart- 

Glennie,  482 

Improvement,  Hereditary,  by  Francis  Gal- 
ton,  F.R.S.  116 
India,  A  Week  of  Camp  Life  in,  693 
Interrogation,    A  Note    of,    by   ]fiorence 

*  Nightingale,  567 
7lri»li  Policy,  Our,  778 

'Irish    Schoolmaster,  The,   and   the  Irish 

Priest,  385 
Irish  University  Question,  The,  514 

:  Jagannath  and  his  Worship,  171 
'  Jesuits,   The,  and  their  Expulsion  from 
Germany,  631 
Justices  of  the  Peace,  160 

Labour  Question,  Present  Aspects  of  the, 
by  an  Artisan,  597 

Lady  Becher,  The  Late,  477 

Land,  The  Transfer  of,  by  Arthur  Arnold, 
265 

Language,  Lectures  on  Mr.  Darwin's  Phi- 
losophy of,  by  Professor  Max  Miiller, 

525.  659 

Lectures  on  the  Church  of  Scotland,  Stan- 
ley's, by  Alexander  Falconer,  442 

Lever,  Charles,  A  Sketch  of,  190 
'  Life,  Animal,  On  some  Gradations  in  the 
Forms  of,  458 

Life  of  a  Musician,  Episodes  in  the,  by  M. 
Betham-Edwards,  422 

•  Making  Better  of  It,  Suggestions  towards, 

by  A.  K.  H.  B.  236 
,    Marches  of  Civilised  Europe,  Over  the,  578 

Montalembert,  Charles  de,  180 
;'   Mr.    Buckle's  Contribution    to    the    New 
Philosophy  of  History,  by  J.  S.  Stuart- 
Glennie,  482 
Mr.   Darwin's   Philosophy    of   Language, 
Lectures  on,  by  Professor  Max  MiUler, 
/       525»  659 

Musician,  Episodes  in  the  Life  of  a,  by  M. 
//       Betham-Edwards,  422 

'    Nerval,  Gerard  de.  by  A.  Lang,  559 

New  Edition  of  the  Paston  Letters,  by  L. 
if       Toulmin  Smith,  22 


New  Philosophy  of  History,  Mr.  Buckle's 

Contribution    to   the,  by  J.  S.  Stnart- 

Glennie,  482 
North-West  District,  Daily  Work  in  a,  by 

an  Indian  Official,  197 
Note   of  Interrogation,    A,    by   Florence 

Nightingale,  567 

Of  Alienation,  by  A  K.  H.  B.  67 

On  Prisons,  by  the  Right  Hon.  Sir  Walter 

Crofton,  C.B.  loi 
On    some  Gradations   In  the    Forms    of 

Animal  Life,  458 
On  the  Extension  of  Railways  in  America, 

702 
On  the  Regeneration  of  Sunday,  by  F.  W. 

Newman,  620 
Original  Prophet,  The,  by  a  Visitor  to  Salt 

Lake  City,  225 
Ought  Government  to  Buy  the  Railways? 

409 
Our  Irish  Policy,  778 
Our  Seamen,  332 
Over  the  Marches  of  Civilised  Europe,  578 

Paris    Commune   of    1871,    by   General 

Cluseret,  360 
Paris,  Workmen  of,  during  the  Siege,  by  J. 

de  Bouteiller,  728 
Paston  Letters,  The^  New  Edition  of,  by  L. 

Toulmin  Smith,  22 
Paul,  St.,  Ethics  of,  760 
Peasantry  of  the  South  of  England,  by  a 

Wykehamist,  542,  679 
Peep  at  Ancient  Etruria,  A,  500 
Peking   Gazette,   The,  by  Sir  Rutherford 

Alcock,  K.C.B.  245,  341 
Philology,  A  Few  Words  on,  304 
Philosoj^hy  of  History,  New,  Mr.  Buckle's 

Contribution  to  the,   by  J.  S.  Stuart- 

Glennie,  482 
Philosophy  of  Langusge,  Lectures  on  Mr. 

Darwin's,  by  Professor  Max  Midler,  525, 

659 
Plea,  A,  for  Black  Bartholomew,  by  James 

Macdonell,  279 
Plymouth,  by  Richard  John  King,  209 
Poetry : — 

Brambleberries,  74,  222,  358 
Present  Aspects  of  the  Labour  Question, 

by  an  Artisan,  597 
Principal  Tulloch  on  Rational  Theology 

and  Christian  Philosophy,  738 
Prisons,  On.  by  the  Right  Hon.  Sir  Walter 

Crofton,  C.B.  loi 
Prophet,  The  Original,  by  a  Visitor  to  Salt 

Lake  City,  225 

Railways  in  America,  Extension  of,  702 

Railways,  Ought  Government  to  Buy  the? 
409 

Rational  Theology  and  Christian  Philoso- 
phy, Principal  Tulloch  on,  738 

Regeneration  of  Sunday,. On  the,  by  F.  W. 
Newman,  620 


792 


Index  to  Vol,  Vll,  Nevj  Series, 


Reviews : — 
Gairdnor's  Paston  Letters,  22 
Mrs.  Oliphant's  Memoir  of  Count  de  Mon- 

ialembert,  180 
Stnnley'B  Lectures  on  the  History  of  the 

Chwreh  of  Scotland,  442 
Talloch*B  Bational  Theology  and  Chris- 
tian PhUBsophy  in  England    in   the 
Serenteenth  Century,  738 
Kome.Thorwaldsen  in,by  J.B.  Atkinson,  52 

Seamen,  Our,  332 

Shaftesbuiy's     Characteristics,    by   Leslie 

Stephen,  76 
Shamyrs    Country,    A    Visit   to,  in   the 

Autumn  of   1870,  by  Edwin  Ransom, 

F.R.G.8.  27 
Sketch,  A,  of  Charles  Lever,  190 
Sketch,  A,  of  M.  Thiers,  94 
Some  Curiosities  of  Criticism,  43 
Some  Gradations  in  the  Forms  of  Animal 

Life,  458 
South  of  England,  Peasantry  of  the,  by  a 

Wykehamist,  542,  679 
Stanley's  Lectures  on  the  Church  of  Scot- 

landf  by  Alexander  Falconer,  442 
St.  Paul  Ethics  of,  760 
Strafford,    The    Story   of   the    Death    of 

Thomas,  Earl   of,  by  Reginald  F.  D. 

Palgrave,  391 
Suggestions  towards  Making  Better  of  It, 

by  A.  K.  H.  B.  236 
Sunday,  On  the  Regeneration  of,  by  F.  "W. 

Newman,  620 

The  Church  of  Scotland,  Stanley's  Lectures 
on,  by  Alexander  Falconer,  442 

The  Dominion  of  Canada,  by  Cyril 
Graham,  131 

The  Ethics  of  St  Paal,  760 

The  Fable  of  the  Bees,  by  Leslie  Stephen, 

713  . 

The  Irish    Schoolmaster   and    the    Irish 

Priest,  385 
The  Irish  University  Question,  5x4 
The  Jesuits,  and    their    Expulsion   from 

Germany,  631 


The  Labour  Question,  Present  Asp^rt?  •• 

by  an  Artisan,  597 
The  Lat«  Lady  Becher,  477 
The  Marches  of  Civilised  Earop^57S 
The  Original  Prophet,  by  a  Visiflr  to  S«! 

Lake  City,  225 
The  Paris  Commune  of  1 871,  by  Oeaer. 

Cluseret,  360 
The  Paston  Lrtters,  New  Edition  ot  l- 

L.  Toulmin  Smith,  22 
The  Peking  Gazette,  by  Sir  Rulherfonl  A. 

cock,  K.C.B.  245,  341 
The  Regeneration  of  Sunday,  by  P,  V 

Newman,  620 
The  United  States  and  England,  Cans^  -f 

the  Friction  between,  by  the  Anther  r-i 

Premier  and  President,  293 
The  Workmen  of  Paris  during  the  S'frv,  U 

J.  de  Bouteiller,  728 
Thiers,  A  Sketch  of  M.  94 
Thomas,  Earl  of  Strafford,  The  Starr  3/fte 

Death  of,  by  Reginald  F.  D.  Pi^arp, 

391 
Thorwaldsen  in  Copenhagen  and  in  B»:^f 

by  J.  B.  Atkinson,  52 
Transfer  of  Land,  The,  by  Arthur  Araol! 

265 
Transit  of  Venus,  The  Coming,  by  Jtkhf.r. 

A.  Proctor,  B.A.  322,  750 
Tulloch,  Principal,  on  Rational  Theclo.7 

and  Christian  Philosophy,  738 

United  States  and  England,  Causes  of  th 
Friction  between  the,  by  the  Author  d 
Premier  and  President,  293 

University  Question,  The  Irish,  514 

Venus,  The  Coming  Transit  of,  by  Richari 

A.  Proctor,  B.A.  322,  750  j 

Vienna,  by  M.  D.  Conway,  605  ' 

Week  of  Camp  Life  in  India,  A,  693 
Wittenberg  and  Cologne,  bv  Dr.  SchwartL] 

156 
Workmen  of  Paris  duriiig  tire  Siege,  by  J. 

de  Bouteiller,  728 


END   OP  YOL.  Vn.    NEW  SERIES. 


LONXMN:  PStNTBO  DV 

SPOTTISWOODB     AND     CO.,     KBW-STRBET     SQL'AKK 

AND  PARLIAMENT   STRBBT 


y- 


This  book  should  be  returned  to 
the  Library  on  or  before  the  last  date 
stamped  below. 

A  fine  of  five  oents  a  day  is  incurred 
by  retaining  it  beyond  the  specified 
time. 

Please  return  promptly. 


.•-- ' 


■^